SUNDAY NAKED MARKET DAY SEPTEMBER 2010

“Sunday Naked Market Day,” says Mike.

Carole draws a sketch of my bag.

Wild wind has blown all the tent-tops away.

Still, the vegetables and their hand scrawled signs stand up

And call out, in their goodness, “buy me, no spray.”

Spiritual organic church, the faithful gather to buy and sell this fuel.

My prayer today is to be well and happy in my chosen space.

The blessing for me, borne upon the wind,

Was of a different kind.

The gift of meeting, once again, with delightful Annie

Lost was I in my own imagination,

Having just secured, straight from the oven,

Sweetly hot sultana laden,

Swirling soft, light whirlpool buns.

Concentrating upon my white paper bag,

Heat generating through to my chest,

Sitting down on a blue milk carton seat.

I gaze ahead and see an elegant woman,

Encased in a grey shawl that highlighted silver immaculate hair.

Slowly the fog lifts from my mind.

This is my friend from far away time, who is always near, inside my mind.

She is a healer, a wise woman, and here she sits on a red milk crate

As if it was a throne.

I feel her goddess power flow out to touch the wind.

My spirit rejoices with this reunion.

We speak and touch on mysteries but this is not the time and place.

Wind is too willful so we scatter, to shelter from the oncoming storm.