In the alchemical tradition of Maria Hebraea, “Two are one, three and four are one, one will become two, two will become three, and out of the third comes the one as the fourth.” [1]
Of things seen, of things heard,
Touched, perceived, of things so deeply felt.
A beautiful hollow survives a dead tree, whose
echo reverberates in a distant memory.
Like a coiling serpent, who
coiling inward; his dark, cool, beauty inspiring the dream.
An empty vessel molded
by the hand of divinity. Whose
doorway leads out of the labyrinth. . . the deathless.
How I would like to curl up within your vessel,
become the entrance to your sacred realm.
Vulva: animals, insects, and rain live within you. The
mosses and stones, whole cosmoses thrive within your dark embrace.
Of, the many sounds, voices of the forest, each
which resonate, pulsing
with the rhythm of my breath, vibrates. . . Sings
the myriad interior centers. . . .
But slow and hesitant am I. For
I have wanted to know you, rightly. To
know you as myself.
Now warm and moist is your womb, quiescent,
Silent: illumined.
[1] Lectures on Jung’s Typology, Pg. 86, Marie Louise Von Franz.