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Archive for the category “Life”

19 May 2016

go outside to go inside

The plains ignore us,

but these mountains listen,

an audience of thousands

holding its breath

in each rock. Climbing,

we pick our way

over the skulls of small talk.

On the prairies below us,

the grass leans this way and that

in discussion;

words fly away like corn shucks

over the fields.

Here, lost in a mountain’s

attention, there’s nothing to say.
⛰

Visiting Mountains by Ted Kooser

Posted in action, Adventure, attitude, awareness, Becoming Yourself, connection, find art at pinterest, healing, inspiration, Letting Go, Life, Love, Miracles, mystery, nature, Poetry | Leave a comment

18 May 2016

A loaf of bread, a jug of wine and thou

Photo by Lissette Hesmadt

Awake! for Morning in the Bowl of Night

Has flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight:

And Lo! the Hunter of the East has caught

The Sultan’s Turret in a Noose of Light.

II.

Dreaming when Dawn’s Left Hand was in the Sky

I heard a voice within the Tavern cry,

“Awake, my Little ones, and fill the Cup

Before Life’s Liquor in its Cup be dry.”

III.

And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before

The Tavern shouted – “Open then the Door!

You know how little while we have to stay,

And, once departed, may return no more.”

IV.

Now the New Year reviving old Desires,

The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires,

Where the White Hand of Moses on the Bough

Puts out, and Jesus from the Ground suspires.

Iram indeed is gone with all its Rose,

And Jamshyd’s Sev’n-ring’d Cup where no one Knows;

But still the Vine her ancient ruby yields,

And still a Garden by the Water blows.

VI.

And David’s Lips are lock’t; but in divine

High piping Pehlevi, with “Wine! Wine! Wine!

Red Wine!” – the Nightingale cries to the Rose

That yellow Cheek of hers to incarnadine.

VII.

Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring

The Winter Garment of Repentance fling:

The Bird of Time has but a little way

To fly – and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.

VIII.

Whether at Naishapur or Babylon,

Whether the Cup with sweet or bitter run,

The Wine of Life keeps oozing drop by drop,

The Leaves of Life kep falling one by one.

IX.

Morning a thousand Roses brings, you say;

Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?

And this first Summer month that brings the Rose

Shall take Jamshyd and Kaikobad away.

But come with old Khayyam, and leave the Lot

Of Kaikobad and Kaikhosru forgot:

Let Rustum lay about him as he will,

Or Hatim Tai cry Supper – heed them not.

XI.

With me along the strip of Herbage strown

That just divides the desert from the sown,

Where name of Slave and Sultan is forgot –

And Peace is Mahmud on his Golden Throne!

XII.

A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,

A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread, – and Thou

Beside me singing in the Wilderness –

Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!

XIII.

Some for the Glories of This World; and some

Sigh for the Prophet’s Paradise to come;

Ah, take the Cash, and let the Promise go,

Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum!

XIV.

Were it not Folly, Spider-like to spin

The Thread of present Life away to win –

What? for ourselves, who know not if we shall

Breathe out the very Breath we now breathe in!

XV.

Look to the Rose that blows about us – “Lo,

Laughing,” she says, “into the World I blow:

At once the silken Tassel of my Purse

Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw.”

XVI.

The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon

Turns Ashes – or it prospers; and anon,

Like Snow upon the Desert’s dusty Face

Lighting a little Hour or two – is gone.

XVII.

And those who husbanded the Golden Grain,

And those who flung it to the Winds like Rain,

Alike to no such aureate Earth are turn’d

As, buried once, Men want dug up again.

XVIII.

Think, in this batter’d Caravanserai

Whose Doorways are alternate Night and Day,

How Sultan after Sultan with his Pomp

Abode his Hour or two and went his way.

XIX.

They say the Lion and the Lizard keep

The Courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep:

And Bahram, that great Hunter – the Wild Ass

Stamps o’er his Head, but cannot break his Sleep.

XX.

I sometimes think that never blows so red

The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled;

That every Hyacinth the Garden wears

Dropt in its Lap from some once lovely Head.

XXI.

And this delightful Herb whose tender Green

Fledges the River’s Lip on which we lean –

Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows

From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen!

XXII.

Ah, my Beloved, fill the Cup that clears

To-day of past Regrets and future Fears –

To-morrow? – Why, To-morrow I may be

Myself with Yesterday’s Sev’n Thousand Years.

