Sail Away

© Photo1921 | Dreamstime.com

Sailing
on a ship of skin
wrapped around bones of bow
and flesh of stern
and a mast of hair
led by the heart of She who is 
mounted firmly in front
guiding and leading
lending Her intuition to 
steering as I spin the wheel
turning into the waves
leaning into the winds that 
carry the scent of wildflowers blooming
on distant shores alive and pulsating with the 
hum and beat of drums deep within the caves
as Her heart beats into the 
earth and water, air and fire of Her Core.


Sail away,
feel the rhythm that pulsates 
into the ocean and up to this ship that 
sails me into world and form.


Sailing . . .
born in a rush that carries me 
down the mountain in the turbulent river
cold and invigorating
to burst into the Light.


Then, a reversal of birth as I 
tuck my head into bent knees and 
feel the world
this 'me'
disappear
until I am once more only the ocean.


Merged, I can see the ship
that sailed me home . . . 


Sailing in the distance
riding gentle waves
floating in peace,
I smile to see it from here
to feel with compassion her curves and angles
her grace when she remains within her element
and from here I can see the colors of courage
that were not apparent when too close
see the reds and purples of her hull
the blues of her mast
the green tints of rails reflecting her union with elementals.


She sails the ocean but without her billowing sheets raised high
she goes nowhere
needing the wind to move her across the vast distances
needing the light of sun and stars to find direction.
As she sails to distant shores
she opens her portholes to the visions of diversity and 
welcomes aboard the skirts and trousers
the babes in swaddled clothing held to mothers' breasts
the golden grains
the sweet fruits
intriguing spices new to her decks of salty brine.
Rainbows walk into her heart and are welcome.


She does not change to become her guests
because then she could not carry them in her heart as they truly are
and she would sink into the depths for not being who she is.
And so she rests in her curved bones and
polished skin and takes on ballast when needed 
so she can remain afloat
remain true to her own construction and 
hand-carved lovingly-endowed Figurehead
leading the way
true to her feminine nature
yet holding with compassion the 
lights of vision that guide her to 
manifest the shores of experience and knowledge 
that have been invited aboard;
the discernment and fire of discovery
the drive to explore rather than drift aimlessly
the rudder of her currents directed by 
whale and sped on by dolphins and
opened to air by the antics of behemoths
spewing and spraying 
and soaring for breathless moments
out of their element and 
sharing the wisdom of becoming and being and doing 
whether it is our nature or not--briefly.


And so she realizes her potential to sail the seas 
and be free and at ease 
upon the unity of divine knowing and allowing and 
creating a reality in which she is perfectly at home 
while still being part of the world, 
part of the word,
the sounds of form, 
as she remains content to sail the oceans, solitary, 
yet treasure her forays into bay and harbor during quiet or storm, 
to experience all then sail away again 
air puffing out her sails in broad gentle curves 
and with easy movements, 
tacking into the wind, 
divining her true course on the broad ocean.


Sail away . . . 

New Release on the Gaia Path

I'm very pleased to share that I have finally published my second collection of contemplative pieces.

Thank you to those of you who have been reading my blog during the past year and half, providing encouragement, appreciation and love. Please know that you have helped me feel a deeper confidence in offering my writing to others, and I'm grateful.

Should you know anyone who might be interested in either of my collections, both are available as printed copies or as ebooks through Lulu.com

Rainbows of Children Who Dance in the Night

from the Shapeshifter Tarot deck

She rides Unicorn as only She can
across the fields and throughout the land
racing the wind in the expanses of green
and laughing in joy with the creatures between
who know of Her magic 
and treasure Her gifts
and offer their essence 
in voices that lift
us all into Presence.


This world we are riding we do so in love 
raising us higher on mountains above
then sliding down waterfalls, dive in the pools
the depths of which claim us as wise ones or fools.
All that She shares as She rides Unicorn
is gifted to us when we drink from the 
souls of those who are born
to imagine a world much greater than ours
where no one can hunger 'neath blessings of showers
in cramped city streets or on dry desert plains
where none have too much that they cling to in pain.


