If your life doesn’t often make you feel
like a cauldron of swirling light —
 
If you are not often enough a woman standing above a mysterious fire,
lifting her head to the sky —
 
You are doing too much, and listening too little.
 
Read poems. Walk in the woods. Make slow art.
Tie a rope around your heart, be led by it off the plank,
happy prisoner.
 
You are no animal. You are galaxy with skin.
Home to blue and yellow lightshots,
making speed-of-light curves and racecar turns,
bouncing in ricochet –
 
Don’t slow down the light and turn it into matter
with feeble preoccupations.
 
Don’t forget your true name:
Presiding one. Home for the gleaming. Strong cauldron for the feast of light.
 
Strong cauldron for the feast of light:
I am speaking to you.
I beg you not to forget.
 
–Tara Sophia Mohr