XXIII.

Lo! some we loved, the loveliest and best

That Time and Fate of all their Vintage prest,

Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before,

And one by one crept silently to Rest.

XXIV.

And we, that now make merry in the Room

They left, and Summer dresses in new Bloom,

Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth

Descend, ourselves to make a Couch – for whom?

XXV.

Ah, make the most of what we may yet spend,

Before we too into the Dust descend;

Dust into Dust, and under Dust, to lie;

Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and – sans End!

XXVI.

Alike for those who for To-day prepare,

And those that after some To-morrow stare,

A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries

“Fools! Your Reward is neither Here nor There!”

XXVII.

Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss’d

Of the Two Worlds so learnedly, are thrust

Like foolish Prophets forth; their Works to Scorn

Are scatter’d, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust.

XXVIII.

Oh, come with old Khayyam, and leave the Wise

To talk; one thing is certain, that Life flies;

One thing is certain, and the Rest is Lies;

The Flower that once has blown forever dies.

XXIX.

Myself when young did eagerly frequent

Doctor and Saint, and heard great Argument

About it and about; but evermore

Came out by the same Door as in I went.

XXX.

With them the Seed of Wisdom did I sow,

And with my own hand labour’d it to grow:

And this was all the Harvest that I reap’d –

“I came like Water and like Wind I go.”

XXXI.

Into this Universe, and Why not knowing,

Nor Whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing:

And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,

I know not Whither, willy-nilly blowing.

XXXII.

Up from Earth’s Centre through the Seventh Gate

I rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate,

And many Knots unravel’d by the Road;

But not the Master-Knot of Human Fate.

XXXIII.

There was the Door to which I found no Key:

There was the Veil through which I could not see:

Some little talk awhile of Me and Thee

There was – and then no more of Thee and Me.

XXXIV.

Then to the rolling Heav’n itself I cried,

Asking, “What Lamp had Destiny to guide

Her little Children stumbling in the Dark?”

And – “A blind Understanding!” Heav’n replied.

XXXV.

Then to the Lip of this poor earthen Urn

I lean’d, the secret Well of Life to learn:

And Lip to Lip it murmur’d – “While you live,

Drink! – for, once dead, you never shall return.”

XXXVI.

I think the Vessel, that with fugitive

Articulation answer’d, once did live,

And merry-make, and the cold Lip I kiss’d,

How many Kisses might it take – and give!

XXXVII.

For in the Market-place, one Dusk of Day,

I watch’d the Potter thumping his wet Clay:

And with its all obliterated Tongue

It murmur’d – “Gently, Brother, gently, pray!”

XXXVIII.

And has not such a Story from of Old

Down Man’s successive generations roll’d

Of such a clod of saturated Earth

Cast by the Maker into Human mould?

XXXIX.

Ah, fill the Cup: – what boots it to repeat

How Time is slipping underneath our Feet:

Unborn To-morrow, and dead Yesterday,

Why fret about them if To-day be sweet!

XL.

A Moment’s Halt – a momentary taste

Of Being from the Well amid the Waste –

And Lo! the phantom Caravan has reach’d

The Nothing it set out from – Oh, make haste!

XLI.

Oh, plagued no more with Human or Divine,

To-morrow’s tangle to itself resign,

And lose your fingers in the tresses of

The Cypress-slender Minister of Wine.

XLII.

Waste not your Hour, nor in the vain pursuit

Of This and That endeavor and dispute;

Better be merry with the fruitful Grape

Than sadden after none, or bitter, fruit.

XLIII.

You know, my Friends, with what a brave Carouse

I made a Second Marriage in my house;

Divorced old barren Reason from my Bed,

And took the Daughter of the Vine to Spouse.

XLIV.

And lately, by the Tavern Door agape,

Came stealing through the Dusk an Angel Shape

Bearing a Vessel on his Shoulder; and

He bid me taste of it; and ’twas – the Grape!

XLV.

The Grape that can with Logic absolute

The Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects confute:

The subtle Alchemest that in a Trice

Life’s leaden Metal into Gold transmute.

XLVI.

Why, be this Juice the growth of God, who dare

Blaspheme the twisted tendril as Snare?

A Blessing, we should use it, should we not?

And if a Curse – why, then, Who set it there?

