She tore off her skin
Spun it out to a thread of black
Hewn with moonlight
Began to stitch
The severed parts together
Her skin, now pink, seeping,
No longer contains her matter
The wet weeping, bleeding birthing
Cocoons her silver suture.
Threaded with medicinal intent
The Dakini’s needle pierces the night’s cloth
In sharp flight, she executes her mercifying nightwork
performs the repetitive servitude
Of suturing
silken dreams to its dreamer
the living to the dead
the past to the future
the he to the she.
The me to the we.
The Tibetan word for dakini, khandro, means “sky-goer” or “space-dancer,” which indicates that these ethereal awakened ones have left the confinements of solid earth and have the vastness of open space to play in. Direct, sharply intelligent, radical, and courageous.
The Ebony Tower 