The power of the eagle

Is the power of the mother.


Old Grandmother,

You are not immune.

Though your teats

Rest wrinkled by time

Still once you suckled young

And still that juice remains

Flowing beneficence

Milk of the planet

Now channeled to feed a new age.


Young mother,

You are not exempt.

Though babes clutch

And cry at your skirts

You may offer them milk

Of the old ways

Or new milk to suckle.

Never doubt you are



Small maid,

You are not excluded

For that your blood

Has never run its course.

Rather, you are required

To sit

At the feet of wise women teachers

And to choose your way:

To walk the old soft path

Or tread the new stars.

Choose wisely—

Much will depend upon it.

This entry was posted in Poems From the Meditation Space, The Eagle Project and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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