Still, I Rise

[Zephonith Serpent Woman]

Still I Rise

by Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise

I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise

Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

The Scarlet Women (The Beloved Ones)

Star Fire was the lunar essence of the Goddess, but, even in an everyday mundane environment, menstruum contains the most valuable endocrinal secretions, especially those of the pineal and pituitary glands. The brain’s pineal gland in particular was directly associated with the Tree of Life, for this tiny gland was said to secret the very essence of active longevity, called soma, or, as the Greeks called it, ambrosia.

In mystic circles, the menstrual ’flow-er’ (’she who flows’) has long been the designated ’flower’ and is represented as a lily or a lotus. Indeed, the definition ’flow-er’ is the very root of our modern word ’flower’. In ancient Sumer, the key females of the Dragon succession were all venerated as lilies, having such names as Lili, Luluwa, Lilith, Lilutu and Lillette.

The ’Scarlet Women’ were so called because of their being a direct source of the priestly Star Fire. They were known in Greek as the Hierodulai (’Sacred Women’) - a word later transformed (via mediaeval French into English) to ’harlot’. In the early Germanic tongue, they were known as Horés - which was later Anglicised to ’whores’. However, the word originally meant, quite simply, ’Beloved Ones’.

As pointed out in good etymological dictionaries, these words were descriptions of high veneration and were never interchangeable with such words as ’prostitute’ or ’adulteress’. Their now common association was, in fact, a wholly contrived strategy of the medieval Roman Church in its bid to denigrate the noble status of the sacred priestess.

The withdrawal of knowledge of the genuine Star Fire tradition from the public domain occurred when the science of the early adepts and later Gnostics (the true pre-Christian Christians) was stifled by the forgers of historic Christianity. A certain amount of the original gnosis (or knowledge) is preserved in Talmudic and rabbinical lore, but, generally speaking, the mainstream Jews and Christians did all in their power to distort and destroy all traces of the ancient art.

In addition to being the ’Gold of the Gods’, the Anunnaki menstruum was also called the ’Vehicle of Light’, being the ultimate source of manifestation, and in this regard it was directly equated with the mystical ’Waters of Creation’ - the flow of eternal wisdom. It was for this reason that the Rosi-Crucis (the Dew Cup, or Cup of the Waters identified as a red cross within a circle) became the Mark of Cain, and the subsequent emblem of the kingly succession.

[Zephonith Serpent Woman]

Men

When I was young, I used to

Watch behind the curtains

As men walked up and down the street.Wino men, old men.

Young men sharp as mustard.

See them. Men are always

Going somewhere.

They knew I was there. Fifteen

Years old and starving for them.

Under my window, they would pauses,

Their shoulders high like the

Breasts of a young girl,

Jacket tails slapping over Those behinds,

Men.

One day they hold you in the

Palms of their hands, gentle, as if you

Were the last raw egg in the world. Then

They tighten up. Just a little.The

First squeeze is nice. A quick hug.

Soft into your defenselessness. A little

More. The hurt begins. Wrench out a

Smile that slides around the fear. When the

Air disappears,

Your mind pops, exploding fiercely, briefly,

Like the head of a kitchen match. Shattered.

It is your juice

That runs down their legs. Staining their shoes.

When the earth rights itself again,

And taste tries to return to the tongue,

Your body has slammed shut. Forever.

No keys exist.

Then the window draws full upon

Your mind. There, just beyond

The sway of curtains, men walk.

Knowing something.

Going someplace.

But this time, I will simply

Stand and watch.

Maybe.

Maya Angelou

[Zephonith Serpent Woman]

Hi, Maryrose, you are welcome ~ so, I posted another of Maya Angelou's poems!

BB

[L. Love]

Wonderful poems dearest.....thank you for sharing :)