Inchworm

In the meadow near the woods, 
lungs full of the ancient air,
come so far, 
scent of strawberries,
my heart seems to twist a little, 
warming with love.
I sit here, beside Her, 
my spirit an inchworm on the ground,
making obeisance, 
praying all day.
Blooms of rhododendron, just emerging,
all new, sticky with pink newness, 
I adore you.
Wide-roofed mushroom, 
new today after yesterday’s long rain, 
I adore you.
What else is there to do?
I sit near the woods in the birdsong and the wind,
joyfully adoring You.


Annelinde Metzner
Sacred Mound
June 21, 2011

The world opened

Mountain Laurel blooming

I was five when,
riding a country road in the family Ford,
I exclaimed with surprise and delight
and Dad stopped the car.
The laurel was blooming!
Throwing the car door open,
my parents solicitous of me,
I climbed a bank as close as I could
and gazed within the blossom.
The ten-sided blooms,
deep pink turning to white as they opened,
drew me into their world.
As the petals widened,
releasing their power to the wind
and the pollinators,
the one bloom made, not a world,
but a universe.
My five-year-old self
gazed into this tiny mandala
of white touched with magenta.
I rejoiced in Her being,
the laurel somehow freeing me,
calling to me, “Remember!
Here in my petaled calyx
is the beauty for which you were born!”
Mom and Dad called me back to the car,
and we went on our way,
forever changed.

Annelinde Metzner
May 23, 2015

The Shaman Visits

Ancient woman shaman from Manchuria

I lie in my bed, feet-to-the-head,
window wide open to the May breeze and birdsong.
The shaman has come to heal me!
Three candles on all sides,
the sharp aroma of Palo Santo incense piercing the air.
She shows me the magical items
in her sacred prayer bundle.
Stones, animal figurines, the jaguar and the snake,
a tiny drop of blood.
“Which stone speaks to you?” she asks me.
I choose the one with inscriptions, layers and depth.
“Let the stone absorb all your pain.”  I do.
The shaman moves around me, singing prayers,
shaking the carved Amazonian rattle.
The sharp, high sound cleanses the air all around.
I close my eyes and am at peace.
Slowly she moves up the center of my body,
testing me with the pendulum.  Hardly any motion.
She passes over my body with her hands,
her warm belly pressed against my side.
I release my fears into the Mother, into Pacha Mama,
into millennia of healing women,
the warmth of Her body held close to mine,
succor and comfort and clarity.
This healing is simple, a fact of human life,
the legacy of our bodies.
Slowly she moves her hands from my head to my feet,
intuitively pulling out this and that,
blockages and negativity and fear.
Once more, the high-pitched hiss of the shaker.
Again the pendulum, and, lo and behold!
Each chakra has movement,
a gigantic “Yes!”,  the glow of life.
“Tonight this will all begin to move,” she says,
“the path of healing.”
She comes to my side to pray to Pacha Mama once more.
“Now She will mulch you” she says softly.
With her two strong hands under my body,
I feel like an offering to Her, to our Mother,
and I’m good with that!
It’s Mother’s Day, and I am here,
my life is this gift, and this Shaman’s hands,
supporting me, offering me in this ancient way.
I’m suspended in the Mother’s hands
and I give thanks.





Annelinde Metzner
May 10, 2015


On Mother's Day of this year, I was gifted with a wonderful healing by the Ecuadorian shaman, Sylvia Ponce.  Right in my own home as she was visiting!   It was a truly healing, supportive and loving experience as described here.  See photo below of Sylvia and my dear friend Consuelo Nino.

Sylvia and Consuelo

Tuvan shaman