life: acoustic & amplified

poetry, quotes & thoughts about life

Archive for the category “voice”

Make me sweet again, fragrant and fresh and wild, and thankful for any small event. – Rumi

Passion is a feeling that tells you: this is the right thing to do. Nothing can stand in my way. It doesn’t matter what anyone else says. This feeling is so good that it cannot be ignored. I’m going to follow my bliss and act upon this glorious sensation of joy.

― Wayne W. Dyer

I dreamt we walked together along the shore. 

We made satisfying small talk and laughed.

 This morning I found sand in my shoe and 

a seashell in my pocket. 

Was I only dreaming?


      – Maya Angelou

warming trends

        On May 24, 1738 John Wesley recorded in his journal: “In the evening I went very unwillingly to a society in Aldersgate Street, where one was reading Luther’s preface to the Epistle to the Romans. About a quarter before nine, while he was describing the change which God works in the heart through faith in Christ, I felt my heart strangely warmed. I felt I did trust in Christ, Christ alone, for salvation; and an assurance was given me that He had taken away my sins, even mine, and saved me from the law of sin and death.”

God, I thank you for your love, alive in me without my knowing or feeling. Open my heart to trust your grace.  
I pray for those whose hearts have not been warmed, who do not know they are so cherished, forgiven, gifted, blessed and loved. I pray for all who are afraid you don’t love them, for those who live under a “law of sin and death” enforced by abuse or violence in word or flesh, who have been labeled, violated, condemned, judged or rejected. I pray especially for those who have been hurt by life and its hurtful teachings. 
I pray that I may bear your love to all I meet today, that I may be the sign, the word that your grace may warm their heart. For all who may come “very unwillingly” to this life, may I be a gentle, welcoming, saving word. Amen. 

Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Unfolding Light

If anything matters then everything matters.       – Wm Paul Young

Love sometimes wants to do us a great favor: hold us upside down and shake all the nonsense out.
Your love

Should never be offered to the mouth of a stranger,

Only to someone who has the valor and daring

To cut pieces of their soul off with a knife

Then weave them into a blanket

To protect you.
Stay close to any sounds that make you glad you are alive.
Ever since happiness heard your name, it has been running through the streets trying to find you.

I wish I could show you when you are lonely or in the darkness, the astonishing light of your own being.
There are different wells within your heart.

Some fill with each good rain,

Others are far too deep for that
Fear is the cheapest room in the house. I would like to see you living in better conditions.
Even after all this time the sun never says to the Earth, “You owe me”
There is no pleasure without a tincture of bitterness.


   – Hafez

I stand in the cold surf


for what I am to receive 

I look at,

then past,

glistening rocks,

colored shells,

green sea glass,

none of them right. 

My back to the Sound,

head down,

Waves coming and going,

Sand shifting under my wet feet. 

I scan, 

wait for what I must recognize –

 then I see it. 


a black glob of rocks stuck together 

browns and grey and bits of reds

it’s ugly

it’s heavy

it’s rough

it’s jagged

it’s not what I thought I wanted,

it’s not what I thought was valuable. 

what is it, that the water has just delivered, 

and I feel lead to pick up

to take home with me?

I want it to be romantic. 


I search for romance…

Could it be a meteorite?

a mystery from another planet?  
I walk the mile home,

wondering what lessons I will learn from this ‘gift’

I have just received from the ocean. 

Almost home,

one more curve,

I spot my favorite kinda caterpillar,

the brown and black,

softest, loveliest velvet

crawler in the world. 

I loved the feel of them as a little girl,

let them crawl all over me.

I pass it,

then double back, 

as directed by intuition,

to visit this small friend. 

I am bent down,

as my fuzzy friend moves along,

and recognition comes. 

I carry, 

in my hands….

a piece of the road,  

which came to me by way of the ocean. 
I belly laugh 

as I my lesson, 

my gift,

becomes clear. 

I am,

 right now,

every moment,

in the ocean of grace

no matter where I am

the path is in the ocean of love,

of God. 
This road is everywhere!
It rises to meet me,

no matter where I stand!
I comes one small glimpse at a time. 
This is gift –

teaching me what I need,

bringing me diamonds with each step. 






is the best gift. 
We are always loved

The message is waiting in 

every surf,

every leaf,

every tree,

every song,

every heart beat,

every tiny created thing,

every little moment,

breathes and burns. 
Oh, Beloved,

Remove your shoes. 

