Two of Textiles

Living at the edge of potential, a
Swath of clean, white cloth wraps
Two lovers together establishing the
Connection that is no longer obvious.
Otherwise, separated by the manifest
World into independence that hasn’t
Entirely materialized yet, these two
See their own worlds and only live by
The assumption that they share it.
Constantly surprised by the limitation of
Identity, they seek establishment of
Other self-made boundaries, uniforms and
Knot-tying to create dominion over
A world filled with acceptable flags.

copyright (c) Amanda Morris Johnson

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Gift of Textiles

When I recognize the gift the spider gives
As she walks on air, teaching me many valuable
Lessons like how to make a robe of gossamer gold
And hang a tale on a tree with jagged
Angles that slow down the universe to paying
Attention to its spinning from her center.
This threading together, observed for eons,
Is more important than my fear of the way She
Moves and the way She sees me with her eights.
If I draw back from her, too, then I fail to
Notice her fine fur and courage of her size.
Gifts and fear don’t go together well, and so
I concentrate on her gifts and wonder at the
Reach of the dewy lace divine that I might give.

Arcanum Twenty-One

Just when I think I’ve learned it all, there
Begins a new cabeceo, a flirtation from the
Universe to dance again. Changed, I feel free
As Fools will do. Everything in realignment
With my true will, I am inclined to take
A victory tango around the ballroom.
The twinkling lights this time are stars.

Now, as I round the spiral staircase of my own
DNA, I find fewer tar sands, smaller shadows on
The squeaky stairs that used to hang me up.
Trusting even when I find there are lead layers yet
To strip away, stronger lights needed, that
Moving up the stairs with just found confidence
Improves my chances for a sweet moment on the floor.

This is good, and without fraction. Wholeness
Becomes so precious that discovering it, I
Defend my nudity now, and expand resistance to
Hiding out in those masquerades that were
Foisted on me so arbitrarily. In the arms of a sure
Dancer, myself, there is an arranged potential to
Improvise the steps and that makes living audacious.

copyright © 2012 Amanda Morris Johnson

Arcanum Twenty

Once self-acceptance has rooted itself
There are consequences to the branches.
I see the shifting paradigm of growth now
Wrap itself around this knowing mirror
Of Venus that has gone from mere vanity
And obsession, to understanding my innate
Value. I wake up to all of life and the fact

That a presence in me holds out for this reach
And already forgives me though I am no dog
Pissing on my personal tree. Ownership is a
Transgression I can only allow my will, but maybe
It is now possible to hand over the prism I looked
Through for so long. I can’t blame anyone for
Authority to train me, and now I am choiceless

In the discernment of time passing I, with you,
Share, and I know my duty to fulfill the purpose
I’ve suddenly discovered, to answer the shofar,
The call to live fully resolved and reassembled. I
Remember my name is written in the book of life
Forever. The hourglass, the sundial, the gray
Hairs on my head cannot interrupt my patience.

copyright © 2012 Amanda Morris Johnson

Arcanum Nineteen

Reborn, ever and ever, the sun out of
Dullness, I am the child of inner parents
Ready to love themselves, and I appreciate
This birth, reserved for disciples of
Hastened ends, resulting in an initiation of
Flight for a Phoenix, a ride on the Lion,
Hearing the wisdom of the Crow, owning

Dear innocence at the center of each being
My sources and interpretations mingle as a
Murmuration of starlings, the sunflowers ever
Facing the light. Yes, the progress of butterflies –
Their wings generating storms transforming
The known universe or the painter’s hand brushing
With trust for a destination only hands know.

Of my mistakes that turn out to be the
unexpected prodigal road home to that place
Where abiding joy is, where the unspoken truth
Lays bare to our souls and all that is left
Is a great and warm homecoming, a celebration
Of all that we have been, and now can
Become in the radiance of due life.

Copyright © 2012 Amanda Morris Johnson

Arcanum Eighteen

A stone in the heavens, moon dances with earth’s
Swaying tides, inextricable from shared journey.
Delicious stirring of all alchemical elements,
Languidly creating and I partake gracefully
In those rhythms beyond, become cooperative as a swan.
My life inclined now to change. My gut feeling is
To trust this, in spite of obvious lunacy.

I set off on this new journey with dark acceptance.
Waters of reflection are, of course, plain to me.
But the tender moonlight pulls something darker in
The muck, through sexual innuendo and determined
Hints of what I cannot hope to control. When I
Give into the nature of myself and see innate
Honesty in my expressions gliding up there on

The surface, I am not fooled by light, to be fair,
The story. I dive into the murky unknown, and
begin to understand my unity with more than waves.
Still vented, no matter my attempts to hide,
Forces courageous flight on night’s map of myself.
Though, it is not peace I imagined, the flower bloom.
There is more to integrity than meets the eye.

copyright © 2013 Amanda Morris Johnson

Arcanum Sixteen

Let me not mince words here because I need
To understand that I wanted to blow this shit up,
And I can’t afford anymore illusions about
Who or what has occurred. I have been screwed
By the idea of my innocence until I was thrown
Into a veritable volcano, not to prevent
Eruption but to encourage the Terra forming

To follow. I want to wipe out the path to
The future that I was planning based on
Faith in falsities until the stones there
Are new again. It’s simply not enough to
Move forward into the vision that could be
Genuinely harmonious, if I leave in place
Beliefs that will sabotage the future as much

As they did the past. I’m unwilling to sit in
The ashes of my failure and boo-hoo over the
Loss of dreams. Rather I would grow wings
In this fall, accept the challenges as life
Gets harder on my advance. I may be scorched
But I’ve already faced death and so I blaze
With glory, and say, “Bring it on!”

copyright (c) 2012 Amanda Morris Johnson

Arcanum Fifteen

Haughtily and cruelly stripped down from the
Most righteous creature, the Devil celebrates
And encourages any Fool to confess her bonds.
Together, we roll in them with a derisive
Chuckle, and exchange our sexy smiles, but in
My confusion, I’m unable to finger exactly
What happened to turn my world into a dungeon

Of delights, and I’m hip to the fact that
Struggling to get out will only make the
Ropes tighter. Thus, I submit to this infliction
Because I believe I need the well-deserved lesson.
Making sense of all the choices I made to avoid
My own power by identifying with artifice and
Artifact rather than this soul now trapped,

This has become my mission, and when I finally
Have it in hand then I will need no Alexander
To cut through these knots. What I get is
That hiding in what was inculcated so long ago,
Is worse than any whip the She-Devil can produce.
I spin on the coin I was trained on and until
I feel the pain of walking on broken glass shells.

copyright (c) 2012 Amanda Morris Johnson

Arcanum Seventeen

After my trials and fierce battles with
World and will, I find myself floating
On healing waters, gazing up at our dear
Milky Way through the atmosphere that
Makes the earth a miracle. Blessed is the
Earth, the water, and even me in these
Moments of the grace I cannot grasp at

No matter how I have tried. Somehow it
Simply happens, this brief respite in my
Drive to comprehend some meaning from my
Effort. To nurse from an ever-loving Mother’s
Breast, and feel the endless flow of care
Nurtures my spirit to evolvement, and I
Know restoration is allowed now, along the way,

Because I stand my ground in honesty that
Cannot be shut down or hidden anymore. I
Find myself wrapped in love from moment to
Moment, and understand that like grace, hope
Is not of this world but can be granted from
Beyond if I can simply bow my head and receive,
graciously accepting this rise from my naked soul.

copyright (c) 2012 Amanda Morris Johnson