"Our Lady of the Snow" Print

Under the loving and protective gaze of Our Lady of the Snow

As the ball of red thread unwinds in my hand 

It flows, like blood

It twists and turns, runs and loops

Spirals through time to find those who are called 

It welcomes, accepts and connects us

in love

I am looking up at the mountain 

That gave birth to my people

I am looking up at the Madonna della Neve 

sitting in a cave

She glows from the summit of Mt. Cervati

The sacred mountain of Campania

She shines like the radiant Holy Sun, 

She sparkles like the stars in the night sky

She has always been there.

My little mountain village is built into her foothills, 

Like a rose quartz jewel set into stone cliffs

Overlooking the lush green valley of Diana

My orange tile roofed house is a rippling ruffle in her skirt

Our cobblestone passageways are the ribbons

tied onto her earthen garment

that swishes and sways, this way and that.

In this place I know I am home.

And I know Madonna della Neve has watched over me

across millennia, 

held me in her loving and protective embrace

From a time long before she was called a Madonna, 

before she was known by other names, such as Diana, Ceres or Cybele

Long before she was the deer or the wolf 

or the bear, ancient totems of the Lucana tribe,

the People of the Sacred Wood,

from whom I descend.

Yes, She is so old she was born before the moon

And I have walked with her through time,

through ages, through countless miles

And troubled roads. 

I remember her when she was a white puffy cloud

In the blue blue sky

I remember her when she was the dripping of water

The melting of snow

I remember her when she was the wind, 

a golden eagle soaring on the currents above the mountain

I remember her when she was the oak tree and I was 

an acorn eater who sat at her feet

gobbling sustenance from her generous bounty

I remember when she was the mountain itself

her face made of limestone, 

her body shielded by old growth beech and chestnut

lushly decorated with rose

Under her gaze, I climb down the hand hewn rock stairs carved into the mountain side by Mesolithic shepherds

A steep scala that leads to her long-sacred sanctuary abode

From there I can see the whole world

And I understand my place in it

I know who I am and where I come from

And from whom

And I know what I am called to do

I carry her Holy presence with me everywhere

Like an inner light

I lean on her like a sturdy walking stick, 

She is a resonant whisper in my heart

I have always known her, always felt her

Always loved her

Always been held in her magnanimous grace.

My cells and my blood and my bones are made of her

I am so full of her

I can taste her sweet goodness

Her sweat is like mist, like moist rain 

ever washing my soul

I feel her endless blessings permeate my life

And I pass them on freely

I bow before her 

I hear my beloved ancestors voices in her voice

She is wearing a red cape

Woven of red thread

Spun by ancient hands

On wooden spindles

She has led me to this circle

She has called me by name

She informs all I do

Whoever comes to me, comes through her

This too I know.

And for this I am ever thankful

With humility, reverence and awe, I listen for her direction

I hear it in the rhythm of her heart beat

echoed on the skin of my drum

In its lilting jingle jangles

Her voice sings a melody of love

ever welcoming me home.

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