XLVII.

But leave the Wise to wrangle, and with me

The Quarrel of the Universe let be:

And, in some corner of the Hubbub couch’d,

Make Game of that which makes as much of Thee.

XLVIII.

For in and out, above, about, below,

‘Tis nothing but a Magic Shadow-show,

Play’d in a Box whose Candle is the Sun,

Round which we Phantom Figures come and go.

XLIX.

Strange, is it not? that of the myriads who

Before us pass’d the door of Darkness through

Not one returns to tell us of the Road,

Which to discover we must travel too.

The Revelations of Devout and Learn’d

Who rose before us, and as Prophets burn’d,

Are all but Stories, which, awoke from Sleep,

They told their fellows, and to Sleep return’d.

LI.

Why, if the Soul can fling the Dust aside,

And naked on the Air of Heaven ride,

Is’t not a shame – Is’t not a shame for him

So long in this Clay suburb to abide?

LII.

But that is but a Tent wherein may rest

A Sultan to the realm of Death addrest;

The Sultan rises, and the dark Ferrash

Strikes, and prepares it for another guest.

LIII.

I sent my Soul through the Invisible,

Some letter of that After-life to spell:

And after many days my Soul return’d

And said, “Behold, Myself am Heav’n and Hell.”

LIV.

Heav’n but the Vision of fulfill’d Desire,

And Hell the Shadow of a Soul on fire,

Cast on the Darkness into which Ourselves,

So late emerg’d from, shall so soon expire.

LV.

While the Rose blows along the River Brink,

With old Khayyam and ruby vintage drink:

And when the Angel with his darker Draught

Draws up to Thee – take that, and do not shrink.

LVI.

And fear not lest Existence closing your

Account, should lose, or know the type no more;

The Eternal Saki from the Bowl has pour’d

Millions of Bubbls like us, and will pour.

LVII.

When You and I behind the Veil are past,

Oh but the long long while the World shall last,

Which of our Coming and Departure heeds

As much as Ocean of a pebble-cast.

LVIII.

‘Tis all a Chequer-board of Nights and Days

Where Destiny with Men for Pieces plays:

Hither and thither moves, and mates, and slays,

And one by one back in the Closet lays.

LIX.

The Ball no Question makes of Ayes and Noes,

But Right or Left, as strikes the Player goes;

And he that toss’d Thee down into the Field,

He knows about it all – He knows – HE knows!

LX.

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,

Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit

Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,

Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.

LXI.

For let Philosopher and Doctor preach

Of what they will, and what they will not – each

Is but one Link in an eternal Chain

That none can slip, nor break, nor over-reach.

LXII.

And that inverted Bowl we call The Sky,

Whereunder crawling coop’t we live and die,

Lift not thy hands to it for help – for It

Rolls impotently on as Thou or I.

LXIII.

With Earth’s first Clay They did the Last Man knead,

And then of the Last Harvest sow’d the Seed:

Yea, the first Morning of Creation wrote

What the Last Dawn of Reckoning shall read.

LXIV.

Yesterday This Day’s Madness did prepare;

To-morrow’s Silence, Triumph, or Despair:

Drink! for you know not whence you came, nor why:

Drink! for you know not why you go, nor where.

LXV.

I tell You this – When, starting from the Goal,

Over the shoulders of the flaming Foal

Of Heav’n Parwin and Mushtari they flung,

In my predestin’d Plot of Dust and Soul.

LXVI.

The Vine has struck a fiber: which about

If clings my Being – let the Dervish flout;

Of my Base metal may be filed a Key,

That shall unlock the Door he howls without.

LXVII.

And this I know: whether the one True Light,

Kindle to Love, or Wrath – consume me quite,

One Glimpse of It within the Tavern caught

Better than in the Temple lost outright.

LXVIII.

What! out of senseless Nothing to provoke

A conscious Something to resent the yoke

Of unpermitted Pleasure, under pain

Of Everlasting Penalties, if broke!

LXIX.

What! from his helpless Creature be repaid

Pure Gold for what he lent us dross-allay’d –

Sue for a Debt we never did contract,

And cannot answer – Oh the sorry trade!

LXX.

Nay, but for terror of his wrathful Face,

I swear I will not call Injustice Grace;

Not one Good Fellow of the Tavern but

Would kick so poor a Coward from the place.

