In the prison of my mind, I analyse and agonise, and reflect confusion. In the prism of my mind, I reflect the lines of light and gain illumination. Which shape my mind takes depends on who’s breathing me. If it’s my ego holding my breath to ransom, then I’m in prison with its bars my tight ribs. If it’s my clear observer, my breath’s full and deep and my mind is a prism sparkling clean.
Spirit sends so many signals; in the drumming of my heart, the smoke of my breath, the blood of my leg sticks, the cracking of my bones. But do I listen? Oh no. I want the instant fix, so fight a battle I cannot win. For it is spirit I must follow, or my life will become a hollow mental construct. Spirit’s winds signalling change, keep blowing, blowing, until lovingly I breathe them in and begin to unwind, slowly, slowly. I see how my mind’s resistance has protected and served me well. My resistance, honored, is going, going. I become
Beliefs holding on for grim death, opinions getting off on themselves, ideas strangling me in lines of complexity. Be gone. Be gone. Rusty shackles please unlock, eyes red and prickly, soften, look, ears, suspicious, open, listen, mouth too pursed, smile, kiss. Come back to me, my beloved lost little one. Dissolve into my arms, and be free of all that past.
Words can paint a picture of such richness, take me to a space of such bliss, sound like a symphony that touches my heartstrings. But words also confuse, fill my head with endless chatter, take me away from myself, sentencing me to a life of emptiness. Words can twist memories, distort experiences, make excuses, justify cruelty, create distance, maim and wound. So powerful, words can create war, their tongue an instrument as deadly as any bomb. At times I gasp in horror wondering was it really me who made that off comment? How I crave the sweetness of simple words
I used to believe that feeling so much, I really felt and knew myself deeply: Being a feeling woman was my identity, my heart’s calling, my reason to be, But it was all a bit intense and tiring. One day when experiencing strong feelings I discovered, that while I might be living in my aura’s emotional level, I wasn’t present in my body or my aura’s physical level. Shock. Horror. I wasn’t connected at all; neither to the ground, or my centre and essence. My feelings, enjoying hanging out in the held breath of anticipation and over-excitement, were not actually
At the end of a long tear lies joy. Between hurt’s pricking thorns nestles sensitivity’s sweet soft flower. Admitting fear leads you to courage’s door. Knowing you must die, makes you appreciate life. Out of pain and blood comes a river of love. It’s the very thing we fear and face, that turns our runaway tide, and brings sweet transformation.
I want just the right amount of softness and sweetness, just the right rhythm and flow, to match my needs. Too slow or too fast, too big or too small, too tentative or too hard and I can’t relax at all. Ah but when that moment comes, when the essence and of the movement resonates with my body’s longings, how I cry out in joy. To be at last heard, seen, held, rocked in my own rhythm, honoured for who I truly am, I feel so loved and free.
In snows of white, fields of green, skies of blue, I will worship thee. In suns of yellow, pools of purple, deserts of orange, I’ll worship you. In clouds of grey, blood sap of red, caves of black aubergine, I will believe in you. I’ll let your seas of aquamarine, breezes of rose-pink love, sunsets of hot crimson fire, sands of soft tangerine, heal me. Mother Earth, whatever your hue, I honour and adore you. As your daughter, I’ll love myself too, in all colours, phases and moods.
I wanted a soft cloth mother who I could snuggle into. But all I got was a wire mother. Hard and cold with sharp edges, she couldn’t hold or caress me with the full cream love I needed. It wasn’t her fault she hadn’t been taught, for touch, even hugging, was deemed unnecessary, in her appearance-driven moneyed family. And my body never feeling love in its skin, how could I love my body and fully come into it? Yet come in I must, for it so deserves my embodied love, and I truly want to be fully on this planet
Stars form my bones, structuring my life myth. It’s up to me to decide how I use these bones of my being. For too long, in reaching for the stars, I’ve neglected the physical. This stops now. I will strengthen my body and bones, attend to all my tasks and needs, so I can now step out solidly through my bones, and staying grounded, aligned with my purpose and bliss, reach for the stars, bringing heaven to earth. to shine my starry bones in reality’s mirror.
