by Annelinde Metzner
Stepping slowly around the Medicine Wheel, I gaze across,
breathing with each Sister there, my other Selves.
In the East, all wet and newly sprung,
just cracked from the shell in dewy wonder,
I gaze across the wheel: myself in the West.
How can it be? She knows so much,
too much, maybe, of self hurt and other’s hurt,
unexpected turns, no hope, no help, the darkness.
In the South, from my place of staunch will and fiery passion,
I gaze across the wheel: myself in the North.
Can this be me? I am cool, analytical,
I’ve learned something, I see two sides,
I weigh, I discern, I know.
My wisdom cools my ardor and gives me choice.
In the West, place of Death, place of the deep sea of fears,
the lurking shadows, weariness, pain and loss,
I gaze across the wheel: myself in the East.
Baby girl child, wide-eyed with wonder, fresh.
How I love this girl, as I stand in my pain,
reliving Her, being Her, child Self!
In the North, cool abode of wisdom, hard-earned knowledge, awareness,
I gaze across the wheel: myself in the South.
How I love that dynamo, the me that demands, the fiery one, the sure one,
stirring up the world, her cauldron, sure of right from wrong.
How I love that woman of passion.
Stepping slowly around the Wheel,
how I love each Self there,
my other Me,
each Sister on the other side,
played out each day in my one soul.
We reach for each other, Sisters all,
me and me, and me and me,
and make one whole.