Here on Her steed, She laughs out in joy
how precious our birth in each moment of knowing 
all are together, the gremlins and guides
and all of the beings that shelter inside 
of our hearts where they cower from haunting past crimes
yet now we are come to the Light of our lives.


Here I am in the dusk of my life
where I am reborn and experience no strife
born near the end is a luscious delight
for cycles are changing the sun into night.
Blessings are falling on dark and in dusk 
for winter is over and in joy we are drunk 
upon wines of the times that the children are changing 
and I feel my own body now rearranging
to open to wisdom of youthful delight 
as they dance in the darkness and take back the night 
as the blessing it is for the gestation of all, 
we know it and feel it, illusions will fall.
For we are the ones who welcome the times 
of the world in Her birthing a new paradigm 
that will shine with a light 
of both day and night.


The pendulum swings and the Mother will carry 
Her children in love and the hate we will bury 
beneath all the rubbish of past hurt and stress 
for Madre is wearing a brand new green dress.
She swirls around in Her grand design 
and grants us Her love in the symbols and signs 
that are sweeping the nations across all the lines
that used to cause peoples to be ill-defined 
as "different is scary" or not familiar at all 
but Gaia is changing us back to pre-Fall 
where soon all our spirits will embrace and delight 
in the rainbows of children that dance in the night.
Knowing we are at the dawning of night, 
my heart full to bursting with inner delight. 
Thanks to the children for seeing the Truth
and renewing my death with precious rebirth. 


________________
I have rarely used Tarot in the traditional manner of readings, however, I'm drawn to them as they are beautiful collections of art and soul work that can be powerful portals into contemplative writing and inner journeying.

The Gifts of Weeds

all rights reserved

Pull the weeds and clear the way for what we want and expect.
Pull the weeds so that they don't choke the life from the more fragile plants trying to stand tall and grow into an individual of strength and beauty. Taking one life to replace it with another--are they all the same and interchangeable? What defines a weed and what makes them less important or desirable than the rest? Maybe they aren't as flashy, or maybe they cannot provide nourishment. But do they deserve a moment of pause, of respect for sheer perseverance and sense of survivorship?
Do we pull the weeds because they are common? 
Why do we pull the weeds? 
And are they weeds by name but gifts in disguise, hiding in plain sight?
Pull the weeds that spread far and near because they don't fit into the grand scheme of the plan we have for this space?
Pull the weeds and toss them aside like so much rubbish with their way of infiltrating and their scraggly defiant arms and legs, the homeless that ramble our cities and grow through the cracks in the sidewalks or sometimes slip back into the crevices to disappear forever before we can pull them out and put them where they won't be seen. The odd weed growing in the midst of roses, unafraid to show itself even though it knows the risk is high that it will be culled as different or wrong or inappropriate. 
Pull the weeds like we pull out the gray strands of hair, or try to cover them up with colors or textures that are foreign to this space and moment. 
Pull the weeds and all life dies as they are the ones that can hold the earth in place by the side of a path on a journey moving faster than we imagined, or they shelter the tiny insect that needs a moment of protection. 
Pull the weeds off the face of Gaia and see only the 'pretty' of illusion as if all that is important is the image before us, not the seeing of the depths of soul in those that cling and try to survive against all odds. 
Pull the weeds and all we are left with is false image of conformity and those roots of illusion begin to decay sooner with each new generation, they fall apart and wither and become weaker for they are missing the workers and the holders of the core of existence, the community unseen and hidden and pulled away from the beautiful ones that desire the limelight and hog all the sunshine. 
Weeds are healers and light-bringers and the ones who cleanse by their very nature and offer themselves in profusion. Do we pull the weeds without awareness?
Pull the weeds and clear the way and toss them on a bonfire so their smoke can mask the reality of each moment.
We pull the weeds at our own cost as a community of diversity falls away and conformity degrades the soil until it can no longer support what we saw in our dreams because we were blind and held no grace toward those less endowed with the obvious. 
Yet pull the weeds, uproot them, and they will return for that is their nature. Poison them and remove them and we are destroying ourselves as well unless we bring awareness in and recognize their gifts, allow them a little space so they don't feel abandoned or feel as if they need to create a revolution to take over. 
Pull the so-called weeds and balance becomes more precarious as we deny the validity of each and every form of life, of each soul valued and worthy, unseeing of all beauty in Oneness.
Pull the weeds? Or gather the weeds gently and thank them for their offering, honor their relation and contribution, celebrate the gifts they share when we open our eyes and see with compassionate acceptance the diversity of all life.
_____________
From the writing prompt "pull the weeds" via ClarityWorks
The photo was taken by the breeder of my dog Phoenix and is of his relations and the breeder's grand-daughters.

