life: acoustic & amplified

love makes the world go round

They have photographed the brain

and here is the picture, it is full of

branches as I always suspected,

each time you arrive the electricity

of seeing you is a huge

tree lumbering through my skull, the roots waving.

It is an earth, its fibres wrap

things buried, your forgotten words

are graved in my head, an intricate

red blue and pink prehensile chemistry

veined like a leaf

network, or is it a seascape

with corals and shining tentacles.

I touch you, I am created in you

somewhere as a complex

filament of light

You rest on me and my shoulder holds

your heavy unbelievable

skull, crowded with radiant

suns, a new planet, the people

submerged in you, a lost civilization

I can never excavate:

my hands trace the contours of a total

universe, its different

colours, flowers, its undiscovered

animals, violent or serene

its other air

its claws

its paradise rivers

🌴

I Was Reading a Scientific Article by Margaret Atwood

I could have kissed you forever

I could have lain with you

in a tangle of sheets and tongues and crazy, wild hair

with the rain beating against the foggy windowpane

and touched your face

as our warm

eyes and souls and bodies

melted into one

with God

the perfect trifecta

I could have stayed there

forever

and then another endless, beautiful day

and not ever have asked for more

than to love

and be loved

like this

by you

💋

Amy Lloyd

rituals

I’ve eaten a shrimp

and a scallop

in celebration

keeping the shell to remember

this unique pilgrimage of mine

I’ve drunk a bottle of wine and smashed the empty bottle against the barn door

enjoying the mirroring sound of my broken heart

as well as, the dizzying freedom of that fruited company

I’ve burned the scroll

I made when the moon was full

the one where I prayed for you to return to me

then wrapped it in a tight roll

tied with a silk ribbon

I smiled smugly as I watched it burn

I’ve given away all my shoes and boots

(the ones you bought me)

along with the Mont Blanc Pen

the phone, the computer, the music

the collection of special wooden cutting boards

(I loved so much)

and every other little everything connected to you

gone

I’ve tossed and turned in my bed

full of pain and confusion for long drawn months

singing the same song over and over

just for you

(though I know your heart won’t hear me)

I’ve lifted my palms to heaven

and given you to God

pictured you floating free

in a beautiful ballon

waving bravely to you as you disappear in the clouds

I’ve taken you to the alter

and left you there

encased in a special heart shaped stone

I had filled it with love for you from my palm of my empty hands

still longing to touch

and be touched

I’ve written you

and danced you

and walked you

and run you

I’ve sung you

and cried you

and left you

and wanted you

What else am I supposed to do?

I can’t forget you

I can’t unlove you

❤️💔❤️

Amy Lloyd

My favorite response to this poem:

Fold him up and tuck him away in your pocket. Take him with you. Grief is good. You will learn to be happy in your grief. Even tho it will always be with you tucked away. You will learn to be happy in it. And some day you will be walking along and you will come to a bridge.

Take your grief from your pocket, tear it into a thousand pieces. Let them flow over the bridge. Watch the beauty of all the tiny pieces fluttering away in the breeze. You will smile. You will feel freedom…………d.d.

I hope you have a great day

I hope you know I love you

I hope you love me

I hope you make good choices

I hope you find peace

I hope life blooms again for you

I hope the lights lead you home

I hope you always remember

❤️

Amy Lloyd

https://youtu.be/VcEKPAKuvgU

buried

Whoever you meet

probably has treasure

hidden within,

riches from God

they have buried

in fear.

Those of whom you disapprove—

you notice their annoying,

self-serving behavior,

but do you notice

the treasure? Do you

notice the fear?

Fear of what is demanded,

fear of being inadequate,

of being judged, of being used?

Everyone you meet

is a nervous treasure chest

searching for their own key.

What can you do

to treasure the treasure,

to steady their hand?

__________________

Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

leaves in the wind

It reminds me of too many people in a room,

That snug feeling that has nothing to do with snuggling

Or small children reading stories,

under an appliqued quilt in December

Or the joy of making words from alphabet cereal before the milk goes on.

Too much sound for my system to hold-

Because I couldn’t decide,

I forgot how to know something

In the region of my gut

Where the muscles form knots

With the threads of a life time…too tight;

Too many groceries on the kitchen counter

And I had to put them all away

In the cupboards

In the drawers

In the bin in the refrigerator that holds the two apples, one lemon, and an orange.

