As We Walk Upon The Water

 I have learned more from the animals I’ve known  than I have from most encounters with human beings. Animals are by far the more advanced and sensitive of the species who cross these planes of Earth. The animal kingdoms are consistently honest. They only speak in languages of Truth. They are not into small talk, for they do not glaze over the contents of their experience. When they look you in the eyes, you know that you’ve been looked at. They suffer silently, patiently and forgivingly, the effects of our not stopping to look back. Bullshit is not in their vocabulary. They can always feel what we do not say. And forgive us anyway.. Their own feelings are raw and expressive and immediate. And often misinterpreted. And in their kindness, we are forgiven for our constant lack of understanding. And our slow, slow strides towards trusting and speaking and listening in Truth. My cat, Shanti, is a superior being. His capacity for gentleness defies the meager boundaries of its limit...

I am no longer drawn to astral travels, deep trance channels, or meanderings across the Milky Way. I simply want to stay.  To liberate the way I choose to view the every day. I am not interested in out of body where I view the  landscapes of the far away. I simply want to stay. No matter what the day may bring along my way. I want to know just how to breathe on earth when all within me hurts. When rent is due and cold ensues and cars break down and skies no longer sing of blue. I want to walk with you. And hold the light between our tender, trembling, trusting hands. Seeking a deep command. Of how to understand the rocks that roll across these lands. I do not seek escape. I want to resonate. With all the Heaven of the Earth before it gets too late. Don’t want to hesitate. To fully incarnate. To cherish and inhabit each new moment with a vow to celebrate. I am no longer interested in guidance that’s not tethered to the Earth. I want to know the truth. Of this seat of my birth. ...

 There is a song I often play that highlights moments in the life of Mary of Nazareth. In the song, the recurring theme is that She stayed. She did not walk away. Her heart did not defend. Her armor on the ground, She sought not to pretend.  I’m sure she moaned. Until the Earth itself received the anguished discourse of Her fervent groans. And yet, She stayed. She did not stop her gaze. She did not look away. And She Forgave. Her eyes did not betray the harshness of reality that came Her way. She chose to stay. And Be Love Anyway. I want to Love that way.  I want my heart to stay. I don’t want to ascend or to transcend the alchemy of incarnation, even as the skies fill up with mystic grey. There will be pain. There will be deep Goodbyes. There will be heartache. There will be anguished cries.  This world’s on fire. Thirsting for healing rains to quench before the flames grow higher. Mary of Nazareth. Please make of me Your Daughter. Transform me into sparkling drops ...

 On the Feast of Saint Clare I adopted two kittens. For purely selfish and ulterior motives. The tiny cottage I live in used to sit on a slab that no longer exists. This is considered most fortuitous by all manner of woodland creatures that live nearby. The lack of a proper physical foundation allows them entry and shelter from cold winter days. There’ve been chipmunks and squirrels. Field mice and raccoons. Who’ve most thankfully sought out the safety of well heated rooms. But my cat stopped all that. And sits watch on my lap. Purring softly and gently against all that bumps in the night. Lending uncanny sight. Making everything right. My senior feline familiar will soon leave my side. All my prayerful petitions can’t soften the slow of his stride. The tumor is growing. The future is showing.  We must soon say Goodbye. This morning I woke to find out that the kittens had unearthed the rocks hidden deep in the base of my floorboards. They were thrilled beyond reckoning. Joyful...

 Skillful Writing is like baking bread. One must first fill with a hunger for the sustenance of life. And add just the right spice. Some locations of altitude alter the temperature settings. It is best to begin with a warmed up heart before making a start. Attitude is a main ingredient that leads to the ultimate taste and nutrition of bread. Proper portions must be met. Careful blending of compatible and complimentary ingredients are a mandatory skill set. Too much of this will lead to that and will not rise. The thoughtfulness of the dough must be patiently tended. All thought forms blended. For the taste of truth to touch hungry lips formed by fingertips melting just the right words into honey kissed bits. Proper kneading must not contain need. The soft crust should illuminate baked in themes. All  the time that it took to turn craving to cream. The silent prayers  of the spoken dream. Allowing tongues to touch singular schemes of hope filled platters of all that matter...

The Nations of this world have lost their hearts. Political leaders have tried CPR, though only so far as to aid their false claims to false power. The Earth is a wildfire. The chaos a bonfire. Whole species of what used to be have all fled from the scene.  There’s no space in between. To redeem what the willingly blind failed to be, failed to see. My childhood sweetheart, a love of my life and kin to my Soul, is slowly dying. He is changing his address and shifting locations from this Room to that Room. We will meet at the Window and Wave at each other. In spite of the pain. On this side of the Plane. My feline familiar, the cat in my lap, who has guarded my household and sat with me late in the darkness of night will soon vanish from sight. The steel needle I’ll beg of the Vet will unravel the silvery threads of this Earth where we’ve met and kept watch. My own Mother and Seat of my Birth slowly teeters on edges of ledges of Heaven and Earth far between all these Realms. No one’s...

 I have a friend who met me in the darkness, and whispered words of light that led me on my way and feed me to this day. I’m not quite sure how old we were when we were young. But we were older than our years, stronger than our fears and guided by the lyrics of the inner songs yet to be sung. Daniel and I became friends during the passionate and unreasonable and tumultuous poetry of our teenage years. We held each other. Cast spells on each other. Broke each other, forgave each other and helped heal each other.  Daniel held an image of me I have yet to live up to. He saw me as wise and beautiful. He saw me as connected and present and kind. He saw me as the parts of me I forever seek and strive to find. We should all be such merciful mirrors. Reflecting only the deepest truth and highest possibilities of those we see. My oldest Son bears his name. On the eve of his birth, a constellation rose in the sky that I prayed would guide him.  And Daniel rose inside me, as the con...

 Today, in some traditions and schools of religious thought, is what’s known as The Feast Day of Angels. It is a day to pay homage and honor and appreciation to the Celestial Beings who guide and guard us from on high and by our sides. Today, I am ‘under the weather’. But I will not cloud my Vision of those whose Vision leads me beyond such things.  Today I remember with Awe. The myriad reasons I should not be here at all. Warmly Wrapped in this  fleeting indulgence. Of weather and weary and storms that have long since passed by. Without harming my Sky. Today I give thanks for invisible Graces. Leaving tangible traces. Of all that has taught me to swim and to float and to fly. Today I take respite in Wings. As they whisper and council and sing. To remind me of all this life brings. To lift up as I lay down my self imposed burdens and untie the gifts that pure presence can bring. Today I give thanks to the One. To the gentle creator of Earth and of Angels and all of the Ha...