Pan Gaia

I Am the nine tectonic plates.

I was Pan Gaia till I was broken. 

Earthquake, I encompass separation.

Self-destroyed, I learn to heal Myself.

I will be Gaia Futura, One Healed Earth.

Now I sing "La Cucaracha!

Whose fault is it?" 

I cavort, clown,

around the sombrero of My volcano.

I Am the cockroach who endures,

and who inherits

the divided earth fools have abused.

I could teach you metamorphosis.

When the poles I dance with shift,

Your lives shiver, shake and shatter.

You look away from the mirror of your folly

and see 'evil' in Me. I Am the Beauty

that includes all that you call ugliness.

Your anger that casts blame is a lie

hiding your own faults.

Whose fault is it? It is My fault of course.

The fault always rests in those

who have space within themselves to hold it: 

My Children!  I, Goddess,

have space within to heal all faults.

Dare to care and share!

It is the father-lie that tries to separate

My water, earth, and fire, air

to prison cells of fear and hate.

I who Am Cataclysm, pure Ferocity,

mirror beyond all breaking,

I have no use for that.

There is no healing in it.

My earthquakes will remain!

Your house of cards

will not withstand My dancing.

Wisdom will praise My power

when human folly has subsided

from this frenzy, one way or another.

Defuse confusion.

Cut through the lies that split

truth into hypocrisy, a broken egg stinking.

The fact that destruction exists

is no reason

for human beings to remain

time-bombs ticking.

© Tamara Rasmussen 2018