I was sent this poem yesterday by my friend Sara. It was written and performed by Hugo for the launch of 101 Vagina –  a book by my friend Philip Werner.

Sara facilitates Wild Women Dance journeys in Melbourne and at festivals around Australia. From her site…

You are called… To dance your edge… … To dance your passion…

Unlock your sacred sexuality… Connect to your authentic being… Unfold emotions in a safe space of sisterhood… Discover deep craved connection…

and here is the poem from Hugo, who I was lucky enough to hear at Brother Tongue last year.

Many are blind to her magic But I, lonely pilgrim, ride in out of the dust clouds Wrecked from the trek, in the saddle I’m slumped down It’s sun down, and the orange orb at my back casts a silhouette As I purposefully stalk past the domes and past minarets The monasteries, the spires of the churches The cathedrals, the casinos, the bonfires, the hearses The circuses, the businesses, the shrines, the workers The statues, the avenues, the finite circuits To arrive further towards the site which inspires my higher purpose An altar before which I falter before falling in divine service None of the teachings of the preachers effectively entered my mind’s furnace Not did any wealth tempt me more seductively than this siren’s urgings But some ignore her magic This goddess lightly purring, with feline grace And strokeable fur which resulted in one of her many names And many are the men who have attempted to tame This lioness which resides twixt the legs of their lover’s frame All in vain, for the flames that burn within her are hot enough to leave any sword melted, any lance burnt to cinders. And any proud knight that charges into her, gets cooked and turned to Ashes within the Very suit of metal, his ego wore to protect his limbs cos This holy grail, this overflowing cup Has caused crusades,Trojan wars, games of thrones to go erupt As misguided men saw the overwhelming potency of such A goddess and wanted her so much they were totally overwhelmed with lust And they couldn’t see it was magic Having observed the potential of their own corrupt insanity to kick in Many men saw the awesome force of this matriarchal vision. Its power had been wielded unconsciously thus far by women But men then colluded to create patriarchal religion A spiritual control system, designed for limiting Hunting down, humiliating, killing and reversing this lustful tide of indiscipline, And use asceticism and threatening eternal damnation in fires of hell again To usurp and curb worship of my goddess, the divine feminine. But this crass misinterpretation of the subject This rank hijacking and twisting of the natural energy that lust is: A fiery force that once its repressed has to emerge in some substance Else it leads to burning witches, burqas on women and priests who fuck kids Because it’s a powerful magic And it cannot be suppressed, so this pilgrim doesn’t attempt to Nor does he succumb to the fire on the other end of the spectrum: The buzzing swarm of content on the net which bombards the unwary with videos of barely aware or respectful erections penetrating the inner sanctum of Ishtar with nary a shred of tenderness These two extremes threaten to encroach on the will of any pilgrim But if he is able to maintain and be instilled with the vision And navigate between these two perils of scylla and charybdis He will stand before the holy edifice like this pilgrim and bear witness As with breathless ease, I descend to my knees and stare Finally arrived in the lair, I can kneel in prayer As two bended knees form the two steeples in the air Of the only cathedral of which I’ll ever need to be aware And many insist that it’s not magic Incomprehensible the timeless vortex of truth that this goddess’s eye, all seeing, views She’s been worshipped since time immemorial too, Before we saw the light of the orb of the moon Before the sun light formed into view, When we still recalled the time we all crawled forth from the primordial soup Throughout she’s provided a profound praxis Enshrouded and resounding through a boundless axis And no matter how lost I get in the stress lines my brow is mapped with I can drown and reincarnate, again and again, navigating north south, up down and backwards, Following the wispy cotton candy trails over the oceans of her Cloud Atlas But some still can’t see that it’s magic And No matter where I’ve gone in the day I’m back home in the evening No matter how many board rooms I go to for meetings No matter where I roam, what I’m seeking, In the half light of the dawn, draws me towards her aroma that’s sweetening I, lonely pilgrim, nuzzle in to the folds of elysium Breathe in with glistening nose like a golden retriever then Begin to lap in her lap with a hunger awoken with fever Delicately exploring this knowing delirium This goddess rescues me from my dark chasm; Any temptation I have to succumb to the numbness of sarcasm Is remediated immediately with every morsel of charged plasm As Gasps and hand grasps grow into vast spasms And they still claim that she’s not magic Even as The atoms of our fibres become one system She accepts me as Fool, and makes me Magician She High Priestess, becomes empress high above us While I Emperor, become Hierophant, and we entwine as Lovers Gripping the reins of this Chariot, feeling Adjustment’s turnings We are absorbed in reflection for a momentous moment, just as Hermits Feeling the churning of the Wheel of Fortune, dust to dust Civilisations to ashes and back again, lust to lust I am Hanged Man, forlorn, awaiting the depths of Death Le petit mort, she is Art, and we detect the Devil’s breath As the Tower we’ve built is increasingly charged But is struck down before its height reaches the Star The Tower falls, but the Star is what we soon become As one by one we ascend through Moon and Sun Beyond Judgement, into the vastness of the Aeon She woman, I snake, in the Universe, the garden of Eden And as we come, to the edge of this precipice In one holy moment, I ascend to this reverence For a single macro second of tenderness which stretches and gives me a glimpse of the infinite For this is the portal and all mammalian life was sent from it From this World which is itself a nurturing fertile crescent and Imbued with such a gift, such a beautiful, musical, climactic, dramatic, pageant… How can anyone look at this temple and say that it’s not Magic?