Cryptic Maunderings

[kiya]

It's the tenth of January
And I still ain't had no sleep
She comes waltzing in the nighttime
Made of wings
She is dressed up like a bandit
With a hundred sparkling rings
Looking for my company to keep
Coming closer to me
She doesn't say a word
In the shadow of the carved rock tower
Where the sounds of the night
Were the only things we heard
In my darkest hour . . .

Purity always comes as a shock, the cold water a part of the cleansing, snapping me straight, cleansing away the parts that are forced crooked. Purify me, make me true.

Tonight the sky is dark blue; the moon is bright and clear and full, and the sky is marbled with loose wisps of cloud, making strands of gossamer and pockets of ink. The sight catches me and holds me, and I marble the air of the room upstairs with gossamer coils of incense.

I prayed to Heru and I prayed to Djehwty, and I prayed -- her hands are holding up the skies as I hid my opened eyes -- and it is luminous out there, but . . .

. . . gods, gods, I still ain't had no sleep . . .

Once I knew the luminous darkness, and I was secure there.

Purify me, make me right.