Hıdrellez

Morgonen efter Hıdrellez 2023

Enligt tradition möts Al-Khidr och Elijah under en rosenbuske på natten mellan den 5 och 6 maj varje år. En sammansmältning som välsignar. Några saker att göra för att ta del av välsignelsen: rulla runt i gräset, tvätta dig med nattens dagg eller regn, begrav en önskning vid ett träd eller fäst den vid en rosenbuske och inte minst tänd en eld utom/inom att dansa runt, genom…

Läs mer om helgnatten här:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/H%C4%B1d%C4%B1rellez

I mitt stygnfästade erfarande ser nattens sammansmältning ut så här:

Den anatoliska HÄNLIGHETEN som löper i orden hängivande/hänryckande anländer i sin månbåt och föder fram det blå och det gröna barnet…
den blågröna som leder de oinstruktionsbara …
åter igen, igen åter...

duet i duett:

Plötsliga uppståndelse, plötsliga nåd
du som i tankarnas buskage kastade en eld
Här kommer du nu skrattande likt nyckeln till ett fängelse
                                                                                            Rumi

… åter igen, igen åter: 

Gloria Anzaldúas Letting go

It's not enough

deciding to open.

You must plunge your fingers

into your navel, with your two hands

split open,

spill out the lizards and horned toads

the orchids and the sunflowers,

turn the maze inside out.

Shake it.

Yet, you don't quite empty.

Maybe a green phlegm

hides in your cough.

You may not even know

that it's there until a knot

grows in your throat

and turns into a frog.

It tickles a secret smile

on your palate

full of tiny orgasms.

But sooner or later

it reveals itself.

The green frog indiscreetly croaks.

Everyone looks up.

It's not enough

opening once. 

Again you must plunge your fingers

into your navel with your two hands

rip open

drop out dead rats and cockroaches

spring rain, young ears of corn.

Turn the maze inside out.

Shake it.

This time you must let go.

Meet the dragon's open face

and let the terror swallow you.

- You dissolve in its saliva

- no one recognizes you as a puddle

- no one misses you

- you aren't even remembered

and the maze isn't even

of your own making.

You've crossed over.

And all around you space.

Alone.  With nothingness.

Nobody's going to save you.

No one's going to cut you down,

cut the thorns thick around you.

No one's going to storm

the castle walls nor

kiss awake your birth,

climb down your hair.

nor mount you

on the white steed.

There is no one who

will feed the yearning.

Face it. You will have

to do, do it yourself.

And all around you a vast terrain.

Alone.  With night.

Darkness you must befriend if

you want to sleep nights.

It's not enough

letting go twice, three times.

a hundred.  Soon everything is

dull, unsatisfacrory.

Night's open face

interests you no longer.

And soon, again, you return

to your element and

like a fish to the air

you come to the open

only between breathings.

But already gills

grow on your breasts.

Höst - hänlighetsvältrande språktid

 

THE GODDESS, by Denise Levertov

“She in whose lip service
I passed my time,
whose name I knew, but not her face,
came upon me where I lay in Lie Castle!

Flung me across the room, and
room after room (hitting the wall, re-
bounding—to the last
sticky wall—wrenching away from it
pulled hair out!)
till I lay
outside the outer walls!

There in cold air
lying still where her hand had thrown me,
I tasted the mud that splattered my lips:
the seeds of a forest were in it,
asleep and growing! I tasted
her power!

The silence was answering my silence,
a forest was pushing itself
out of sleep between my submerged fingers.
I bit on a seed and it spoke on my tongue
of day that shone already among the stars
in the water-mirror of low ground,

and a wind rising ruffled the lights:
she passed near me in returning from the encounter,
she who plucked me from the close rooms,

without whom nothing
flowers, fruits, sleeps in season,
without whom nothing
speaks in its own tongue, but returns
lie for lie!”

Ur samma blodomlopp där Levertovs ordkroppar flyter:

By the rivers dark
Where I could not see
Who was waiting there
Who was hunting me.

And he cut my lip
And he cut my heart.
So I could not drink
From the river dark.

And he covered me,
And I saw within,
My lawless heart
And my wedding ring
                                                  L. Cohen