Dive into the sky! 


holy, holy, holy!

then fly away 


I’ll meet you there! 



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.
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.”
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.”
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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!
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!
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!
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.”
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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.
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.
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?
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!
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!”
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.
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.
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.
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.”
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.”
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!
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!”
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?
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!
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!
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.
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.
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.
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!
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.
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?
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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
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.”
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.
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.
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.
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.
‘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.
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!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
What! out of senseless Nothing to provoke
A conscious Something to resent the yoke
Of unpermitted Pleasure, under pain
Of Everlasting Penalties, if broke!
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!
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.
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?
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!
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.
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?”
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.”
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”
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?”
“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.”
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!”
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!”
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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!
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!
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!
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!
The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam by Omar Khayyam

what is music?


 within the spaces between silences
there grows a green vine

with beautiful fruit











running down our chins and elbows

until we fill with joy

and laugh with delight 

until we face our sorrow

and allow our salt to run and heal our wounds

until we feel what we need to feel

and let these emotions have their way with us

until we embrace this mystery 

and open our arms to life

my friends, 

is how I define my life’s most important word:




Nothing separates us, my dear, nothing except what you want to keep separate. We are united because I have made it so.      – Loop 


 I want to make a poem
that slips into the heart stream 

quietly, tenderly,

with no great splash

just a graceful entry, 

with minimal ripples

which plunges deeply upon entering

and allows the mud to settle gracefully around it. 

I want to make a poem

which allows the heart to trust,

to open,

to flower in it’s own time

knowing, for sure,

   it is dependable,


written to last 

through the fiercest storms

    though the world burn

and the mountains crumble

words of love

    so beautiful 

           so eternal 

they come to life

   each time they are read,

    or spoken

and anyone who dares to read the poem I make

cannot help but

   find within themselves  

clouds of peace

   wrapped up in thick blankets of joy 

  and will forever know for sure 

    they are 





Everything real comes through the heart. When it is truly opened, everything secondary falls away- egoic glory, fame and fortune, substitute gratifications. The heart doesn’t care about such things. It doesn’t hold it against you if you don’t own your own home, achieve your goals, have a perfect body. The heart doesn’t care what you have earned or accumulated. No matter our seeming differences, we are all the same when the heart gate opens. Deep feeling levels the playing field.

Love is the great equalizer.

     – Jeff Brown


it was bouncing around in my brain this morning   – Linda Clark

Getting it Right—Write!

I have a notion

I must confess

A notion you see

That has me quite obsessed
It sits in my head 

both day and night

it haunts my dreams

and gives me great fright
It rules my thoughts

this little notion

stirring up doubts

and causing a commotion
It wiggles and niggles

in my brain

with a feverish pitch

it drives me insane
This obsession you ask

what could it be?

My obsession is a task

I seek endlessly!
To get it right

To do my best

To show I’m bright

I can pass the test
This feeling to get it right

Is ever so strong

I work day and night

To not get it wrong
I was given great insight

About this “getting it right”

I just learned recently

A truth that has finally set me free
It’s not it at all

about getting it right.

It’s about happiness and light

and letting your soul shine bright
No have to’s

No pressure

No should’s

Did me a world of good!
So no longer will I labor

to get it right 

I will do my best

to give it a rest! 
So In my chair I sit and write

No longer will I yearn

or worry with concern

it’s quite easy once when you learn
I will change my mantra

and simply ignore

those three little words

I was obsessed with before
What’s my new mantra

you might ask

I’ve changed my word

just a small task
I am no longer worried

about that word right

I will feed my soul

and simply WRITE!! 


Linda Clark



We seldom notice how each day is a holy place
 Where the eucharist of the ordinary happens,

 Transforming our broken fragments

 Into an eternal continuity that keeps us.
Somewhere in us a dignity presides

 That is more gracious than the smallness

 That fuels us with fear and force,

 A dignity that trusts the form a day takes. 
So at the end of this day, we give thanks

 For being betrothed to the unknown

 And for the secret work

 Through which the mind of the day

 And wisdom of the soul become one. 