LXXI.

Oh Thou, who didst with pitfall and with gin

Beset the Road I was to wander in,

Thou will not with Predestin’d Evil round

Enmesh me, and impute my Fall to Sin?

LXXII.

Oh, Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make,

And who with Eden didst devise the Snake;

For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man

Is blacken’d, Man’s Forgiveness give – and take!

LXXIII.

Listen again. One Evening at the Close

Of Ramazan, ere the better Moon arose,

In that old Potter’s Shop I stood alone

With the clay Population round in Rows.

LXXIV.

And, strange to tell, among that Earthen Lot

Some could articulate, while others not:

And suddenly one more impatient cried –

“Who is the Potter, pray, and who the Pot?”

LXXV.

Then said another – “Surely not in vain

My Substance from the common Earth was ta’en,

That He who subtly wrought me into Shape

Should stamp me back to common Earth again.”

LXXVI.

Another said – “Why, ne’er a peevish Boy,

Would break the Bowl from which he drank in Joy;

Shall He that made the vessel in pure Love

And Fancy, in an after Rage destroy”

LXXVII.

None answer’d this; but after Silence spake

A Vessel of a more ungainly Make:

“They sneer at me for leaning all awry;

What! did the Hand then of the Potter shake?”

LXXVIII:

“Why,” said another, “Some there are who tell

Of one who threatens he will toss to Hell

The luckless Pots he marred in making – Pish!

He’s a Good Fellow, and ’twill all be well.”

LXXIX.

Then said another with a long-drawn Sigh,

“My Clay with long oblivion is gone dry:

But, fill me with the old familiar Juice,

Methinks I might recover by-and-by!”

LXXX.

So while the Vessels one by one were speaking,

The Little Moon look’d in that all were seeking:

And then they jogg’d each other, “Brother! Brother!

Now for the Porter’s shoulder-knot a-creaking!”

LXXXI.

Ah, with the Grape my fading Life provide,

And wash my Body whence the Life has died,

And in a Windingsheet of Vine-leaf wrapt,

So bury me by some sweet Garden-side.

LXXXII.

That ev’n my buried Ashes such a Snare

Of Perfume shall fling up into the Air,

As not a True Believer passing by

But shall be overtaken unaware.

LXXXIII.

Indeed the Idols I have loved so long

Have done my Credit in Men’s Eye much wrong:

Have drown’d my Honour in a shallow Cup,

And sold my Reputation for a Song.

LXXXIV.

Indeed, indeed, Repentance oft before

I swore – but was I sober when I swore?

And then, and then came Spring, and Rose-in-hand

My thread-bare Penitence apieces tore.

LXXXV.

And much as Wine has play’d the Infidel,

And robb’d me of my Robe of Honor – well,

I often wonder what the Vintners buy

One half so precious as the Goods they sell.

LXXXVI.

Alas, that Spring should vanish with the Rose!

That Youth’s sweet-scented Manuscript should close!

The Nightingale that in the Branches sang,

Ah, whence, and whither flown again, who knows!

LXXXVII.

Would but the Desert of the Fountain yield

One glimpse – If dimly, yet indeed, reveal’d

To which the fainting Traveller might spring,

As springs the trampled herbage of the field!

LXXXVIII.

Ah Love! could thou and I with Fate conspire

To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire,

Would not we shatter it to bits – and then

Re-mould it nearer to the Heart’s Desire!

LXXXIX.

Ah, Moon of my Delight who know’st no wane,

The Moon of Heav’n is rising once again:

How oft hereafter rising shall she look

Through this same Garden after me – in vain!

XC.

And when like her, oh Saki, you shall pass

Among the Guests star-scatter’d on the Grass,

And in your joyous errand reach the spot

Where I made one – turn down an empty Glass!

