The Cauldron of My Creativity

The cauldron of my creativity.
Open. Vast. Even a bit frightening.
The lifetimes, secrets and power
it embraces
to be offered in sacred quantities
of giving.

The cycle welcoming back into itself
for pleasure and remembrance.

One drop. A tantalizing nectar
of truth that leaves a mild
bitterness on the tongue.
A way to remind us of its
potency; the magic
of its singularity.

One. Only. Yet all.
Ever encompassing itself
as life unfolding as
experience.

The cauldron, rich with
possibility, expects nothing.
The illusion is we must put
something in. We must add,
mix, and stir the perfect
selection of ingredients.
There must be effort,
thought, planning.

But the cauldron needs not.
She is the container and
the contents, fully
capable of an
alchemy beyond
practical.
Her mystery is known only
to her, yet each of
us was born from it.

A creation that is singular,
tethered and All That Is
unto itself outside
the cauldron.

Existence is witnessing.
We must witness to remember.
No eyes, no mind,
no knowing of anything at all.
Breathing in. Breathing out.
Allowing the cauldron of creativity
to alchemize her magic
as we witness her manifestations.
Trusting in the truth of creation,
opening our hearts to
remember the joy of it all.
​
Why not welcome the joy
of her exquisite alchemy?

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