Salt And light

There you are.

And here I am.

In this space.

I sit with you, here.

To feel myself.

The truth.

Some part of a hidden seeing.

And bask in something I don’t quite understand.

But love.

And feel.

A space created.

When I’m here. With myself.

With you.

I feel home.

Safe.

My own homeland.

I feel my heart glow.

I feel my own faith widen, and expand.

I feel a truth no words can describe.

I feel a peace that makes me whole.

My soul, alive.

No matter how difficult, or challenging.  There you are.

Showing up.

In your beautiful ways.

God’s grace making a way, covering, softening.

The presence.

Spirit.

Heart.

Extra courage.

Extra grace.

Even when I wasn’t sure.

There you were with me. Making me stronger. Braver.

Alchemizing, softening, making a way.

Pointing always to that place, where all heart connect. And all give and receive what is needed.

Heartspace. 

Evening the energy.

Putting things back where they belong.

Heart.

Showing off.

The entwining of life, of loss, and gain.

Of newness, and decay.

Of clean, and of mess.

All these things, dancing.

And I wonder…

That if we stepped into God.

And presence.

And real living.

And real knowing.

Real heart

If we turned away from fake things.

How magical our lives would be.

How much better than any movie, or story our lives would be.

How vivid, and how poignant, and delicious, each moment would be.

Even those hard bits.

They too, are not without their own flavor.

It all feels so intense. And yet, so beautiful.

I’ve thought about writing about many things.

I thought about writing something lighthearted, and sharing some humorous videos. My sister found some fun videos, that I want to share on here sometime. At least, we find the funny.

I thought about writing about our tub-full of puppies, and the crazy morning my sister and I had a couple of days ago. The puppies turned on the water...Which I didn't know was possible, and we had a huge rescue mission. (that is an entire post on its own)

I thought about writing about when the puppies were born, and that very interesting day. It was about the exact same day, to day. The 24t---Full moon. And three women weeping. A fire hydrant. And then a book.

I also thought about writing about everything I’ve been feeling, these waves of sadness, and tears.

These high emotions are very strong.

There is so much to feel. Sometimes I can feel heart-stuff, so clearly, so beautifully like swirls of warm sunlight, and a tingling sensation come from someone’s heart, touching mine.

And other times, it’s other emotions

And those, I can feel in my head. And it gets confusing, because I don’t know what it all means.

All I know is that there’s so much.

Sometimes I get so overwhelmed, and confused. And a sorrow whirls through me. And I’ll sit with it, like I did tonight. On my fence, with my cat, watching the moon.

Tears.

I think sometimes they come. Like a visitor. Asking me to be present. And sometimes they feel like the most sincere prayer my soul can pray. And sometimes they are scared tears. And sometimes they tears of frustration. And sometimes they are tears of gratitude, because my heart is full. And sometimes they are tears when I don't know what to say, or do, or how to be. And sometimes they are tears of love, and joy. And sometimes they are tears of letting go of things I cannot change, and have to accept.  And sometimes they are tears of loss. And sometimes they are tears of remorse, and longing. Sometimes they are tears of anger. And sometimes they are tears of words I don't know how to say. And sometimes they are tears because I miss parts of myself I don't let show, or don't yet know. And it's sometimes nice to know, after the rain, the air is clear, and the ground is soft, and dew is on the flowers, and sunlight dances in the clouds, and rainbows, and so many beautiful things come from rain.

I think if we knew this we wouldn't be afraid to rain too. 

It can be a beautiful thing.

Tears, a sorrow, an emotion.

Where, I wish the world, instead of so much anger, and hate, and fear.

We would all cry together.

Weep.

Rain, over things that needed water.

Rain over all the things that are too hot.

Rain over our all the things inside us that build up.

And it would just melt away down our cheeks. 

To cry together. Is beautiful. 

We’d take these hot balls of energy, and weep, and give the energy back to God.

To turn back into love.

These would be holy tears.

Tears If I could collect them, I would use them to sprinkle the ground with.

And to grow beautiful things. Meadows, and forests.

I’d use them in a beautiful perfume, or mix them with lavender, and sprinkle them over battlefields, and places where healing was needed.

Places that needed to be reminded of the truth of their souls, and hearts.  

An elixir to drink, for hearts to finally feel.

To pour over the nations, so they’d remember, how beautiful it was to feel connected to their hearts. To feel vulnerable, and sad, sad for all the times they forgot how beautiful it was to love.

How beautiful it is to forgive.

How beautiful it is to weep.

Tears.

Something you’d put in an air purifier, to clear out all that needed clearing.

A soft rain.

Holy water.

You’d wash with, and years would be taken off you.

Years of things you held onto.

Gone.

And heart. Would remember itself.

And so. When the moon is full.

And when the water rises.

And all those things within me swell.

Emotions I’ve hidden so well.

