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MaTrix

Details: Wednesday, 30 November 2022; Written by Eve Moore; Views: 1831

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: 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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