John O’Donohue

grid & flow  


When I wake under the moon, 

I do not know who I have become unless 

I move closer to you, obeying the give and take

of the earth as it breathes the slender length

of your body, so that in breathing with the tide 

that breathes in you, and moving with you 

as you come and go, and following you, half in light 

and half in dark, I feel the first firm edge of my floating palm 

touch and then trace the pale light of your shoulder 

to the faint, moon-lit shadow of your smooth cheek, 

and drawing my finger through the pearl water of your skin,

I sense the breath on your lips touch and then warm

the finest, furthest, most unknown edge of my sense of self,

so that I come to you under the moon 

as if I had swum under the deepest arch of the ocean, 

to find you living where no one could possibly live,

and to feel you breathing, where no one could 

possibly breathe, and I touch your skin as I would 

touch a pale whispering spirit of the tides that my arms 

try to hold with the wrong kind of strength and my lips 

try to speak with the wrong kind of love and I follow

you through the ocean night listening for your breath

in my helpless calling to love you as I should, and I lie 

next to you in your sleep as I would next to the sea,

overwhelmed by the rest that arrives in me and by the weight 

that is taken from me and what, by morning, 

is left on the shore of my waking joy.

THE SEA IN YOU by David Whyte
It is the great mystery of life

That to every part

there is a counterpart

the polarity is the great gift

Also the great curse

The friction keeps us learning

else we die, even as we live. 

Gravity keeps on earth

Anti-gravity surrounds us a few miles above 

without both we would not exist. 

Trees breathe carbon in

Exhale oxygen

We do the opposite. 

The sun and moon 

are in the perfect spots for us to survive. 

We fight change,

though it is the one thing 

that truly allows us to become. 

We want to have answers –




We want to KNOW 

Yet the great mystery of life is letting the mystery be greater than us

while inhaling the small parts we can comprehend

and using them to create good with our part. 

seeing new every day.

evolving slowly. 

The yin. 

The yang. 

Within the darkness

We find the light. 

With letting go of the other

We finally own our oneness. 

Within the deepest sorrow

We release ourselves

for our most complete joy. 

When we give ourselves empty

we receive back waves of abundance and are filled fresh. 

We want what glitters, 

but find the best gifts 

are always on the bottom shelf,

sometimes a little dusty from not being used. 

Each and every day, in order to find our way into the unlimited potential of our highest self

we must first commit to our holy and unique calling,

our own glorious belovedness. 


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recognizing. redefining. redeeming. 

Healthy aggression has been given a bad name for far too long. I remember the day when it was acceptable to stand down those who behaved unjustly. Not in a way that was disproportionate to the crime, but in a way that met it right where it lived. This seems to have been lost in the last decades, both because of the softee toffee premature forgiveness movement and because of our growing awareness of the horrifying effects of unhealthy aggression. As a man, I have found this entirely confusing. Often I have stood down injustice with appropriate ferocity and been judged for it, as though I was the unjust one. I have some compassion for this interpretation, as I do recognize that it is difficult for many trauma survivors to not be triggered by aggression of any kind. But something is lost when we don’t make the distinction between the kinds of aggression that rectify wrongs, and those that perpetuate them. It is time to again raise healthy aggression to the rafters of acceptability. Sometimes its the truest path of all.


   – Jeff Brown


 Change and growth are painful 
not because we’re gaining, 

but because we’re losing. 

We lose old ideas. 

Old habits. Old stories. 

Old comforts. 

We shed all that’s become

too heavy to carry onward, 

wrapped too tight around skin 

that needed to finally breathe. 

A body that had to break loose 

from the once present chapter. 

Blank pages had been begging. 

Ink aching to write 

a new road and world. 

A soul that could no longer deny

the taste of something else. 

Something that felt true. 

Something not yet seen.

We don’t have to see something

in order to believe.


 – an excerpt from Victoria Erickson’s fantastic new book- Edge of Wonder, available on Amazon

 It is time to go deeper, to find your rudder
The unswerving truth of who you are
To keep you on track to your destiny.
Some tacking and jibing – yes
But with minor adjustments
On your way once more
Wind at your back to carry you
To ease your way
for a time.
The storms will come, for oceans will be oceans
Fear appears
Fear of being tossed about in the waves
Fear of not surviving rough seas
Fear is to be your teacher
Fear is to be your guide
Fear is to hold your hand as you look beyond the horizon
Of what you have always known
To the truth you can only know
Once you face fear
And see the love in its eyes.


