If you cannot–will not– love her body like one loves a planet, the nebulous mystery of her movement... If from where you stand your view is still too short in sight, in breadth and you can’t yet behold the sheer wonder of her form, if you are not yet ready for a pilgrimage to her mountain, do not begin. Do not begin.
If you have not yet understood how she is mountain– and the valley and the sky you need to breathe, Do not commence. You aren’t ready. Her caves are deep, her well without a bottom, and you can drink– or drown. But cherish her you must.
She must be loved like forest, like an ocean. Like a birthplace. Her body is your journey but smooth and rolling valleys are easy for the loving, and how about her storms? Her hurricanes, her hail? The thousand hissing snakes coming all for you?
You ask to enter the black of her temple– but have you brought devotion, courage to the cave where one speaks with god? Her slopes, her curves–– this is not a conquering but a descent: Her body is a journey, but if you want the sun without her clawing darkness, it isn’t time. It isn't time.
Will you have the patience for her draught? The weeks, the months it takes to make a full stop in her frozen places, kneeling there, pressing your heart into where she is barren? It might be here that you spend a lifetime, touching and praying with ice until she melts in your hands.
There isn’t a safe passage with her, nor a shortcut. If you do not have the rest of your life to get lost on her paths, do not go on! Her body is your home, but only from that day when by surprise– and for your own becoming–you glimpse the universe being her body.
Start then, then begin.
In her body, the whole Earth is waiting for your love again. You have come for this. Go. Risk your life. She will give you the world. . .
. Words Stefana Serafina Art photography by Judy Chicago