maps
Your soul knows the geography of your destiny. Your soul alone has the map of your future, therefore you can trust this indirect, oblique side of yourself. If you do, it will take you where you need to go, but more important it will teach you a kindness of rhythm in your journey.
John O’Donohue
Excerpt from ANAM CARA
The shadows of the ships
Rock on the crest
In the low blue lustre
Of the tardy and the soft inrolling tide.
A long brown bar at the dip of the sky
Puts an arm of sand in the span of salt.
The lucid and endless wrinkles
Draw in, lapse and withdraw.
Wavelets crumble and white spent bubbles
Wash on the floor of the beach.
Rocking on the crest
In the low blue lustre
Are the shadows of the ships.
⛵️
Sketch by Carl Sandburg
The skies sob for days
grieving my losses
The sunsets shine glory
bringing hope to my nights
after my bouts with prairie madness
from this God forsaken place of lonely crucifixion
I wait in a shy place of peace
buds slowly blooming like new spring
in my hesitant still-beating heart
I have done with the earthquakes of anxiety and fear
the clay tentatively stilled beneath me in this ground breaking moment
of wonder and amazement
something tender is taking root inside me
this new thunder moon
brings loud silent space for
letting go
opening thoughts
new ideas
voices shared
building collaboration
untapped possibilities
unlimited potential
the desires of the holy trinity of myself –
heart
body
soul
I acknowledge deep calling to deep
within this waterspout of quiet spirit
there is dawning of truth
softly arriving on the wings of the summer breeze
clouds and answers silently forming without the need for words
recognition is first step into new beginnings
grateful hearts, wrung dry as deserts,
somehow know for sure:
the best of life is always yet to be,
true spiritual waters always grow corn
🌽
Amy Lloyd
Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald by Gordon Lightfoot
The changing light
at San Francisco
is none of your East Coast light
none of your
pearly light of Paris
The light of San Francisco
is a sea light
an island
light
And the light of fog
blanketing the hills
drifting in at night
through the Golden Gate
to lie on
the city at dawn
And then the halcyon late mornings
after the fog burns off
and the sun paints white houses
with the sea
light of Greece
with sharp clean shadows
making the town look like
it had just been
painted
But the wind comes up at four o’clock
sweeping the
hills
And then the veil of light of early evening
And then another scrim
when the new night fog
floats in
And in that vale of light
the city drifts
anchorless
upon the ocean
⭐️
life: acoustic & amplified 