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Thursday, November 17

The Cosmic Plight of The Bag Lady

Our Mother, the Bag Lady

The wrinked hose,
The run-down shoes,
the rose upon her hat....
There she was, I watched her,
As on the beach she sat.

Her world she carried in her bags
That she'd placed by her side......

Mountains high and valleys low
And seas with scudding tide.

I swear I heard the sea's roar
And smelled the forests green.
I felt the wind's chill;
I saw the snow;
Then knew that I'd been seen.
She looked at me with dark, mad eyes;
I knew not what to say
To displaced,
Dishonered Gaia.
She got up and moved away.

The social problem of the bag lady will not improve if it is ignored This is true on both the inner and outer levels. Whether we admit it or not, the fear of being abandoned and homeless--becoming the bag lady on the streets----lurks as an unconscious fear in most of us. Although few will admit it. Unless we face this fear, we will be unable to transform it either in our individual lives or in society. We have to learn to care for her in all her feminine forms, whether she is the isolated bag lady on the streets, the neglected Bag Lady in ourselves, or the very abused Mother Earth on which we live. Sistahs, can I get an Amen?

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