Clean (April Challenge 7)

Prompt: A "clean" poem and a"dirty" poem. Either one, or both.

Go to the wind, she said.
Give yourself to the wind.
Let it cradle your face
and stroke your hair.
You will never be free unless
you agree to be cleansed by the wind.

Go next to the sun, she said.
Stand in its incandescent rays
and let those rays pour over you.
All you have gathered
that is not your Self
will wash from you in that stream of radiance.

Turn then, she said, to the river.
Let it speak to you,
let it embrace you.
Surrender to the river.
When it washes you back to the shore
you will feel yourself reborn.

Finally, she said, come to your Mother.
Lie prone upon the naked earth
be it sand or stone or grass or forest floor
and let my beating heart renew you.
Bask in my nurture, feel how solid.
You will emerge cleaner and freer than light.

(I hope to come up with a "dirty" piece before the day's out.)