What truth would they speak?

Why does the heart ache so badly that eyes leak?

Sometimes only tears can transcribe what is felt.

Salt. And water. 

And God turns it into light.

And Sometimes, when it feels too much.

Water rises and then spills out.

And I let it rain, and hope it grows.

Flowers, and green meadows, and forest groves.

Ah…

And step inside this sacred space.

And see the green.

And wipe my face.

And perhaps.

Wander…and wonder too.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE BLESSING

 

Alugalug Cat

Valentine

A Valentine for you...

Dear heart,

Heart that has always been there.

Heart that has never left me.

You speak, without words.

You sing, without sounds.

You flow, through all things, and know no barriers.

You transcend time, and space, and matter.

You connect.

And heal.

Heart.

You have been through so much.

And still you seek to expand, to hold and to love, and grow.

Still your voice is heard.

Still, you beat.

Still, you sing.

Still, you seek to love all you see.

You are there in the stillness.

You are there, in all conditions.

You send out your call without obstruction.

You communicate perfectly.

Thank you heart.

For staying.

For loving uphill, and downhill, and from every direction, and at every turn, and staying with me on every path, and every road, in a crowd, or alone.

You were there.

Always.

Thank you for saying the truth, with every beat of your existence.

That love is its own muscle, and gives life to the entire body, communicating its message every moment, every second, without delay.

A truth that never ceases. A voice we all carry. A drumbeat of God’s grace, and goodness, pulsing through every cell. Love is our lifeblood.

Love is holding everything together.

Love.

Through storms.

And all kinds of weather.

Thank you heart.

For healing.

For knowing the truth beyond this dance.

Beating to the universal dance all hearts are doing.

Thank you for giving.

For expanding.

For knowing.

For listening.

Thank you for teaching me to love love.

Thank you heart for teaching me to choose you, first.

Thank you for giving me guidance, heart.

Heart. That communicates with all hearts.

Open.

Giving.

Trusting.

Flowing.

Thank you for holding the banner of truth, keeping it alive, no matter what you were told. For speaking the truth. Never quieting. Always present.

Heart.

Indwelling in all of us.

This truth.

Its own kingdom unfolding, and blooming as it knows itself, and expands in another.

Thank you for loving when it seemed impossible.

Thank you for healing, and softening and connecting all that was broken. Thank you for mending, thank you for understanding beyond the imperfection of form, and words, and thoughts, and deeds.

Thank you for transcending these things, for going beyond what ears can hear, and eyes can see, and taste, and touch.

Thank you, for loving.

Thank you for letting me know a voice that is the truest sound.

Thank you heart, for teaching me boundlessness. Thank you for teaching me, through your quiet steadiness.

Thank you for sending out your signal. Time, and time again.

That your truth.

Is here.

It has always been.

It always will be.

And as I recognize you, I recognize that you have been always here. Giving without condition. Loving without a reason. Knowing, without a teaching.

Wise. Without words.

Trusting.

Thank you heart.

Thank you for listening.

Thank you for your warmth.

For your direction.

And protection.

For your vision, beyond sight.

For your goodness.

Heart.

Something so obscure.

Something so resilient.

A power of powers.

You can feel.

Strong heart that speaks so loudly, other hearts start singing with it.         And the warmth created, feels tangible, and real, an element unseen, felt, beautiful.

A beat, that never stops.

A heart.

Who can grasp its value?

Who can know its worth?

Oh heart.

Would that all hearts knew how beautiful you are. How good.

If your voice was heard.

Everyone would stop needing, and grasping, and warring, and searching.

Simultaneously.

And start, loving.

And living.

And giving.

And the whole world’s soul would be fed.

And the whole world would know.

That the heart of me.

Is the heart of you.

Is the heart of the earth.

And stars.

And sky.

And the heart of everyone else.

And the body would finally know the heaven it had been searching for its whole life----that paradise had been within a hearts beat away, this whole time.

Good things

 

Hi, 

I haven’t forgotten you.

Not at all.

I hope you are doing well.

I hope you are healthy, and your family is well.

I hope that life is treating you with love.

I hope you find paths that are right for you.

I hope you know you are loved, and protected, and cherished.

I hope you know that God loves, and knows you, and watches over your needs.

I hope your heart is happy.

I hope these things and more.

I hope you have the strength you need for the tasks that are yours to complete.

I hope these things for you.

As the days go by.

I hope you speak well of yourself.

I hope you eat like you love yourself.

I hope that if there is anything that you need, you find it.

I hope that all the best things find you.

I hope you dance like you love yourself.

I hope you treat yourself kindly.

I hope you listen to beautiful music, and sing along with it.

I hope you have friends, and neighbors that care for you.

I hope you find beautiful words, and books, and stories that inspire you.

I hope you have space and time, and sunlight, and earth, and water, to nourish your soul.

