Hungry Hands

SoulCards(c)

In my dreams, I touch the Infinite and She shows me the present moment, pure and calm.
Leaves of flame and hands without names, we all rest in Her and depend upon her for our existence . . . simple, changing.
In my dreams, my Self is free to see beyond the forms of our physical life and to realize the hunger, the need, of so many reaching out in confusion and fear. Hands in need, begging, calling out for guidance to grow, asking to learn, yearning to be taught instead of told, old ways returning with fiery truth glowing through Her leaves of gold and burning away the stagnant air of compressed hearts releasing love and creativity with honor.
I release my dreams into reality and they bloom, grow, into a depth of knowing reaching for the sky to feed the hungry hands.
I feel flutters of anxiety, calmed by knowing that all this is a play on a stage and the scenes can change in an instant but I am still me. She is within and we will be fine. All is well.
Abundance always, all around. Lack is only a perception of world that can be given the boot and set aside for the illusion it is. Certainly, less and more are relative in the world, but they are malleable, changing constantly with or without our consent. But true abundance, fulfillment, knowing that this moment in Self is enough, flares like the sun shouting out the dawning. Momma Plenty brings her basket of goodies and sprinkles stardust upon my heart until it overflows. 
In my dreams, I feed the need of Self and the hungry hands with Her bounty. And when we are full, peace permeates our world spreading through the universe like a gentle breeze kissing all life into stillness . . . and infinite echo of eternity for an instant or always.
All is well--plenty--enough.
Movement comes in and we play, trying on the clothes of new roles or old ones or borrowing for a glimpse of growth.
Change is welcome and I reach out to hold hands with Her as the weaving continues . . . I touch the thread, hold the loom steady, spin the coarse fiber, stitch tightly or loosely, creating a cloak of rainbow and clouds, leaves and feathers, snowflakes and emeralds, fur and skin and bone, the moon in one hand, the sun in the other, and I rest in Gaia for we are One . . . changing yet always the same. Abundant.
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Before drawing the card . . .

Spinning, weaving, the threads of my life interwoven with another and another. Here we are, traversing the path at different paces, one steps off and other pauses, waiting, honoring, loving, accepting, and warmly welcomes the return. All is well. Time is irrelevant for growth is occurring and change is happening within the tapestry we create. Now--all is well. Each moment to unfold, each thread that unravels will betaken up and re-woven into a new design, eternally creating. In this moment, all is well. Step b step, thread by thread. 


As I finish writing, there is a song I recall, shared with me by a beautiful soul . . . I share it with you here . . . "Weave and Mend" . . . 

Lyrics:

Old woman is watching, watching over you In the darkness of the storm, she is watching She is weaving, mending, gathering the colours She is watching over you Chorus So weave and mend Gather the fragments safe And win the sacred circle sisters Weave and mend, weave and mend, Oh women, weave and mend Old woman is weaving, gathering the threads Her bones become the loom she is weaving, She is watching, weaving, gathering the colours She is watching over you Chorus For years I’ve been watching, waiting for old woman Feeling lost and so alone, I’ve been watching. Now I find her weaving, gathering the colours Now I find her in myself Written by Mary Trup; Sung by Frances Black

Portals

SoulCards(c)

through a portal
emerging
reassurance
trust in love
boundaries clear
lighten up
be in faith
open invitation
intuitive caution
balance
grace


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This morning, as I took the remaining Soul Cards off the shelf where they were cuddled next to books of spiritual guides and inspirational quotes, I felt deep gratitude for the wisdom people share through words but also thankful for the gift of Soul Cards and other visual, tactile or imaginal portals into my own words . . . my own sensation and expression of the Divine.

Blue Grotto Within

SoulCards(c) Deborah Koff-Chapin

When I feel like I'm chasing my tail, I hear Her voice, Self voice . . . "slow down." 


Crazy whirling busy-ness of life, the pace can escalate, frantic thoughts and emotional panic, and--pause--a deep breath--calm--the spiral slows, eases, no longer out of control and spinning wildly. 
Contemplation, even for the space of an inhale and exhale. Release.
And not only is it Her voice I hear but all voices, the clamor for peace is deafening and I send universal vibrations that connect us all. Who among us has never felt the tornado whipping around their insides or driving them to distraction externally? I see my own path and calmly soothe the strands with cooling coconut oil, massaging the heat out of the tense knots, and feel the relaxing of panic and fear. Adrenalin rush slows. The balance of cold and hot is a blessedly warm embrace and I am fine. Not too slow do I spin so as to fall into the pit of depression, not so fast that bits are flying off in all directions. Balance.
And, instead of chasing my tail trying to catch what cannot be caught, I am nourished and nurtured through the gentle waves sweeping over me, the sea calm.


