Poetry seems to be one of the key media through which we can express our feelings/experiences with the Divine. The way it works best for me, is to poise my fingers over the keyboard, clear my mind, invoke the Goddess…and start typing. What comes out is by no means finished. It’s more like notes for a poem. Then I work with it and shape it, making it into something and discovering its meaning.
The value of this process for me is that I often get images that I would not have come up with in my normal state of consciousness. Sometimes, they don’t make logical sense, but they do make a kind of poetic sense. Sometimes I edit them out, sometimes I just leave them in, hoping that they’ll communicate what the Goddess intended.
To show you what I mean, I’m going to do a little experiment right now. Fingers poised over keyboard…opening…invoking…and typing this:
long black wings against a blue white sky clouds bending into circles interpenetrating the blackness of feather of feature of faith clean sharp shriek of light coming into my mind clearing feathered fog leaving its own breath I am hearing you now
That’s what it looks like first out of my brain, whispered in hints from some Muse-form of Isis. Kinda reminds me of Symbolist poetry from the late 19th/early 20th century.
Now, I’ll break it up into phrases and add punctuation as remembered from my mental “hearing” of it:
Long black wings against a blue-white sky. Clouds bend into circles, interpenetrating the blackness of feather, of feature, of faith. A clean, sharp shriek of light comes into my mind, clearing feathered fog and leaving its own breath. I am hearing you now.
I’m starting to understand what this is about. I think it’s about the subject of this post—receiving poetic inspiration from the Goddess. So it is an image of what that inspiration can be like. Working with it a bit more:
Long dark wings flash against a purified sky. Blue-white ghost clouds move and spiral, interpenetrated by the blackness of feather, of feature, of faith. In my mind, a clean, sharp shriek of light clears feathered fog, leaves its own breath. I am hearing you now.
I’ll leave this as it is for now. If I had intended to keep this, I would probably work with it a bit more. It’s not quite there yet, but it’s just an example.
I’ll leave you with a question about this little bit of Isis poetry: That final phrase, “I am hearing you now.” Do you think that’s the poet hearing the Goddess, or the Goddess hearing the poet?