The Truth of You by Brenda Newberry





 Drinking from an Empty Glass:
A Letter to a Dear, Dark Friend
Yes, I know the government is corrupt. Yes, I know

there are people conspiring. Yes, I know people can

lack integrity. Yes, I know that western culture is materialistic.

Yes, I know that corporations are self-serving.

Yes, I know that the media is manipulative. Yes, I know

it is hard to trust love. Yes, I know that it can be difficult

to believe in God. I share many of your concerns.
And I also know that we cannot change the world

without acknowledging what is wrong. I know that we

must stand against that which shames, oppresses and

damages humanity. I know that we should not ignore

the injustices and put on a fake smile. I know that we

must find our voice and stand our ground. I know that

we must fight for our right to the light. I believe deeply

in forward moving criticism.
But something doesn’t feel quite right. You complain

all the time. You have made negativity a full time

job. You don’t make an effort to find solutions. You

blame everything on the world out there. You don’t actually

do anything positive to effect change. And you

seldom acknowledge the positive steps humanity has

made. You seldom acknowledge the beauty around

you. You almost never see the light in the darkness.
I know something from my lived experience. I

know that the light is always there. It is there, in the

breath that keeps you alive, in the smile of a child, in

the yet another chance to find your path. It is there in

the rise of the feminine, in the therapeutic revolution,

in the burgeoning quest for authenticity. If you can’t see

it, then the issue is a personal one, for there are signs of

progress everywhere.
And I also know from a lifetime of overcoming that

it is possible to hold it all at once. To fight against injustice

while still embodying the light. To see where we

are lacking, while rejoicing in our abundance. To express

our anger, and to live our gratitude. To feel overwhelmed

by an unfair world, while still achieving our goals. To see how 

far we have yet to travel, while applauding how far we have come.
And so I wonder what lives below your perpetual

negativity? Apart from the problems with the world,

what happened that darkened your lens? What made

the glass so empty? Is it really all about the world ‘out

there’, or are there also unresolved personal experiences

that need to be healed? What are you really trying to express

about the lack of love, attention, and satisfaction

in your life? What lives below this victimhood? What is

your deeper complaint? What needs to expressed and

resolved so that you will see some light shining through

again? Please don’t wait until the world is perfect, for it

will never be so.
Dear friend, how can I help you to believe again?


(~Jeff Brown an excerpt from ‘Love it Forward’)


 In every moment we make a decision — whether conscious or unconscious. Will I choose to open my heart, send love, withhold judgment and thus free myself from fear? Or will I close my heart, project fear instead of extending love, judge others, and thus bind myself to fear? The choice is mine and mine alone.
— Marianne Williamson



Like a tree our growth depends upon our ability to soften, loosen, and shed boundaries and defenses we no longer need.


Trees grow up through their branches and down through their roots into the earth. They also grow wider with each passing year. As they do, they shed the bark that served to protect them but now is no longer big enough to contain them. In the same way, we create boundaries and develop defenses to protect ourselves and then, at a certain point, we outgrow them. If we don’t allow ourselves to shed our protective layer, we can’t expand to our full potential. 
Trees need their protective bark to enable the delicate process of growth and renewal to unfold without threat. Likewise, we need our boundaries and defenses so that the more vulnerable parts of ourselves can safely heal and unfold. But our growth also depends upon our ability to soften, loosen, and shed boundaries and defenses we no longer need. It is often the case in life that structures we put in place to help us grow eventually become constricting. 
Unlike a tree, we must consciously decide when it’s time to shed our bark and expand our boundaries, so we can move into our next ring of growth. Many spiritual teachers have suggested that our egos don’t disappear so much as they become large enough to hold more than just our small sense of self—the boundary of self widens to contain people and beings other than just “me.” Each time we shed a layer of defensiveness or ease up on a boundary that we no longer need, we metaphorically become bigger people. With this in mind, it is important that we take time to question our boundaries and defenses. While it is essential to set and honor the protective barriers we have put in place, it is equally important that we soften and release them when the time comes. In doing so, we create the space for our next phase of growth. 


by Madisyn Taylor 

Daily OM
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