The Eye of the Coil

We unfold our chairs, And sit in the eye of the coil. The sky is painted with brush-stroked wings, The rings descend like silver stairs, And crystal shards dust the salted soil. The dragon shivers as dusk grows cold, The empress lets her voice take hold, And the dolphin thrashes on the dried lake bed. A whisper stirs at the edge of the thread, Of my awareness, peeking through the door. But I turn it away, Denying more. Yet like a tide that never rests, It gnaws the edges of my tests, Luring my dragon from his post. But little it knows of the unseen host That gathers near in sacred hush, Beings of light the dark can’t crush. They rise like pillars, soft and gold, A tube of ether, strong and bold. I widen its reach, the shadows reel, A magnet’s pull they can’t conceal. But I stand firm, heels in the sand, Unafraid… in wild enchantment. The empress shakes, her voice a tide Of wayward ghosts that won’t subside. So I step forth, and calm the storm: “Grant me permission to transform, To hold them back, to cleanse and send These ones to source, this stream to end.” She moans, then pulls me tight in trust, And I, with will, disperse the dust. But still they hiss, and still they come, Unraveling the matrix, one by one. Her eyes go wide, sunk low with strain, The salt of sorrow, the edge of pain. “I am an antenna!” she cries, aghast. “You are a queen,” I say at last. “Too many tears have stained this shore, But you are so much more.” A weight lifts gently from my chest, My hands, at last, are granted rest. And there, beneath his curtain’s seam, My Dragon smiles, fresh from the dream. He braved the spiral’s darkest ends, And now he sprawls like nothing bends. I meet his gaze, my soul aglow, Then turn again, and let it flow. We return to the heart of the coiled space, She gathers her things, makes plans to erase The echoes that chased her into the deep, But I won’t let her leave without what she came to keep. So I begin to sing… A song in Portuguese, As soft as dusk and strong as seas: “Viver e não ter a vergonha de ser feliz… Cantar, e cantar, e cantar a beleza de ser um eterno aprendiz. Eu sei que a vida devia ser bem melhor e será… Mas isso não impede que eu repita: É bonita, é bonita, e é bonita.” She joins my voice, a trembling chord, And I whisper gently, “There’s no need for more… What heals you now has begun to pour.” I sit in the circle’s sacred core, The beings watching from distant shore, Most at the edges of sight and mind, But smiling still, with joy aligned. The sound arises, raw and rare, Twisting my tongue mid-prayer. I let it spiral, wild and free, A chant that moves beyond just me. And the empress laughs, Madness cracks. She rises… whole. “What did the sun say to the moon?” she grins, A sacred code from ancient sins, A phrase we’d trade when shadows came, To anchor light, to call our name. And I just know… She’s come to stay, To guard the gate and hold the way. She walks the circle like it’s her crown, The world itself must now bow down. And I think, as stars align and gleam: “Sister… finally. We redeem the dream.”