TAMAM SHUD

🔮

The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam by Omar Khayyam

Posted in Adventure, awareness, Life, Love, mystery, Poetry, Reflection, voice, words, Writing, www.pinterest.com | Leave a comment

16 May 2016

have a little faith…speak a lotta truth…

The opposite of joy is not sorrow. It is unbelief.
❤️

–Leslie Weatherhead

Truthfulness.
Being honest with someone else really just means opening up to share out of our own self-honesty, being transparent about our own experience, the deepest within us, in a way that creates the space for the other to also feel safe exposing the vulnerability within themselves.
When truth is more important to us than fear of loss, we discover our wings.
When we are no longer afraid of change, of losing what we think we have, or the fulfillment we imagine to be sourced outside of us, and are willing to risk it all for our heart’s knowing, for the uncompromising integrity in that, the relief is surprisingly immediate.
Though it may involve facing the hurt of disillusionment, the fall of pride, the surfacing of old wounds, that is simply a part of the rebirth offered by a radical commitment to self-honesty.
The self-respect and confidence that emerges out of such an honoring, the willingness to offer up the surface dance to a deeper wisdom, makes it possible to gaze into the eyes and soul of another, with no need of approval, or fear of rejection, and no shame in being fully seen. True self-honesty diffuses self-judgement, and therefore any need for defensiveness. It reveals our innocence. We can finally just be ourselves.
And, maybe for the first time, without any subtle need of them, without any emotional dependency, we really truly see the one in front of us. We meet the naked beauty of the other, as never before, on equal ground. When we aren’t hiding from ourselves, we no longer need to hide from the world, which will always reflect back to us what we are avoiding. In this way, life is in continuous support of our liberation.
Free from the subconsious pressure of hope and expectation born of fantasy, of projected values and assumptions, free from the inner conflict of unexpressed gut feelings, it becomes so easy to give, to receive, to experience the fulfillment of true connection. Unconditional presence. Real love. The joy of that is far greater than any birthing pains.
Be honest to your heart, and give that a voice in your relationships. You’ll never regret it.

– Joshua Isrealievitch

Posted in attitude, awareness, beauty, Becoming Yourself, Beginning, Blessing, Change, Choice, confidence, connection, courage, determination, Encouragement, Faith, find art at pinterest, Letting Go, Life, Love, power, Prayer | Leave a comment

12 May 2016

going on

You have burned your bridges.

You have passed through the gate

marked “no return”

And for you there is no going back

No going back to the security of

the known, familiar house,

To the well-worn dispensations

and the threadbare coverings.

Now you are out there in uncharted

territory

heavy with threat and shadows not

yet entered.

The risks are high, and yet you

strike out boldly,

Guided only by unwavering conviction

And the longing for the true centre

of the land.

This is what it means to do a new

thing.

So, you travel lightly.

You are abandoned, given up in all

things

To the task that lies ahead.

Therefore, you may be exactly who

you are.

You have inhabited yourself,

You are at home,

And home is where you are,

Even if it is the desert.

No one can dispossess you of your own in-dwelling.

This is what it means to be free.

We stand, one foot upon the bridge,

Wondering if we too have the courage to go over

And strike the match behind us.

🔥

The Dream of Learning our True Name by Kathy Galloway

Trees not yet leafed out,

the woods aren’t green,

just tiny flakes of green
in their childish little hands,

soft and small.

Something larger than them
from deep down stirs,

exceeds itself in them.

Among those who dare
a new thing

God grant me

such ancient courage.
__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

http://www.unfoldinglight.net

photo sources found at http://www.pinterest.com

Posted in action, Adventure, attitude, awareness, beauty, Becoming Yourself, Beginning, Burnign Bridges, Change, Choice, commitment, connection, determination, find art at pinterest, forgiveness, healing, home, Letting Go, Life, Love, Miracles, moment | Leave a comment

11 May 2016

God didn’t promise days without pain, laughter without sorrow, or sun without rain, but He did promise strength for the day, comfort for the tears, and light for the way. –Anonymous

19 years ago today

I stood at the edge

of a great abyss

in life

a part of me,

not known until that time,

had awakened

now I had a choice to make,

to accept –

or deny –

this part of myself,

which was revealed

in such a wild,

drastic,

unexpected

and overwhelming manner

I knew this would be

what, ultimately,

saved,

destroyed,

my life.

as I stood,

still in innocence,

not really knowing –

yet, somehow,

knowing in every way –

the costs,

the benefits,

the responsibility,

the awareness.

the long dark road ahead,

the excruciating valley years to come,

the sharp, rugged climb up the mountain.

19 years ago,

on this day,

I struggled

with all of this.

I made certain vows

concerning the choices

I would make through

my time of learning:

I would only follow love.

No matter how I failed, I would remember it is not about how good I am. I would try to live the words of Jesus in The Sermon on the Mount.

