Sari

Daughter of the king (Draupadi),

wife of five brother kings (Panchaali),

mother of five princely heirs,        

Queen of the palace of illusions,

blamed for war, destruction…

No one knows My name, and no one dares to ask.

The story said I was bride betrayed,

paid as a gambling debt,

given for a gang of men to raid.

But My sari proved un-removable, never-ending,

miraculous gift of Krishna, My protector.

I Am Devi, unafraid, bigger than his story!

I don't need miracles to astound the incredulous.

Reality's butterfly emerges from My gossamer cocoon!

My full moon’s rainbow halos My dark moon.

Un-rape-able Virgin, I Am the Source,

One-in-Myself, Giver of All!

I wear the diaphanous aura of luminous holiness.

I enfold you, My rapt and loving children,

with My endless sari of blessings,

impossible to unwrap:

life-giving flowing watersheds,

river of veins flowing life-blood.

I Am Tree of Life, alive within you:

budding, leafy, flowering, seeding.

I embrace you with My seasons, weather,

My streaming rainbow mist,

My swirling breeze,

and monsoon whirling,

My endless cycles renewing,

My endless seamless fabric

of sacred feminine knowing.

Call Me Sari. I Am Devi.

Embrace the reality

of My embracing love that mothers you.

© Tamara Rasmussen 2018