Her walkabout

And so she was smudged out

Embarked on her equivalent of the walkabout

Went to a spot in the big open space

Let things unfold at their own pace

Spent most of the time under the tree

Just letting herself, just be

And gently little ceremonies came

From celebrations to dealing with shame

The cacti called from its quivering tops to entangled roots

It spoke of love – its numerous spikes and abundant fruits

She recalled great partnerships that she knew

And explored her anima and animus anew

Then she burnt a photo of him, hoped as the one

Honoured her body and its setting sun

Walked naked under the wide blue sky

Talked to all, the ravens, tarantula, even the fly

Accepted her loved ones whole heartedly

Rolled on love’s threshing floor madly

The wise tree sculptures made their call

The rock said, shame keeps you small

She destroyed the cowpat of doubt

Kicked it, kicked it, kicked it about

The stone of regret was also let go

Fears subdued on night walks in a starry glow

She sent blessings to family, friends and fasters

And danced with her woman shadow masters

She pulled on the rope which held her back

And questioned, what really did she lack?

The cacti again made her smile

And she took a walk down an aisle

The ceremony was an act of self love

Witnessed from mother earth and the moon above

In the purpose circle that long last night

She saw perhaps her gifts offer light

Could that really be true she wondered?

Back to the embrace of all she wandered.

Poem: © Penelope Mavor 2014

Image: own