Explanations

What she did not explain was clearly more important than what she did. Hidden behind the words of reassurance and the wide-open eyes gazing steadily was a sadness that led down a pebble-strewn path to a secret she felt no one would understand. How could they? It wasn't that she did not explain what had become, what was happening to her, who she was ... it was that she couldn't. Between them lay a barrier on this topic that neither side bothered to bridge anymore. And that left a great grief, a loss of connection. Only if they talked--and listened--would the gulf between them start to heal.

She didn't want to bring it up again and feel the distance grow, see the bodies move away, see the concern and fear in their eyes. Not just one of them but all--a subject that was off-limits because of fear and intolerance, a matter of great importance because they discussed openly and freely their own views but she wasn't encourage.d So she did not explain and they didn't ask and the 'elephant-painted-red in the room' just stood there, creating an obstacle ... even if none of them wanted to acknowledge it.

She would blurt it out in strange places and at odd times--when they weren't around--to relieve the pressure like a balloon that had become so full of air it was going to pop unless a little pressure, a bit at a time, was released squeaking into the silence.

What was it she did not explain? No less than her Spirit and Soul and the path she was on, the purpose to her being on earth, the Light of Truth that put the wonder in her eyes and the love in her heart and the bounce in her step and the laughter in her voice. All that she was, really, the essence within the body she wore and the roles she portrayed -- that child-construct image they wanted to cling to as the reality of her. So she felt sad but that sadness also opened her to knowing that they, too, were damaged-souls-in-recovery, were holding within themselves a mystery they were too scared to touch, too anxious to embrace for once beheld we are unable to turn away without betraying our own deepest self, our own truth of Being, our own purpose of this precious birth.

She could see in them the miracle of Soul and Spirit, and she held the faith for all of them that one day, someday, they would all embrace as equals in love and Being, honoring each other's uniqueness, even celebrating the diversity that holds at its center Truth a love unbounded by time or space, beliefs and paths honored and welcomed.

So, she did not explain, she chose instead to seek the middle path of Being as True as she could in life, to not judge or feel superior, to not allow ego to take over making her prideful of what she knew as True for her. That would taint and tarnish Truth, hiding it behind the same veils of delusion that wrapped others so tightly they could not move, could not break away. They became mummies confined to their narrow costumes only able to walk one little path with covered eyes and hesitant steps, sleeping in coffins that held them secure and protected from the elemental joys and mysteries and beauty all around out in the Real World. She did not explain, no, she simply held to her ownTruth, opening to love and peace as her garments flowing gently upon her satin skin, allowing dance and delight in all the elementals and all the unseen mysteries of spirit that reveled in the expanse of sky and beyond to ether, the space where all begins and ends and transforms.

What she did not explain was how and why she was so content and felt such peace. They sometimes would look at her and she could see in their eyes Curiosity sitting next to Fear like Cat and Mouse, each waiting for the other to make the first move but then Mouse darts away into his safe hole and Cat remains, waiting for the next opportunity but falls asleep eventually, a deep sleep of inactivity and inattention induced by the drug spread all around which is the control of not wanting anything to change and upset the status quo. And their eyes would glaze over.

And so, what she did not explain was ... everything. The everything she simply was ... herself ... precious ... enough ... happy.

_________________
A story explored from a ClarityWorks writing prompt "what she did not explain." The story is a blend of personal experience and empathic extrapolation of a broader range of experiences.
The photo is of my 16-year-old niece.