I hope you walk barefoot on soft soil.

I hope truth surrounds you, and grace never leaves your side.

I hope you only have dreams that bring you peace.

I hope you love yourself, better than you ever did before. 

I hope these good things for you and more.

 

 

The Irish Blessing

 

Seasons

Dear blog, 

I feel so peculiar. I feel like I keep finding bits of things in buried treasure boxes, from long ago.

From childhood, a time-capsule. With different things inside.

Finding hidden capsules of treasure, and sorrow, within my own chest. And my self of now, is seeing it all. Taking out each thing, stored.

And looking.

And feeling it all. With this knowing.

And wondering, how to be in this world?

How have an open heart, like a child. 

Without flinching?

Or doubting your hearts unchanging goodness. 

And to keep your heart's truth, amid the contrast of the outside world.

Is, at times, acutely painful.   

To know great love, you can feel the dearth of it.

And to feel this contrast, is worth weeping for. 

Mourning the loss of what wasn't allowed.

And may never be felt by some.

And still, love what the truth shows you for in it, the contrast, is, poetically beautiful. 

To an author, to an artist. This is all material. Paint. A canvas. A story.  And everything is used, and recycled into something beautiful.

This past while, there has been so many interesting synchronicities, and events that have me baffled, awed me, that I’m wondering…

And looking around knowing someone totally planned that.

That those events could not have been without some author, peering out smiling as I picked up the message, or gift.

My heart knows that love, most often, in this world, grows through the cracks in the pavement, and it comes through places you least expect it.

And when it’s so perfect.

You hear your heart's own echo, and your heart expands more.

You see your beloved here, and everywhere, appearing in people you thought there wasn’t a glimmer of the divine.

And you…feel humbled. 

You know God is painting.

Writing. 

Recycling.

Renewing. 

Cleaning.

And also, letting.

And...

Sometimes it's so perfect, you know it came from only from the beloved.

And so, I see, love is found.

Here. In this heart.

 First.

And all else is a beautiful gift.

 God is love. And that one love dwells in us all.

And so, it exists everywhere, if allowed. 

Like a flower as my heart unfolds.

It sees itself there.

And there.

And sunlight shines its rays everywhere. 

And the heart opens wider, wondering how it can fit so much inside it. 

And sometimes it’s so beautiful.

And other times, it's so painful. 

You can’t help but wonder…

Oh my heart.

Though.

The painful bit....when my heart wants to be open.

But there appears old boundaries.

 And it seeks to expand past them.

Seeks to unfold, in its own beautiful truth.

And you try to be there for yourself.

And know, that so much of the outside realm, has kept the real from being seen.

That’s why love finds the cracks.

So many gamekeepers have kept the truth hidden, trying to get you to think you are the game board pieces, or the fake currency on the board, or the what you acquire as you play.

Old codes.

And as old codes are confronted.

And transcended. 

The only code worth keeping is love.

And it transcends all codes. All game board pieces. All currency. 

It is the only thing worth acquiring, that can't be acquired. 

Only allowed.

But once the truth knows itself.

It starts to remember that it’s beautiful, and delicious, and expansive, and good, and worthy.

Even if it doesn’t know where it should flow.

Even if it’s seen as childish.

It’s the only sane thing there is.

To be real.

To splash yourself into the world.

To let words spill out, imperfectly perfect.

The cluttered rooms exposed. 

Your hair flying in every direction.

The messy spill on your shirt.

The bit of lunch lingering on your cheek. 

 The worry line in your four head, that tells of your hidden tears.

The imperfect gift, that came from your heart.

The bruise.

These things that come, from living. 

The tired eyes, that have seen so much.

 The workout hands that have held so much.

The tired knees, that have prayed so much.

The crumbly earth, that takes everything in, and makes flowers from the decay.

The trees that grow, straight, or bent, or twisted, with branches that grow as best they can in the direction of the light, however they get there.

They are growing.

And sometimes leafless, and naked. You see how beautiful they are, without anything adorning their branches.

And us too.

Seasons, we have.

And I wish to be that beautiful. There is no hiding your own season.

The temperature.

The distances of the sun.

The coolness, or warmness of the earth.

What the ground grows, shows you the truth of the seasons.

Leaves on the ground.

Leaves on the branches.

Leaves in the earth.

Rain, or wind.

Sun, or shade.

It all shows up.

And the truth of nature is beautiful. No arrogance or shame for its beauty, or decay. It is simply its self.

New, old, young.

It renews itself.

It’s birds sing the truth, of spring.

Its snow song, wintery, and cold, speaks of our own going within, to our core, to find the warmth that sill exists on the inside.

To be beautiful as a horse, with a heart just as big, with strength, and spirit, it has no need to shy away from its form, and its true nature, its speed, and vitality, his beauty, its nature. They are its in inheritance.

It is simply beautiful, because it is itself.

