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The Realm of Shadow and Light

 I recently saw a post on social media that caught my eye and captured my attention.  At first I wondered why someone would post such a grim and disturbing photo amidst these troubled times that beg for hope and healing. In the photo there is a doorway that largely reflects the shadow of a gnarled and twisted and lifeless tree. The shadow looms and seems to hiss and contort itself into the face of a monster who has come to devour its prey. I questioned why this photo would be shared with such a trembling and tender world. I could not, however, look away. I studied it closely. I wondered and sought answers. And I decided to read the comments of others who had viewed the post. Through the commentary I heard the chorus.  Through the commentary I was given a metaphor for life.  In one clear voice, those who had commented, sung out this essential refrain: Look Toward The Light. I revisited the photo and shifted my focus. There before my eyes, staring out from beside the dark shadows, was a
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The Lessons of Lavender

 There is snow on the Lavender. Falling in slow motion, crystalline light on the evergreen leaves. It started last night. With the rise of pale clouds that could still not conceal the reveal of the rising of star light. The swirling of seasons merged gently upon the soft leaves. Still they did not close up, or curl in, or seek cover or cower. They did not complain or give care for “tomorrow.” They simply embraced the unfolding slow grace of the mystical shower.  They opened more fully. Surrender enlivening their deep seeds of Power.  Receiving the whispers of star light as white light as transparent crystals of rain. In their deep letting go to the new fallen snow, was the wisdom of spring that allowed them to grow. Evergreen. In full honor and knowledge of all that’s transformed through our humbling, life giving wintering.  Can I learn the true language of Lavender leaves? How to open to Fall and release what must leave? Can I bow my head down in unbridled release ? Can I softly surre
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The Holiness of Hopelessness

 The title of this essay may appear to be misleading. As if it were a testimony to despair. But I assure you, it is quite the opposite. I have been studying the nuances between three energies as I walk the landscapes of our current world unfolding. In my own life as well, there are terrains I must learn how to walk through towards safe landings on firmer ground. The world is at war. Children are suffering the effects of the adults who have lost sight of them. There is unspeakable violence. Inhumanity and division seem to grow bleaker with each passing day. I have been examining the essences of three Teachers inside me that once felt like life jackets in troubled waters. These are the hallowed teachings of Hope, Faith and Belief. They are at times, singular and powerful of their own accord. At other times, they are intertwined and I find myself unraveling their threads to enlighten my understanding of their inner cords. As of late, I am learning to shed the skins of all three. In honor
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The Gathering

 Not long ago, I cared for my aging Mother as she flirted with the landscape of the deep woods of dementia. She would wander in and out as if testing the waters of hide and go seek and hold on and release. I worked part time, thinking it was safe to leave her at home for only a few short hours a day.    The last season of Autumn in which she was still mobile and not quite as fragile is etched in my mind.  I would frequently find her as I drove up the driveway, standing in the front yard, gathered up inside the space of her enchantment and beholding. My Mother was utterly enthralled and joyful. There in the midst of the swirling of leaves she had gathered and unknowingly released. Her chosen receptacle for the placement of her harvest was a laundry basket. She tenderly gathered the leaves and offered them gently off of the rake and into their place. She did not seem to notice them leave in the breeze through the deep holes that could not contain them.  At that time and in that Autumn, I
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The Book of Shadows

 My book of Shadows  Here does lay  Before me with its interplay With invocations of surrender Trusting in the winding way The spiral journey deep within  Where shadows lie and light begins  Where darkness is as much a womb as light will ever be  What’s in the way is now the way. Its Truth cannot be held at bay  It faces false and hidden halls Rewriting writings on the walls  From past beliefs and hidden tears From future grief and what that bears In silent calls The shadows come  To heal it all  Reveal it all  If I but sit and merge amidst the shifting of it all The orb of light is born from deep within what’s hidden  Its revelations of insight once thought forbidden  But gifts of mist and shadow turn me back around  To excavate what has been buried and can now be found  The Diamond light Concealed once from my sight Is now invoked as I lay bare my fear  And face it is an ally and a friend  Who comes not to defend  But to reveal in vulnerability The humbling luminosity When laying bar
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A Book That Looks Like God

 I was once told by beloved friends, that Truth is a Diamond. They said that we are all given a place in this world,  with a singular orientation and location from which we view this Diamond.  They said that all viewpoints we hold contain aspects of truth. But the whole Truth is out of our focus. Unless we try hard to zoom out and zoom in, towards a viewpoint of Ultimate, Absolute, Unequivocal and Enduring Truth. As I’ve witnessed the events unfolding in the world on my TV screen in recent days, I have curled up in the fetal position. Unable to speak or stop the bleeding. I have been trying to gather the children in my arms. The children of Afghanistan and Ukraine and Russia. The children of Israel and exiled Palestine. The children of Cleveland, Ohio. I have been asked why this all bothers me so. For it has always been this way. And ever shall be. But in the Diamond Light of my own understanding, we have taken birth repeatedly in order to heal the belief systems of separation and the
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Walking On Water

 The following is a true story.  And it is a story that asked me to drop all stories I had ever thought I’d known before. I ask only that you read it with the eyes of the heart, so that its grace can be felt and its message received  deep within you.  Some background information before we begin.  I grew up with two of the most loving parents I could ever have hoped for. I lived in a city suburb and was taught by the Nuns of the Roman Catholic Church. I was the oldest of three children and our lives were carefree until the day our parents divorced. We were so young and we misunderstood and misinterpreted the events that unfolded. My Father was the North Star and guiding light for every one who knew him. He was the love of my life and the love of the lives of all those that he touched. The ever charismatic Irishman. The bagpiper, police man and protector of hearts. He simply shined.  My father remarried. His new wife and her five children would become his wedded family. As young children
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