I go from up to down in less than a minute

And every ritual of comfort loosens the band across my heart…

Every prayer that cuts it clean and clear.

We call it

Holy release,

Letting someone go,

Off the hook,

Not over the barrel

But ,

Releasing someone from their obligations,

Their wrong doings, missed marks, less than smooth sentences that hurts one’s heart…

Hurts one’s story, one’s decades, one’s memories

In order to

Crawl out of a hole;

Find raspberries still ripe on the vine,

Cut the last coral roses off the climber near the pergola,

Pour water in clear vases.

To begin again,

To transfer trust, to leave the train behind, to sleep through the night;

To leave that which no longer provides,

For a new life on

holy, holy, holy

Holy Ground.

Beauty,

Rev. Donna Knutson

There is grace on ground like this

we can say that every step we take

of every day we live

Wherever we are is sacred ground

every bush we see burning with holy

every rock singing glory

every bird testament of abundance

every flower testament to extravagant love

every waterfall

every rainbow

and moonbow

and drop of the summer rain

shimmers with promise

rocks standing firm in the faith

glittering in sunshine

we are made of stars

held together with mud

breathing the breath of the creator

the matter of the universe

life and death our greatest gifts

the space between can be our heaven

or the darkest shades of hell

we choose our path with every decision

free will is our constant companion

choices are most important

guard them well. Keep moving.

Keep letting go.

🍁

Amy Lloyd

https://youtu.be/ErvgV4P6Fzc

Launch day!

Order at Amazon

the business of joy

I read some great advice saying,

‘Love with a functional heart’

and I felt the truth of it land inside me

as I thought about all the healing work I’ve done

so that my heart would heal

so my heart would be strong and functional

27 years of discovering, of exposing , of releasing the layer upon layer of brokenness within myself

these things are not easy

I am tired of being strong

yet, I persist

I choose over and over

to do the work

create the life I want

to be able to live my life

to be able to love my life

with a full and functional heart

❤️

Amy Lloyd

The body heals with play, the mind heals with laughter and the spirit heals with joy.

– proverb

it’s my favorite

meme via a morning family email from my sister, Mary

❤️

just enjoy the show

It’s a thrill to say No.

The way it smothers

everything that beckons―

Any baby in a crib

will meet No’s palm

on its mouth.

And nothing sweet

can ever happen

―

to No―

who holds your tongue captive

behind your teeth, whose breath

whets the edge

―

of the guillotine―

N, head of Team Nothing,

and anti-ovum O.

And so the pit can never

engender

―

the cherry―

in No, who has drilled a hole

inside your body―

No.

Say it out loud.

Why do you love the hole

No makes.

💞

According to the Gospel of Yes by Dana Levin

(Photos by Charlie Doane Branford, CT)

so a big piece of walking a spiritual path,

is the braving of the wilderness,

the nonsense of life,

accepting the madness,

transforming through the dullness

and then creating

creating

creating…

it just takes time

you’re not losing ground

God has not left the planet…

there’s friction at the heart of the work

the soul work that rubs one raw

shiny

authentic

– true

it’s ok to rest,

take a minute when you are not “on”

walking into the world

takes a certain panache

but if you’d like for just this one day

leave your plume of feathers on the kitchen table

and

do not cover your head…

Beauty,

Rev. Donna Knutson

Have you ever met a blade of grass that didn’t emphatically say, “Yes!” to even the soles of your feet?

It’s the same with all the other elements.

You just have to show up,

The Universe

https://youtu.be/elsh3J5lJ6g

a color story

you’ve been warmed

You cannot seek water

from the one

who drained your seas,

and you cannot build

a home for your worth

inside of another being.

The medicine is when

you return to yourself

where you will remember

your strength,

reclaim your own rhythm,

and write your new song.

(~a poem from Victoria Erickson’s wonderful new book- Rhythms and Roads… Check it out at Barnes and Noble and on Amazon (Kindle and Paperback) at https://www.amazon.com/Rhythms-Roads-Victoria-Erickson/dp/099478435X/)

The old chair is here, offering itself, whispering, “Come, sit down, rest, you are weary. See, I am here…”

And the carpet that you’ve never really looked at before, never really valued before, because you’ve been so busy looking for enlightenment and salvation and love in the future – see how it just… lies here… offering itself fully to you, prostrate in your presence, whispering, “Come, lie, sit, stand, I ask nothing of you, I want nothing. I am here….”

