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Resurrection by Vulture

10/31/2021

5 Comments

 
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Previously published by We'Moon 2021, on the page for this weekend:

Imagine a world whose creation myth begins not with Light, nor even with Darkness, but with a vulture picking clean the bones of a dream we finally admitted was dead. Our own magic destroyed us in the end. Humanity couldn't rule after all; our own bodies betrayed us. But for the vulture with her naked head, her naked face, the comforting tent of her black wings discreetly enfolding our dying, there is no shame in a body, no shame in our mistakes. Every sinew, every organ, is sacred in its undoing. She scented out our grief. She traveled down from the highest pinnacles of the sky to alight upon our bare, helpless bones. Her body is a crucible that destroys every foul pathogen; she comes to cleanse the earth of its suffering. She comes to ingest our unfinished stories, the sweet intentions in our lies, the meat of our devouring, the wounds of our losses, our shapes that once cast shadows. She comes to recycle them into muscle and wing, and remind us they belong to the universe.

Yes, this is our time of belonging.

Imagine a world whose creation myth begins with letting go. Letting the ugly vulture unbind our beauty, letting the form unwind, letting her prepare us to become the earth. From her nest on the highest cliffs, she digests us and watches the release of our remains now available for new nourishment. She's going to live a long, long time, as vultures do, because they eat truth every day. And for all the thousand ways we resurrect into new lives, new worlds, out of the green heedless fronds of the earth, we are also living up there in her wings, forever, in the absolute stillness of her flight on skies of forgiveness.

© Mindi Meltz 2019



5 Comments
Mar
10/31/2021 12:33:04 pm

How timely. I am feeling this. Beautifully written, as always.

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Cheri
10/31/2021 12:34:28 pm

Thank you for you gift.

Reply
Pam
11/21/2021 10:43:34 am

I'm sure that this is the most personally impactful poem about dying and transformation that I have ever seen. The most visceral. The most true to Nature.

Reply
Annie
11/27/2021 04:47:08 pm

I love this; I found you through the we moon calendar. I hope you will post the other poem, Winter the Womb. It's that time. Thx

Reply
Diana
12/29/2021 04:34:36 pm

We had a special crow in our realm. We called him walking crow because he had an injured wing and couldn't fly, or so we thought. We tried to befriend him but he wasn't having it. He'd run away when we threw out bread for him but he would come back for it once we went back inside. At first I thought he would be lonely being limited as he was but as it turned out he had a tribe that would come hang out with him. Then one day we notice him hopping up a pine tree near our house. He hopped up the trunk and went from limb to limb until he got 3/4 of the way up and then he took to flight. It was so special to see that he could fly afterall, he just couldn't take off from the ground. We haven't seen him in a few months and I've checked with neighbors who were known to put water out for him, they named him Charlie. We are not sure if he is gone or if our lives have been too busy for us to notice but it makes me happy to know that we were not the only ones to notice and try to help him.

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    We ask

    what it means to be human, we mourn being human and yet we forgive and we hope— we want a mythology of belonging. These are my dreams, tell me yours.

    All writing here copyright Mindi Meltz

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