J. Krishnamurti…

Obviously there must be passion, and the question is how to revive that passion. Do not let us misunderstand each other. I mean passion in every sense, not merely sexual passion, which is a very small thing. And most of us are satisfied with that because every other passion has been destroyed-in the office, in the factory, through following a certain job, routine, learning techniques- so there is no passion left; there is no creative sense of urgency and release. Therefore sex becomes important to us, and there we get lost in petty passion which becomes an enormous problem to the narrow, virtuous mind, or else it soon becomes a habit and dies. I am using the word passion as a total thing. A passionate man who feels strongly is not satisfied merely with some little job, whether it be the job of a prime minister, or of a cook, or what you will. A mind that is passionate is inquiring, searching, looking, asking, demanding, not merely trying to find for its discontent some object in which it can fulfill itself and go to sleep. A passionate mind is groping, seeking, breaking through, not accepting any tradition; it is not a decided mind, not a mind that has arrived, but it is a young mind that is ever arriving. ~~ The Book of Life

I walk to the beat
Of The Goddess’s drum,
I sing her ancient song;
I call out her name
But, she already knows mine.
I am her sister,
I am her daughter,
She is crone,
I am apprentice.
I feel her heartbeat
In every beat my heart takes;
She speaks to me in my sleep,
She speaks to me when I am awake.
I follow closely in her footsteps
I learn my lessons well;
I have claimed myself as part of her
And she as part of me. 
She listens quietly
When I cry out in pain;
She wisely heals my ills.
She gives me hope 
By her very purpose
Takes me back where I come from.
I walk to the beat
Of the Goddess’s drum,
I sing her ancient song.
She fills me with her many gifts;
I bless her with my love,
Devotion pure, divine and boundless
For she there is no less.
I am her sister,
I am her daughter,
She is crone,
I am apprentice.
I claim her wisdom 
As part of mine,
I share her with my sisters;
For she exists in every woman
Who hears the call of their name;
From hidden place
Thought long lost,
She rises like the sun.
It is the Goddess
In every woman,
Who walks to the beat
Of her drum.

c. Pamela J. Leavey 1997

(Inspired by: When the Drummers Were Women, by, Layne Redmond)