Do Not Try to Save the Whole World

 

Geranium Bloom
Geranium Bloom by Nancy L

Do not try to save the whole world 
or do anything grandiose.

Instead, create a clearing in the dense forest of your life
and wait there patiently,
until the song that is your life
falls into your own cupped hands
and you recognize and greet it.


Only then will you know how to give yourself
to this world
so worthy of rescue.

~Martha Postlewaite

Whale eye Wisdom

 
Whale Eye
Whale Eye
 
Swell of sea meets
Gray hump of a ghost
First there, then not.
 
At the line between sky and sea
Barnacled and scarred flesh
Then one milky eye appears.
 
I look and wisdom gazes back
Eye to eye we join
Falling into deep sea time.
 
Ancient unwritten memories
Cascade over and through me
Civilization washes from my grasp.
 
I am left empty and clean
Alone with wind on waves and whale
For a moment of eternity.
 
~Nancy L

The Soul of the World

Soul of St. Vrain River

This is What You Are For

What you stir
lovingly in your depths,
what you fiercely imagine,
will break through like a storm,
like a rapture,
simplifying,
revivifying?
This is what you are for.

To imagine the impossible is deeply human.
To muster the heart
to stretch for what beckons you
is your birthright.
Stretch.
Tear.
Explode
your heart.
This is what you are for.

Your cellular capacity to imagine
is a subversive technology.
It alters
every thing
through an evolutionary,
kaleidoscopic spin,
juicy with
elemental creativity.
Dangerous.
This is what you are for.

When you imagine with all your heart’s
brilliance
and meaty courage,
you will be claimed
by darkly-feathered hands
of unchained
angels who come to take you
hard, down into the deep caves
of what flushes your delicate skin,
dampens your palms.
Wakes you like a raging
dream
come to carry you by shimmering
forces
unknown.
Here, you will know
you have no choice.
Finally.
You are free.
This is what you are for.

If you’re ready
enough,
let this Trouble
take you
to your knees.
With your sweaty full attention,
imagine how you’d
kiss
the plump, pink lips
of your tender
soul.
But wait. Re-member:
This is not about you.
You are being used
by Every Thing.
This is what you are for.

Once re-membered,
you will draw into
your being
the throb
you came here to taste.
The one way of belonging
that is yours to make matter.
This is what you are for.

The broken-hearted,
glistening hum of
your taught, tangled
body will give
off a fragrant, unruly
intelligence beyond the Machine’s measure
of right, wrong, reason.
This is what you are for.

Have you come here to make Trouble
for Comfort and Security? For Greed and Convention?
For Routine and Predictability?
Good.
Those are the Killers of
what you are for.

The planet is very uncomfortable.
She is writhing in pain.
Feel her suffering in your blood, and
you will know what you are for.
Taste compassion for the slaughtered, and
you will love like the Milky Way.

Shatter your old ways, and
show me how your soul blushes
alive
with arousal.
This is what you are for.

Be an unpopular
harbinger,
a tender, sprouted
sentinel of
the rhizome of archaic revival.

Do not take a seat.
She is ready for you.
The soul of the world
will see you now.
What have you come to give her?

~Melissa La Flamme 
Shamanic Soulwork

Nature is my Religion

Snowy Wonderland

When people question what my religion is, I want to say that I believe in Taoism mixed with a large serving of gnostic Christianity and a side of Tibetan Buddhism thrown in for meditative measure. Or perhaps I could offer a brief lecture on the common threads in all religions….

Maybe it’s more honest to just say that nature is my true religion. And share this beautiful poem by J.L. Stanley as a way of explaining:

Catechism for a Witch’s Child

When they ask to see your gods
your book of prayers
show them lines
drawn delicately with veins
on the underside of a bird’s wing
tell them you believe
in giant sycamores mottled
and stark against a winter sky
and in nights so frozen
stars crack open spilling
streams of molten ice to earth
and tell them how you drink
a holy wine of honeysuckle
on a warm spring day
and of the softness
of your mother who never taught you
death was life’s reward
but who believed in the earth
and the sun
and a million, million light years
of being.

Flooded

Flooded
Flooded St. Vrain

One broken day
When old hurts break free
From my deepest dark
Held silent too long.
 
Watery flow
A thousand tiny teardrops
Flood from every pore  
Pain long hidden.
 
This deluge
blots out sun and moon
Leaving only darkness
In its wake.
 
I wander
Stumbling over the bones
Of old memory
Dreaming of peace.
 
And slowly
The cloudy waters subside
I surface to find
A fresh, beautiful space.
 
I am new
A raw space of possibility
Old sorrows washed clean
Ready to receive.
☾ ☽

A Blessing of Solitude

Winter Morning
Winter Morning

May you recognize in your life, the presence, power and light of your soul.
May you realize that you are never alone,
That your soul in its brightness and belonging
connects you intimately with the rhythm of the universe.
May you have respect for your own individuality and difference.
May you realize that the shape of your soul is unique,
that you have a special destiny here,
That behind the facade of your life
there is something beautiful, good, and eternal happening.
May you learn to see yourself with the same delight, pride,
and expectation with which God sees you in every moment.

~John O’Donohue
Anam Cara