November 5, 2003
Awakened Woman's Circle is working for peace
Saved by the Goddess
Poems by Allyson Rickard
with art by the poet
Madonna of Peace, collage
I . Hallelujah
I've been saved by the Goddess.
Have you?
Big Mestio Mama.
Half indigenous earth goddess,
Half holy mother of Jesus,
Mary,
Mother of God,
Tonantzin,
Xochequetzal.
Hallelujah, have you discovered her?
Joy and fun,
Grace of form,
Grace of spirit,
Lack of need,
Ease of caring,
Love of life.
She's got the whole world in Her hands.
She's got you and me, sister.
Yes, comfort in her large embrace.
I've been saved by the Goddess.
Have you?
II. Trapped in the Museum
Who are you?
Trapped
In that museum case,
Enthroned upon your seat,
Sitting so silently.
I ache to know your name
But would it matter?
Your name, I mean.
It's your being that is important.
Your presence
Then and now
In our lives.
You are the holy one,
Divine
Always beneath our feet,
Earth between our toes.
Or sky above
Starry Queen of Heaven,
Bright dawn star.
Part of nature,
Nature Herself,
The external world.
But wait
Those of you
Who seek Her.
Your seeking will
Avail you not.
Unless you find Her
Within.
Within your heart.
African grandmothers, story necklace
This necklace is inspired by Kente cloth from Ghana
and Akuba fertility figurines from West Africa.III A Maltese Mystery
A Maltese mystery that only the sleeping ladies know.
Would they tell?
I surely doubt.
Not to us who doubt their faith and scorn their female form.
Their goddess was the holy one
Who birthed bright creation's song.
To her they built their temples strong
In praise of one so dear
Who brought forth the grain,
And deer, and ample food to eat.No barren rocks, only lively sea
She made the fish and fowl to breed.
These islands strong
Amidst the Mediterranean Sea.
Africa's best inhabited thee,
Then settlers from the north
Laid claim to thine once verdant shore.
Now the temples are all gone
And we are left with mystery,
Red ochre, pock-marked stones,
And a sleeping chamber beneath the sea.
A Maltese mystery that only sleeping ladies know.
*
Dreaming underneath the earth.
Dreaming out of time.
Dreaming in a state of ecstasy.
Dreaming out of rhythm.
Dreaming as an oracle.
Dreaming as before.
Dreaming as an art.
Dreaming ever more.
Dreaming, dreaming, dreaming.
Listening Woman shield
IV Round Pyramids
Round pyramids beneath a turquoise sky.
Popcatepetl steaming in the background.
Still yearning to merge with Ixtaccihuatl, his love.
For thousands of years,
Their volcanic soil created
A fertile ground in the Mexican high plateau.
Tiny female figurines
Found beneath steps
Leading to ritual platforms.
Centuries ago taken over
By Christian crosses.
Place of birth?
Home of Xochiquetzel,
Goddess of Spring,
Fertility and sexual pleasure.
Pre-Hispanic imagery of creation.
Images of emerging consciousness,
Images of duality of life and death,
Images of ripening corn.
Images of Coatlique,
Serpent Skirt,
Mother of gods and men.
The twin serpent heads.
She wears a skirt of snakes,
A necklace of human hearts,
She who gives life can take it away.
Mexican goddess of birth and death.
Dismemberment and Reintegration,
Accident and Pain.
Frida's life.
Frida's art.
Contemporary Mexicans' quest
For consciousness.
To remember the imagery
of Pre-Columbian art
To make the foundational myths
Of the Mayan, Mexican, Toltec, and Zapotec
Reveal the contemporary resonance
Of beauty and soul.
V Lady of Guadalupe
Dear little one
Who knows the deepest cares and concerns of her people.
It is to you that we pray
For our health and wholeness.
For lives that nurture and honor
The oneness of being.
You are our mother,
Our support,
Our strength,
Our anchor,
And our sustenance.
VII I Am your mother
Am I not your mother?
Would I not care for you
And all the niños, children, of the world?
Look and see what I brought for you.
Great joy and happiness, the gift of unconditional love.
Look at the faces of the people,
All shades of brown,
Glistening in the sun.
Happy voices.
Pilgrims on their knees.
Some carrying statues.
Others praying silently.
These are all my children, all my loves.
Their cares are mine and shall be relieved.
*
I am your mother.
It matters not what has gone before,
Like the tiniest seed or smallest bird,
I care for you.
I am your mother.
My love for you cannot be measured by human need or deed.
It is unconditional, ever caring.I am your mother.
This message you will bring as Juan Diego once did,
So long ago.
It is your North American birthright
To declare the mother's love,
The mother's care.I will be reclaimed, reborn, revered
For I am the ancient one.
Ever new.
All poems copyright 2003 by Allyson Rickard
Allyson is a multi-media artist and poet inspired by the divine feminine. She has traveled to goddess sites all over the world. Sensing the sacred energy of place, she uses poetry, photography and collage to create art that connects an historical or indigenous perspective with contemporaryspiritual longing. You may contact her through her web site http://home.mindspring.com/~rrick1/
