The Ecstatic Lament of the Shepherd

There is a time, out in the pasture,

(maybe dusk, maybe dawn,

one can’t be sure)

when the tide of this world goes out

and the Other-world washes in like a wave,

lapping rhythmically at the Shepherd’s feet.

Immersed in a green trance

she sees her soul shining back

in a single sheep’s eye.

With a Delphic smile

she remembers humankind is not the true shepherd,

but it is us—clan-hungry, earth-bound—

who become part of the flock that we tend.

transcending the boundaries of species

finding what is called ‘mammalian resonance.’

As we tend our sheep, it is our hearts and minds that are tended in return

like children dozing to an ancient lullaby.

For a time, inverting roles

Mother Earth submits herself to the shepherd.

Her rocks become bones and hooves,

her soil becomes wool and flesh,

her water becomes blood.

And for a time, we protect her

—the Dark Mother with her life-extinguishing embrace—

now she is the lamb.

She allows us to hold her

and our hearts break daily because we must slay what we love

while the Great Mother seems do to it with such ease.

For a short time

When we are shepherds

She gives us the great gift

of imitating her.