A warm wet cave
Provides a snug,
A shelter from the storm
It is oh so cozy
No need to fret here
Hearing the reassuring thump thump thump
Of pulsing capillary-rich beltways
Saturated with hormones, giving
That no harm can come here.
The rutted path leading to Soul’s Womb
Word has spread far and wide
On the neuronal network
That The Womb is
Impregnable. No sense trying to breach.
Lush, fragrant flora invoke
Meditative states with one
Inhale and one exhale
La vida harmonium,
Twixty midzillia have passed,
The Womb intact,
Ready to take on another twixty midzillia.
I, who have worn the rut to a
Shaded roofless corridor
A few midzillia ago,
Seldom go out these days
Why squirm out to awkwardness and pain
When cozed in perpetual comfort?
Is such Peace the reason The Womb exists?
Quantum ecology says this is not the case.
Like Trees sending taproot tendrils to find symbiotic fungi,
We need to travel to facilitate our successful Incubation.
Soul’s Womb will always be there
Waiting, when it is time to lick wounds
When whelms get overed
When wound up needs unraveling
It’s ok if daisies spring up on the untrodden path
You know the way there blindfolded.
Go out and do as you do or don’t
They say once you’ve crawled from the cocoon
There is no crawling back in.
They are wrong.
You and all of this, that, and the other from then
Have been woven into the walls
Of Soul’s Womb, forevermore.