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MaTrix

MaTrix

MaTrix

It is a female word.
 
A late Middle English reflection
of a womb-like structure
upon which life holds
itself, and dresses.
 
From Latin:
breeding female;
later: womb, from
‘mater,' mother.
 
“-Trix' in legal terms is
a suffix that forms the
“feminine” agent nouns
that correspond to the
masculine nouns 
ending in -tor.
 
Executrix.
Executor.
 
Matrix.
 
It is the grail.
The holder of the
elemental fluids  
taking form. 
 
If briefly.
 
In some manner.
 
A manner,
heretofore, too
mysterious to
be trusted.
 
Somewhere 
along the way
the pulsing dark 
of ever possible,
birthing stars and 
planets, persons, 
just so, spinning 
worlds, bearing 
suns seemed
too … feral.
 
Too fertile 
to be left 
native,
wild.
 
Better to
domesticate
this nature.
 
And so it has been 
tamed, made less
powerful so as 
to control it,
restrain it.
 
Bind it.
 
Synonymous 
with a cleaving of
its wholeness, a
sundering of its
complementary
parts so that
it might rule
the unruly
parts of
a new
sum.
 
Patriarchy
taking over
the role of
the dark 
without
the light
of stars.
 
Creating an objective,
outer world in opposition 
to a subjective world 
lived from within.
 
A tearing away of the 
internal forces of holding,
to an externalized notion of
possessing, occupying, 
capturing, containing.
 
Dominating.
 
The former holds
with an open hand,
the latter, closed;
a grasping, a fist.
 
Both extremes
dwell within our
experience as
structure,
framing,
upon which, 
within which,
we organize the
perceptions our 
realities bring
to life.
 
A living structure,
never meant to be 
concretized, hardened,
forced into any
fixed shape.
 
For all shape
is ever and
only shifting.
 
Still, it appears
to take shape,
to spin round, 
to spiral.
 
However
one-sided
its axial 
rule.
 
So we dig
deeper.
 
Here are directions,
holding a spectrum
of organization that
potential rises from.
 
Wild and uncharted.
 
Dynamic.
 
We are learning to
see the spectrum, 
not just the ends of
the axis of rotation
wherein life is lived
on this clay plane
baked, hardened.
 
Not just female.
Not just male.
 
Negative, positive,
good, bad, 
and on.
 
Opposable thumbs
do not confer
opposition,
we’re seeing.
 
However slowly.
 
This is the course
in duality we enrolled 
to comprehend. 
To experience, 
immerse our
selves in, to
integrate.
 
Evolve.
 
Granular, the scale 
and detail present 
in its projections.
 
Our perceptions.
Impressions.
 
Interpretations.
 
Animations
drawn to life.
Breath by breath,
thought upon 
thought.
 
So that we 
might see.
Clearly. 
Openly.
 
The dimensions
that await our
fifth eye, our
second sight.
 
The inclusive
universality
of life.
 
Our insight
bringing us
to our knees
where we
feel our
weight.
 
Our discomfort.
Our need for
balance.
 
Our need for
color other than
black or white,
none or 
all.
 
Far
beyond
grey.
 
On our knees
again and again
so that we might divine
what is right in front
of our eyes: 
 
ALL that is.
 
Construct
is a verb.
It is oft
used as
a noun.
 
A small
but significant
misdirection.
 
We are a 
surrounding.
 
Spiraling round
a core we
cannot
fathom.
 
A rhythm 
in perpetual
motion.
 
We can 
see starlight
in this dark.
 
We cannot
see the infinitude
of these stars' 
constant
motion.
 
Three norths
have converged
near the Jurassic
coast of England:
true, magnetic,
and grid north.
 
A perfect alignment.
 
A never before
coordination
of earth grid
coordinates,
in British 
mapping
history.
 
Gaia lives.
 
Teaches.
 
Our compass
is not to be found 
outside of us.
 
Our coherence
not to be met 
out there.
 
No, it is
an internal
reckoning.
Fine hairs of 
inner ears
tuned.
 
A twining
round of our
strands, so
frayed by
misuse.
 
We can
know we
are home,
wherever
we are.
 
All we need 
do is feel for
its pulse.
 
It is written
in braille.
 
It lives in
the dark of 
as yet, the 
pupils of
synapse.
 
Ranges of
color held in 
the buried
treasure
of our
imagining.
 
It is the 
heartbeat
of the womb
of worlds.
 
The cradle
we rise
from...
 
anon.

∞/∞

Eve Moore ©2022

© Photo: mother quartz, Eve Moore


Eve Moore: Once a professional writer of advertising, I saw the light & it has shown me words of a different nature. And so I take them down & offer them up. And all is well. 

For more of Eve Moore's amazing and heart centered poetry and writings, click here! 
http://www.crystalwind.ca/eve-moore

“When the power of love overcomes the love of power, the world will know peace.”
—Jimi Hendrix

This poem/prose was submitted exclusively to CrystalWind.ca by Eve Moore.

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