Poem: Weary


Some days I rest

my weary thoughts

upon the gentle sea

the blue green beauty 

 beckons with her waves 

and reaches out to me

I cast them far

into the depths

where they rock beneath the tide

it’s quiet below 

and dark with fish

that watch my troubles sink

they grab them in their mouths

and take them off to hide 

So now they are far below 

beneath the heavy waves

my sorrow and my shattered pain 

tossed in wind swept freedom 

and caught by Mother’s womb

to die within her grave 

The Pot Of Gold 


Any time seeing a rainbow it’s easy to understand why there are so many stories, songs and symbolism surrounding them. They are one of nature’s magical gifts. 

Created from juxtaposed light and the moisture after a storm, they seem to be the perfect example of yin and yang. One of those beautiful moments in time where it takes two almost opposing situations to produce utter perfection. 

Humans would be hard pressed to make this miracle. So instead we are in awe. Rainbows hold an almost mystical power over us. Appearing suddenly out of nowhere; gracing the sky with a blaze of color, then disappearing like a ghost. 

What did cave men think upon seeing this strange ribbon in the sky? Was it like an eclipse–the stuff of nightmares? Or were they too mesmerized by the apparition ? Maybe this is where the stirring of something greater than us began…

A rainbow can change a mood, bring joy when sadness was lurking. A rainy day will grab a slip of light and give birth to this arc of colors. If you catch it, are lucky enough as those molecules become prisms of red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet…then you really have found the pot of gold. 

The Music Of The Universe


Lately, in keeping with all the inner work I’ve been doing and with the great changes coming out of the last few years of my life, it has naturally moved me back to the more spiritual side of myself. In my past, the spiritual plane was almost equal to the plane in which I lived on a daily ‘normal’ basis. This meant I often felt very in tune with so much more around me and on a much deeper level: people, animals, the natural landscape and of course: the mystical.

Then, the course of my life got in the way, and this beautiful and magical part of my life slipped away  without me really noticing. The spiritual habits that I had practiced left me; all the ‘unexplained coincidences’ that would so often pop up joyfully in my life seemed to disappear and life just became a dull and routine existence.

Like so many of us, the tether to the unknown–to that thing beyond us–(call it what you may), isn’t always there unless you are really looking or open to it. Many just don’t believe, being simply too rooted in reality.

But we all have our own scopes of what reality may be. And I know that my reality had encompassed many things which could not be explained by scientific or simple explanations. You just had to be there to understand. To have faith in the powers and energies that flow. And I did.

So the time has gently begun to seem right, bit by bit, to reemerge within my spiritual self. To put back on my garland crown and flowing robes and step back into the circle once again. And I feel my power returning like an old friend. It was just waiting for my call.

My dreams have been full of visions, visitations and clarity. I use a dream book that I have to help interpret them and I’ve been writing them down in my journal, along with other long and inspired thoughts about my journey.

My interactions with people feel more purposeful and I am often drawn into deep conversations on a sidewalk with neighbors. Seeing people now brings me warmth rather than anxiety and I’m happy to share these moments and feel they are all meaningful.

Most things now feel part of my plan, that I am drawing all things to me. Some days I pick a tarot card to see what it might say, and often it will reflect what I have been feeling during my meditation. That nothing is random: I am creating this reality around me.

It has a been a very long walk to this place of inner peace; to be able to shrug off the demon within each time it threatens to claw its way to the surface. And now that I am dancing on my spiritual path once again, my peace is sweeter: for finally  I can hear the music of the Universe with my whole soul.

Benches


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As she sat quietly on the bench, she recalled so many times of reflection. Times of stopping, of sitting still to breathe and think of her life. It wasn’t always easy to create these moments, to stop the moving train that was her life, long enough, to simply see what was around her.

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These benches were everywhere. Even if people were around, they could cradle her; let her thoughts roll through her mind, easing the turbulence with the help of the surrounding landscape. They were guardians, givers and saviors.

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Sometimes she would be present, sometimes drift off to another place.  Somehow they were conduits of time travel: as though a space had opened up and she slipped into it and could go forward or back, depending on her mood. Because of this, she walked in places long forgotten, places of lost love or deep pain. The remembering, though, somehow put it in an ethereal plane, so the visitation became moments of healing.

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Some places to sit weren’t really benches at all, but still created for her the right second to watch a sunrise. Just the act of seeing one could erase months of chaos in her soul.

She remembers now these sacred vessels and can recall far into childhood how many she has visited. From cities to the middle of nowhere, the times she took to just stop and sit–to contemplate, meditate and be quiet.

And now she wonders: where are all the benches yet to come?

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