Prophetic Hope

The music fell from my lips

my voice reaching into intimate secrets

hidden

from those who walked around bar tables heading for the dance floor.

They were content to laugh or pout or raise a glass of cheer.

I stood alone, locking myself inside a bubble

tapped into the beautiful Muse that shows herself to some

some of us

some of the most frightened of us

afraid to speak,

afraid to walk on this planet because we understand. 

So alone, but not so lonely because She was there

helping me to share myself with a world cut off from me in all things.

I loved passionately

desperate to say how very much.

I cannot talk, so I sang. 

There was a time shift somewhere

when fingers dipped into shallow pools

because we were so thirsty

not caring that the water may poison our souls

We sold ourselves for a piece of what everyone else had

so disappointed with the bitter aftertaste

of one-dimensional relationships.

I grieved until this very morning,

counting only the blessings

of babies who chose to come through me,

the people I live for,

and the comforting of the Water Queen,

who

like my musical muse, finds me fit to be her student. 
I remember how the window opens

unexpectedly with an airy voice that whispers

"listen." 

And I fell in love again,

not with the child of my body

who so willingly makes love to his own muse,

but with reality that we are all connected

through a calm

Sibylline word

that says we are never alone

never forgotten. 
I have not the grace of quiet beauty

I am not ashamed.

I will always be the healing encouragement that laughs loudly

and weeps openly

begging

 "Please! Don't forget who you are! Sing to us, make us whole! Heal us, forgive our consuming nature, and bring us back

to the open window

where we can feel fresh air

and remember

the fragrance of being authentic."

(Lynette Bat-Abba, May 2009)