She stands at the center of a circle of hives,

            In the heart of a late summer’s meadow.


        The airs,

            Filled with the scents of blossoms

                Both domestic and wild,

                Urge Her to begin Her songs.


        With Her arms and Her hair swirling in spirals,

            She twirls on Her toes

            And the balls of Her naked feet.


        She sings

            The eternally new variations

            Of the ancient songs

            That She and Her Sisters have sung for eons untold.


        She sings

            With fingers high in the air,

            Marking the sacred marks

            On wind and cloud.


        She sings,

            Laughing and dancing with Life.


        She sings

            The spirit maps of transformation into being.


        She sings

            Of possibilities still calling to be born.


        She sings of beauty.

        She sings of love.

        She sings of living

            Rooted In compassion

            And the sweetness of life.


        The voices of Queens

            Emerge from each hive in this circle of peers,

            Blending and melding with

            Her songs of wisdom and power.


        The magic grows

            As the musical buzz of a million bees

            Begin to vibrate golden circles

            Radiating out into Midgard and all of the worlds.


        Bees stream into the air,

            Feeding their own power and blessing

            Into the songs preparing

                To fill the multiverse with change.


        Forming spirals, circles, zig zags and lines

            The bees mimic the patterns

            Springing from Her fingers’ songs.


        The bees read

            The sacred cartography,

            The sacred marks,

            The spirit maps of transformation.   


        These co-creators flow through the air,

            Following their spirit’s call,

            Flying in every direction,

                Through out all realms and realities,

                Becoming the cause,

                     The point,

                    The sting,

                        Of fractal formation

                        In hearts of chaos and fear.


   


        Who dares to sing these songs

            Aware, awake and out loud?


        Who dares to read the maps?


        Who dares to follow suit?


        Who dares to embrace the changes

            That only compassion can bring?


        Do I?

Bridget Sings


Donald L. Engstrom-Reese

July

© 2006