The Goddess Wears Black/Let Go or Be Dragged

The Goddess wears black, and gold, and pink, and red.  She wears pelts and jewels and her own flesh and hair in the sun.  She struts, saunters, sashays, skips, and slithers.  Have you felt her?  Have you felt her inhabit you and alive you?

When?

And when did she fade?  And when did she flourish?  And what are the ingredients for keeping her fed and happy and favoring this body, this small life of mine, so I can serve her, bow at her feet in service in expression in allowing, surrendering to the beauty of no longer pretending I know anything about anything but this:  I am her tool, her toy, her puppet, her avatar.  On a good day.  Let go or be dragged.  I’m gonna keep going.