The darkness begins to lighten into a deep iridescent blue and then azure gleams with sparkles of light as I swim in Her crystal clear presence. She is not a being 'out there' but within--Self--for we are One, not separate. My Beloved is within and so our ocean of love is complete in and of itself, and I swim with all of Life . . . joined.
Dawn breaks on the horizon as I emerge from the grotto where light mysteriously shines without a source because She is Light and always here showing the way. When within the Blue Grotto I can see more clearly my spiral, this life I am living, this thread that is me woven, waving like the seaweed gently to and fro, tangling when storm-tossed or softly swaying in gentle currents of loving motion that is my own true nature. 
And I see this. All our natures are same yet not. The currents are clear, the vibrations I transmit are unique to this form I swim in, as gloriously individual as river is from ocean and yet we are all the same Source. I am a lake or a river or an expansive sea. I have a calm reflective surface or bubbling white foam churning around boulders or crashing waves. Yet I am still no different from all, only appearing unique within the infinite manifestations of life. 
My spiral, the thread of what is me, is the journey of soul within this form. Yet knowing now the One-ness, the interconnectedness of us all, no, more than connected--ONE--is beautiful and brings tremendous peace. So when I see myself, chasing my tail, eating my Self, I feel the strength of Source in our Blue Grotto, for and of us all, to pause . . . breathe . . . tread water a moment . . . float on my back, buoyant, lifted and supported until the calm permeates every fiber. 
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The Blue Grotto on the Isle of Capri is remarkable. As I sank into this contemplative writing, I was transported back to those moments decades ago within this ethereal womb of Gaia.

And, for those of you who join me for the love of all beings furry...

Phoenix Sunbathing Tuesday Morning

She Calls Out

SoulCards(c) Deborah Koff-Chapin

She calls out the light in the dark of night, in purple mountain silhouettes that harken to castles of old where all retreated to safety, Her walls strong and rugged, Her stone solid and secure. She is never gone, always here, right here, beneath my feet, Her solid stone of fortress and abode. Sand castles reflect the macro and lend vision to knowing we are all One in Her as the tiny grains are mountains to creatures so tiny my eye cannot perceive yet I know they are there climbing their own mountains that trickle through my fingers as my life flows through Hers. She is the voice of the Infinite tat sings out our manifestations of myriad variety. Purple mountains like the chain of history that are worn and old or young and new or ground into sand. All the same in Her--all One. To see the elements in how they share their spirit with me through forms I touch is incredible--marvelous beyond measure. Still, I have to remind myself sometimes that I lose nothing and gain everything when change occurs--transformation is not loss unless I dwell upon and cling to the previous form. I close my eyes and can feel the subtle form still here, still with me, still near in space if not time, like the sand remains the mountain. A speck . . . seen from distance, mountains are bumps and ridges like the dry skin on my knuckles in winter that roughens and cracks. But bring love, lubrication, moisture and soften, elements melding, soothing the ridges, rounding the sharp edges into a soft bed of tissue, of earth, where the touch becomes the love, the nest, the gentle embrace. She calls out to change.

-------and then through the image She calls to another view, a shift in perception---------

Red sun, black sky, laser glowing through Her mouth, opening to the need for intense transformation. Signs. Within night dwells the dreams of future and terrors of past, or vice versa, and Her light transforms both into growth. Sky broad and dark and wildly spinning tornado across the land as She feels the need to create through destruction because all is One and to have the new something else must die, must give way, must recede in this elemental world that exists in the space of illusion. She cries out her anger in the blazing red sun “How could you do this to me?” Yet those are my words, my anger, my fear, my frustration with what humans are doing, how we are neglecting our duty, how we don’t honor Her. She is reflecting back to us that which we have created. A storm rages, we say, but we are the raging and she is simply the storm of re-creation. Gaia is the ultimate mirror and the infinite Creatrix.

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I wrote the following before I drew this morning’s Soul Card (blind draw, as always):

I sit under the sky and touch the Sun and know without a doubt we all are One. As I look out at the thick blanket of snow, caves forming under its many layers, pockets of space and dark within the bright white, I know we are all One. Pine needles that separate from their brothers are joined at their base to Her, in Her, and we are all One. We stretch up while grounding and we are all connected. We are One.