I would never make a choice

simply to benefit myself

or to get money.

I would learn to be truthful and fair and be the person I wanted to be.

I would be honest with myself – always – especially when I was wrong, or made a mistake.

I would stay aware and learn – so I would not make the same mistake twice.

I would make the best choice I could any given moment, and then move forward the best I could with no regret.

I would do my best and give my best.

I would look for good things every day.

That day I said ‘yes!’ to life

I jumped off the cliff

and began…

for good…

for bad…

to make my choices

from a new place of radical trust.

the rest is my history…

🍎

All of my life I searched for truth and wanted to be beautiful

All my life I kept on moving looking for my home

All my life I played the part that someone else said was beautiful

All my life I lived afraid I couldn’t play that part

now I knock upon your door hear what my heart’s been longing for

welcome home

you belong

you are here

where I love you,

I want you

welcome home

won’t you stay

in my arms

I will hold you,

I need you

I won’t ever leave you

you are home

you are never alone

welcome home

I will sing you a song

I will build you an alter

I will shout to the hills

I will rise to the sky

I will bake you some bread

I will drink to your honor

I will dance in the rain

I will celebrate always

🏡

Character. Strength. Intelligence. Style. That makes beauty.

💞

— Diane Von Furstenberg

A man looked for meaning.

For his very place in life.
He searched high and low.
He’d often hear a whisper, calling

his name from the other side

of what seemed like a door.
A door that remained hidden

from his ability to see.
Frustrated, he’d knock on

everything that resembled

a door. Turning here,

and there. Turning

just about anywhere.
Then one day,

unannounced,

it opened.
And he realised that he’d been

knocking from the inside.

And that the whisper

had been an echo.
The echo of his own soul

reminding him that

he was already home.

💞

The Whisper and the Echo by Nic Askew

Posted in action, Adventure, attitude, awareness, Becoming Yourself, Beginning, beloved, Burnign Bridges, Change, Choice, find art at pinterest, Freedom, healing, Letting Go, Life, Love, mystery, risk, soul and spirit, transformation, www.pinterest.com | Leave a comment

10 May 2016

preparation = always ready

WAITING TO GO ON
…It must be

we are waiting

for the perfect moment.
It must be

under all the struggle

we want to go on.
It must be,

that deep down,

we are creatures

getting ready

for when we are needed.
It must be that waiting

for the listening ear

or the appreciative word,

for the right

woman or the right man

or the right moment

just to ourselves,
we are getting ready

just to be ready
and nothing else.
Like this moment

just before the guests arrive

working

alone in the kitchen

sensing a deep

down symmetry

in every blessed thing.
The way

that everything

unbeknownst

to us

is preparing

to meet us too.
Just on the other

side of the door

someone

is about to knock

and our life

is just

about to change
and finally

after all these

years rehearsing,

behind

the curtain,
we might

just be

ready

to go on.
…

From ‘Waiting to Go On’ by David Whyte

The piano,

not played,

is still a piano –

patiently waiting

the music lies quietly

still inside

ready

not going anywhere else

not making itself heard

not anxious

or demanding

all it takes is the right hand

to touch the keys

to fall in love

and the song begins

the strings within

warm to life

always ready to play

💞

Posted in action, attitude, awareness, Becoming Yourself, Beginning, Choice, connection, courage, Encouragement, Faith, find art at pinterest, Gratitude, Letting Go, Life, Love, music, mystery, soul and spirit, transformation, Trust, truth, Uncategorized, www.pinterest.com | Leave a comment

09 May 2016

needing a dull moment

There are times when I need to rest,

a sabbath of dullness,
because the rest of the time

I am walking around behind God,
even the stirred dust sparkling,

even the shadows gleaming,
God every instant saying

“Let there be light.
Let there be stone. This stone,

and this light laying on the stone.
Let there be this tree, this branch,

and each of these birds singing in it.
Let there be this bee, let there be its labor,

and the wonder of its coming and going.
Let there be this river, and its waters,

its springs and tributaries, and their flowing.
Let there be this person.

Let there be this hope unfolding in this heart.
Let there be this moment.

Yes! And now this one!”
It never stops.

