fire and flood,serpent songs,poetical traditions

Well I read poetry all afternoon yesterday and in a great case of synchronicity I was thinking of red,I was writing how he would lead the way in toward poetry and just as I began thinking of him I went to read a poem 'The serpent song' someone posted and it was all about the ouroboros,about Jörmungandr to be exact,the whole thing was about the snake with its tail in its mouth and the want of somebody.I took this as a sure sign I was in the right direction because the number one thing I have always associated with red is the ouroboros.It proves true the Celtic and Norse belief about poetry being prophetic.I have such devotion to the Celtic poetic tradition and to poetry as prophecy.I feel now I have a poem about red,and I started one on him myself,on the certainty of his face,how everyone fell into second place after him,diving like dominoes.

I feel better about this deathly feeling I've been carrying around,I feel like red is in death and will carry me through the low lands and lead me out.I had such a hard time feeling him for ages now that I welcome all this.I hesitated at first because he's a dark entrance,and because I didn't want to let go of others but then I had this dream last night about clearing out the whole house and I was talking about renewal as I went about, seeing things cleared away,so I think change and clearing is very necessary and welcome this new phase.This renewal into better wisdom.I read about death cycles in 'women who run with the wolves' but I didn't feel it till now, I could feel the energy of change the whole week but last night I clung still,not wanting anything to change.I think no one likes change,especially if you're contented and safe but renewal requires a sort of death blow.

Im ready to let go of many things.I also feel alot of chaos energy a desire to let the grass grow long not literally but to keep things wild and I still have this wilderness in me,but feel very limited by so many things.I remember when I was a little girl one of my only memories was me staring everyday at some wild spot in the garden,over grown grass,totally wild that was hedged in by some metal gates I stared at it everyday, it is such a metaphor for our body as dear little prisons of our vivid spirits.I think maybe the spirit is a wild thing,unkept,disorderly,riotous,poetic.Maybe that's just my spirit I think certainly others have quiet and humble spirits.I'm mother chaos,queen of the night but how low hum I feel, so nothing really spins anymore.Not quite dead but definitely not alive through no fault of my own and not for sorrow.I think I will spend most of the morning reading poetry there's nothing I read that moves me or that flows or floods,I feel I have a hundred poems in me that can't get out hopefully this new alignment with what is right for me and a renewal will birth better things.