Chartres

Photograph (c) 2013 KK 

Great winds of the great goddess

whistle around the cathedral.

Inside, the priests have tried to hide

her circuitous path with chairs.

We sweep them aside,

wind through the labyrinth.

Sister, father, walk the eleven circuits with me,

one gone six weeks, the other seven years.

We curve through her four-chambered heart,

drink from the sacred grail at her core.

(With gratitude to Jeannette Hermann and Lauren Artress)

Snail

I am a snail

who carries the labyrinth

of this city in my soul.

My soul is a labyrinth

I’ve journeyed to the core.

I’ve heard the twelve voices

turn to colors,

form petals

of the radial flower.

I was born slow.

I turned deep.

I begin to blossom.

Once in a while our posts will turn to our personal myth, the fruit of a years-long vision quest. What does this have to do with life in Paris? You’ll see!