Warrior Woman

I am the martyr. I stayed in the flames of the dying Earth. I couldn't see whether it was war or cosmic accident, but it was coming from above--the heat! Bartholomew stood behind me, he who was stripped of his very skin while he lived and breathed, he who could identify someone who was with God by a single look.

I am the martyr, who holds the information. A seed. A cosmic filter of what needs to die, what needs to live, and what needs to be transformed.

I am the martyr, who knows the pain of every living thing on the planet.

I am the martyr who breathes life into each space I enter. Who harvested life from a now dead world. The portal of a macrocosm into microcosms which will build the new world.

I am the martyr who holds hands with countless ancestral warriors, dissolving vitriol and violence in this physical existence, by simply standing in that knowing. I hold the gift of pattern interruption, because I know where the violence led to in the past. I sneak into your camp to leave a gift, as if to say, "if I wanted to, I could have killed you in your sleep. But take this gift, you need it."

How I identify my power is important. I pulled out from the socio-economic system to observe these energetic gifts and discern how to place this energy. I truly get to choose. Power is both incredibly lonely and joyfully generous.