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What if they were to meet
In the cloistered garden, there on Iona,
What would they say to one another?
+    I am the Bride of Christ.
I am the bride of no man.
+    I clothe myself in humility and walk in silence.
I paint my naked body and scream into the wind.
+    I do good works.
I carry a wee knife.
+    I spend most precious hours here among the sacred texts.
I read the ogham of trees, the placement of stars, the auguries of birds.
+    I yearn in passion for the Sacred Heart of Jesus.
I embrace the deep-beating thrum of the stone.
+    I await the soft light of blessedness to imbue me.
I call down the lightning from the dark.
+    I know that I am a child of God.
I am a woman fully grown.
+    My world is within these graceful walls.
My world surrounds yours utterly.
+    I partake of the Body and Blood.
I eat the dripping honeycomb pulled from the hive, the mistletoe pearls cut
in moonlight from the ancient oak.
+    Evening comes; soon bells will ring for prayer in candlelight.
Night comes, stirring the long grass; stars call me to dance among their multitude.
+    I must go in.
I must go out.
+    Farewell, my wild sister.  Go with God.
Fare thee well, Sister.  In Awen we are one.

RoMa Johnson