3
" I stand in my own power now, the questions of permission that I used to choke on for my every meal now dead in a fallen heap, and when they tell me that I will fall, I nod. I will fall, I reply, and
my words are a whisper
my words are a howl
I will fall , I say, and the tumbling will be all my own. The skinned palms and oozing knees are holy wounds, stigmata of my She.
I will catch my own spilled blood, and not a drop will be wasted. "
― Beth Morey , Night Cycles: Poetry for a Dark Night of the Soul
5
" I hear talk of that slippery slope, and my heart catches for a beat. But there is the musky truth I'm standing in that I can't deny, and it tastes of so much holy. That old way, the narrow line, I see now that was a slippery, saccharine surface where my soul could gain no purchase. For the first time, my feet feel sure beneath me, and that sense is twining its way up from my ankles, racing toward my knees, my thighs, my secret places, my heart. It's in my blood now, and I can't deny it. I can't deny it.
I open my eyes, because I could see even through my clutched-closed lids that the darkness is light, that the blindness has given way to searing vision.
I can't deny it. "
― Beth Morey , Night Cycles: Poetry for a Dark Night of the Soul