You didn’t truly see the carpet because you wanted to get enlightened first. You wanted to be an enlightened person standing on the carpet! You were going to work on yourself for forty years, meditate your way to Nirvana, heal your traumas, perfect your ‘self’, transcend your ego, or wait until you were ‘ready’ before valuing the carpet, seeing the carpet, recognizing the carpet as a divine expression, and a tremendous gift.

It was all a postponement, you see. It was all a movement away from ‘what is’, from the extraordinary sacredness of the ordinary. It was a displacement into a future that could never come…

The carpet was always here. The chair was always here. Ready. Alive. Innocent. Waiting. Life was always here, offering itself, showing itself, calling you, beckoning you, to finally see it, inviting you to awaken, to come alive, to be a child of awareness. And yet, you’ve been so busy moving away, into a ‘future’, into a dream…

Just take a moment. Any moment. This moment. And behold it in loving awareness, bathe it in your light.

– Jeff Foster/ BATHE THE MOMENT IN LIGHT

Let them go,

all the leaves

once green regrets,

now sweet and rusted

wings of wisdom

floating on the

winds of reason.

Sweep them up

and craft a pile

shining with

imagination—

toss the sparks

into the air and

watch them

glow…

🖋️

Susan Frybort

How do we hold all this beauty

we are given to behold

in this wondrous world

within our fragile clay

without bursting at the seams

into rainbows

vividly colored dust

catching the light

laughing with delight

like children blowing bubbles

all iridescence and sparkle

sunlight on the water

kaleidoscope of a million diamonds

heart healing in the warmth

❤️💔💛

Amy Lloyd

Blessed be…series by Brianna Saussy

walk slowly

If your life doesn’t often make you feel

like a cauldron of swirling light —

If you are not often enough a woman standing above a mysterious fire,

lifting her head to the sky —

You are doing too much, and listening too little.

Read poems. Walk in the woods. Make slow art.

Tie a rope around your heart, be led by it off the plank,

happy prisoner.

You are no animal. You are galaxy with skin.

Home to blue and yellow lightshots,

making speed-of-light curves and racecar turns,

bouncing in ricochet –

Don’t slow down the light and turn it into matter

with feeble preoccupations.

Don’t forget your true name:

Presiding one. Home for the gleaming. Strong cauldron for the feast of light.

Strong cauldron for the feast of light:

I am speaking to you.

I beg you not to forget.

#holypoems

🙏🏻

Your Other Name } by Tara Sophia Mohr

Meanwhile, back at the resurrection

night has turned to day

here I stand amazed

at my own rebirth

dazed and a bit confused

eyes blinking in the morning sun

attempting to adjust

I am completely changed

from my life to death

back to life experience

more than a bit claustrophobic

due to the burial, no doubt

I am no longer sure

if my bank account is active

or my passport still relevant

how will I go on here in the world now?

what will my friends and family do with this who-is-now me?

they who have done with grief

and moved along with life in-between

I am, for sure, no longer the way I used to be

I have, for sure, experienced things they will never understand

I have flown with angels

and seen what lies beyond the Milky Way

I have, for sure, left my fear behind me in that fresh, unmarked grave

I know, for sure, there will be no turning back,

no compromise of this wild and exquisite thing beating within me

this life of mine is mine

this heartbeats miracle will be never forgotten gift

I can only take this first step

away from this boneyard

named and dated final markers

a place I no longer belong

I can only start close in

in silent revelry walking

along this uncharted path

which will only be revealed by my footsteps

I discard my grave clothes

and turn to see the colors of my new self shining

I take a small shaky step

and find the ground holds my weight

I breathe deep

inhale – exhale

soon I will attempt to speak

with my new voice

there is a song being written

which must be sung

a beauty seeking to burst

which will no longer be denied

a love now known

which will never be unknown

I raise my hands and kiss the sky

I bow my knees and kiss the ground

I rise and begin the journey

home through the narrow gate

that leads home to LIFE

🌝

Amy Lloyd