She resides among you like a silent goshawk,

like a caged lioness, muffled by the voice of her own self-doubt.

For who does she think she is to believe

she could have the answers, when her own insignificance sears

like a slap in the face.

But she knows what she knows and

hard facts served straight, can’t be denied.

 

She feels like she exists among the walking dead

oblivious to their own self-demise,

while at the same time aware of her own

self-mutilation, of strangling the lionesses roar.

Busy picking up the pieces that fall to the ground,

desperately trying to hold herself together,

while her soul cries out, just let me fall apart. 

 

She carries within her heart a messianic message

but places upon it heavy stones of doubt.

The outside world is crumbling at the edges, while

politicians play like children putting on a pantomime,

religious bodies pit their gods at each other,

disenchanted youth look for meaning beyond a callous system,

an expanding western culture gorges itself on empty consumption,

ice fills the veins of the isolated and disconnected,

while all the while humanity is transfixed by an

individualistic project of Self, shaped by high definition,

self proclaimed luminaries.

 

But who are they to steal the limelight?

What great insights do they offer?

She resides among you like a silent goshawk,

channeling messages from the other side of Self.

She sees the energy that connects us all,

sees it shining through your eyes,

wants to grab and shake you and yell at you to

wake up.  Wake the fuck up.

 

Sometimes she feels alone, isolated, like she’s the only one

that knows or sees or understands, that it’s time for meaningful change.

But then she’ll catch a smile, a nod, a glimpse, a word,

a recognition, a connection, and she dances for joy

in the waves of life, before she is swept under once more.

Life’s like that.  A rising.  A falling.

Continuous patterns, repeating, replicating,

even transforming.

 

She resides among you like a caged lioness,

tending the wounds from her efforts to escape.

Escape from her own identity crisis.

But the wounds are too deep, too telling, too

etched into her soul.

In truth she loves her wounds.  They are what

make her.  They are what have transformed her.

Soon her lioness will be free.  Even now she feels

this beautiful creature stand and shake

the rubble from her coat.

 

She understands now that it has never been about

Changing the outside world.

For in her heart she recognises a

beauty beyond compare.

No, they’ll never contain her now.

She no longer resides in this world.

She creates her own world.  

Or at least that is the space

She is moving towards.

Catzen 2016