It never stops.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

http://www.unfoldinglight.net

Posted in attitude, awareness, beauty, commitment, compassion, connection, courage, create, Dancing, Freedom, grace, Gratitude, healing, Hope, inspiration, Joy, Letting Go, Life, Love, Miracles, nature, Peace, rest | Leave a comment

08 May 2016

when you’re ready

I don’t think that anything happens by coincidence. No one is here by accident. Everyone who crosses our path has a message for us. Otherwise they would have taken another path, or left earlier or later. The fact that these people are here means that they are here for some reason.

💞

― James Redfield

I make a distinction between relationship challenges that are sourced in trauma and those sourced in developmental stages. Quite often, they are inextricably linked, but not always. Sometimes what is blocking someone’s emotional availability and fueling dysfunctional behavior is primarily related to unhealed traumas. But sometimes the deeper issue is that they are at a different emotional stage. In the latter case, it is not simply a question of holding the space for their healing. It’s a question of waiting, often for years, in the hope that they reach the stage you are at. An impossible scenario, both because you will have to stop growing yourself if they are to catch up, and because you really don’t know who they will be at the next stages of their developmental journey. They may grow into someone perfectly compatible with you, or they may move in another direction altogether. Perhaps the most important questions we can ask about a partner relates to their emotional age: How emotionally mature are they? What areas have they developed and integrated? What aspects are still under-developed? And how will their stage of development intersect with ours? Don’t be fooled by chronological age. Stage—not age—is what matters most.

💞

(~Jeff Brown an excerpt from ‘Spiritual Graffiti’)

I am no teacher

To teach you how to love,

For the fish need no teacher

To teach them to swim

And birds need no teacher

To teach them flight.

Swim on your own.

Fly on your own.

Love comes with no textbooks

And the greatest lovers in history were illiterate.

💞

~Nizar Qabbani

We must not give up. It takes so much time to heal because we are not just healing our own wounds- we are healing the world’s wounds, too. We think we are alone with our ‘stuff’, but we aren’t. With every clearing of our emotional debris, with every foray into a healthier way of being, with every excavation and release of old material, we heal the collective heart. So many of our familial and karmic ancestors had little opportunity to heal their pains. When we heal, their spirits breathe a sigh of relief. We heal them, too.

💞

– Jeff Brown

Lissette Hesmadt

Lover’s Leap Bridge

January 2016

Posted in action, attitude, awareness, Becoming Yourself, courage, determination, Faith, find art at pinterest, Growth, Habits, healing, intimacy, Letting Go, Life, Love, People, Reality | Leave a comment

07 May 2016

poetry is not a luxury – Audra Lourde

For a very long time we had these strange rules around prayers…we forgot the bow at the end of a thought, the lowering of not our head, or our shoulders , but our inner being. The way a heart can break at the sound of the word, Holy or Lord. The urgency of our words when we are lost in darkness or broken by grief. How words can be tangled in territory that seems foreign, but really, home doesn’t look like that at all.

I sat outside near the pergala this morning, where the trumpet vine is greening with strength and its power to flow with tendrils over twenty feet of wood, and the cardinals came to sit near me on the yellow wicker chair. Their song blending into my skin and I could feel the beat of their hearts as prayers grew within me, touching their backs and stroking the song coming forth into the morning hours. The sun beat warmth down to the bone and the sphere of time and space slid to the side of the garden where purple salvia has grown to a foot, and all the words of prayer that flow as love from Spirit, out into the world, came like silence from the realm of one beam of light, and I heard, and I witnessed, and I prayed…where the bow meets the stillness, is where I stayed…

Beauty,

Donna Knutson

photos by Fisherman Dan @ Branford, CT

I wonder if writing this poem
will spill you out of me
through my fingertips
will the ink become your blood
this paper your skin
for me to touch
again and again?

I wonder if stretching my hands to the sky,
while standing on my tiptoes
will release you into the blue
so you can fly free with me
into the starry sky
discovering all the worlds we have inside?

I wonder if I stand as tall, and as still, as a tree
you will come to me
climb up inside me
twist your arms and legs into my branches
hold me close and sleep with me always?

I wonder if I sing you a love song
if I will become a part your soul
and a part of mine
both of us sewn within the chords
of words and notes
absorbing our crazy love
into our very dna?
Will we ever begin becoming each other?
Forever becoming each other’s other?
mirrors of beauty
dancing eternally

within the aleph
where heaven meets the earth?

🌎

Prayer comes in many forms. Beauty to bless the space between.