bride of the eternal king.
Those stars up there?
Sweat drops I wiped
from my inner thigh
so I could wear them in my hair.
I won’t just make your blood pound.
I’ll reverse its course. I’ll reinforce
your bones with stone. My kiss
will bring you to your knees,
give you visions and dreams.
Your screams of ecstasy will echo
‘round the Milky Way. Turn night to day.
I’ll remix your heartbeat,
turn your breaths into heat waves,
your groans into serenades.
Though my song buckles your spine,
this love of mine will be the thing that saves you,
turns your cringing peasant into a king,
your stammering coward into a fearless, evermore thing.
I’ll teach you the true religion of the catacombs.
You’ll meet Osiris on his feathered throne.
Kid, I’ll infect you with resurrection.
You dig? Though you die, yet shall you live.
Death is a mask.
Yank it off.
Sing for your life.
Make me your eternal wife.
Even my lies are true.
Swallow my fire.
Incinerate your facade.
Your golden core will emerge unburned.
Mortal child, exit my flames a
Isis reveals herself then as the Great Goddess and explains that she was attempting to turn the child into a god. It’s too late for the child though–the spell has been broken because he left the fire. He will live and die a mortal man.
This is a small fragment of the complex and beautiful tale of Isis and Osiris and the part that is speaking to me today. I love the story of Isis and Osiris because to me, it holds so many beautiful secrets. To become a god–to become something other than a mortal, mundane thing–one must pass through the fire. One must be willing to face the terror of the unknown, let go of his moorings, throw himself off the cliff of safety into the fiery arms of the unknown. If one flinches, pulls back, clings to that which is safe, one will never become the golden thing that lives inside. The price for an illusion of safety is high. The coward will live and die an unremarkable, shimmerless thing.
I wrote this poem as an homage to the process of letting go, embracing pain and fear and mystery instead of fleeing them. I wrote this poem as a love songs for all the divine ones trapped in shrouds of fear.