Why then? Is it so difficult to be?

Simply yourself.

Showing up, clean, or messy, decayed, or renewed.

Without apology for your own leaves.

Or your snow.

Or rain.

Or sun.

The only sanity it seems.

Is acceptance.

Surrender.

And presence.

To the weather of yourself.

To know that there is an unchanging core.

And everything else is a dance.

To let your voice flow out, as easily as the sunlight, or the rain.

Or to let it be quiet as the cold earth, in winter.

And let the weather of those worlds around you, be as they are.

With deep compassion.

For the pain, of the decay that comes with the seasons, and the lessons that come with them.

And have compassion on it all.

Without forgetting.

Your own internal spring.

Where God is master of the wheel.

And all of this.

Is play.

A play.

Where we forgot. And are just remembering to have fun.

That in God’s eyes, its perfectly imperfect.

And you, as you show up.

Can give a bit grace to yourself.

To others.

To the seasons that are happening all at once, in everyone around you.

In a room with a handful of people, there can be every season, and every space that is a transition between those seasons.

And to navigate that weather.

And to know your own truth, amid all these weathers, to keep your own heart open, unfolding, and accepting, a glowing ember.

In one corner, you might need a coat.

In another, you might only want shorts, and a jacket.

In another…you might want a swimsuit.

Or an umbrella.

And in one corner, it’s dark, so dark, you need a flashlight. A power source, so if ever the soul in darkness wants out. Your heart is the light that speaks, even in the sorrow, the truth beyond the shadows.

And so…

As we live.

And greet the weather.

And the seasons happening all around us.

The truth of your own spring may confuse someone who is deep in the artic folds of their own winter, with snow and igloos piled all around them.

You hand them a flower, and walk away.

They hand you some snow.

And you allow it.

You may not want your flowerbed to stay too long in frost.

But you see it, and the beauty of the frost clinging to their windows, as it makes frosted patterns, as beautiful as any flower.

And love it, just the same.

And your own snow, when it comes.

Or your own empty branches.

That once held so much.

And maybe that is why we write things down.

Why any of write.

Because, it is our way of saying.

Here is a day.

A season.

A weather.

Maybe someday, you will stumble across someone’s weather that matches yours.

And you understand, for a day, that you were not alone.

And your own loss, or gain.

Your pleasure, or pain.

Was mirrored somewhere.

And maybe your seasons may lengthen, or shorten, depending where you are at in the world.

And your shadows, or sunlight.

Maybe in your sky’s there are auroras,

And maybe in mine there are rainbows.

And maybe, you see, someone’s sunny coast.

And your own rivers with ice.

And you see how one swims, and one uses the ice, and skates.

And makes each season something worth celebrating, while it lasts.

And maybe you can’t celebrate.

Maybe you have to sit, with a storm.

A sun.

It’s here for you.

All to experience and see.

Despite the weather.

That’s all happening all simultaneously.

And one person’s weather, may try to be the only truth in the room.

But the one who knows the deep truth.

Knows that your own weather.

Your own paradise is always.

On the inside.

And it shines out through the cracks.

And leaks out sometimes…even when it tries to be polite.

It has been though every season.

It has seen every shade.

And knows.

That no matter what the weather.

Or the season.

Or how we may draw the blinds, and try to hide the fact that frost has visited.

Or rake the dead leaves.

Or cover our branches in fake ribbons.

A great beauty is knowing the truth of the outside, and inside simultaneously. So we can visit every coast, and season, and mourn, and rejoice with it all.

And keep our hearts open.

To flow in the direction of love as best we can, even in rooms that have an aversion to weather that is real, and not plastic.

To authentically be.

And that's what makes our seasons beautiful---the acceptance that while some places may be raining.

There are other parts, with unflinching sunshine.

And parts that are whole.

And parts that are healing.

And parts that might be broken.

And parts that will have to regrow.

And beauty happens, when we uncover these bits.

That we are ashamed of.

And we see, how much weather we have all been through.

How many storms our boats have weathered.

How beautiful our tattered sails are.

How many times the waves have come, and how many times, you’ve been tossed into the water, and how many times you got back into your little boat.

Those are the things I want to know.

What shaped your mountains?

What floods carved your beautiful canyons?

How did you find the strength to rebuild after what you had once held had been broken?

How did you keep your heart open, in the face of weather that was fierce?

What kept you alive, what kept your heart beating?

What parts of yourself that you love the most, have been hidden?

And why do we hide our scars, and flaws?

Why does our rawness, scare us?

Why do we think love is something we acquire, and earn?

And what are the places, those secret gardens, that have kept your spirit and childlike wonder, always growing, vibrant, and alive?

What wars have you fought, or seen. Or stood by, and could only watch?

What ground within you needs to be seen?

What weather has not been allowed?

And what makes your own heart feel as if it can share, without skipping a beat?