Deep in the earth the ancient women,
the Mothers, have lived since the sun
rose on humankind, since women
marked the phases of the moon
on cave walls. They meet in a cavern
and dance around a fire, chanting.
They have no need to talk;
each knows the mind of all.
I ask them questions about my life
and their wisdom rises up
through the earth,
speaking to my heart.
Sometimes my hands move
in unfamiliar ways, sweeping outwards
to either side, or pushing forward, palms
held in front of me, or stiff fingers tracing
swirls in the air. The Mothers, I say silently,
The Mothers are dancing.