Ascend

 

Cavedale Photo by Keartona

Cavedale. Hope Valley, UK

 

 

Conquer worry, vanquish panic

Climb peaks of improbability

And do not let what is or isn’t feasible

Take the best of what

Is possible.

Master hope

Defeat all hate

Into compassionate submission.

Ascend into yourself

As you were meant to be:

A part of all that is

Uniquely interconnected

No better and no less

Than any other who draws breath.

 

For The Daily Post

 

Awake

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                                                                  Atlantic Sunrise: Na’ama Yehuda

 

 

Be awake.

In the world. For the world.

Be aware.

Of the life that unfolds

On pinpoint.

Keep your eyes

Open.

And your heart

Soft.

Wake up all words

Of hope.

Even those

Packed away in tight bundles

And locked.

Be awake

To the air. To the light. To the rain.

As shimmer reflects

And compassion

Remains.

 

 

For The Daily Post

Pictures on Pavement

Shirley Baker children draw on pavement France 1960

Shirley Baker children draw on pavement France 1960

 

Find time for drawing

Pictures

On the pavement of your mind.

Remember

The dry feel of chalk on fingers

The odd satisfaction in

Colors

Merging in the rain.

Put aside the rush of feet

The soles of to-do lists

The pressures of perfection.

Pavement pictures do not require

Standards

Other than imagination and

A bit of emptiness,

A soft rock,

A hand.

Make room for pavement pictures

On the pace-space

Of your mind.

Let the squiggles free

So the sketch

You never knew was there

Could stretch

A doodle

To the sun.

Earth Talk

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It is Earth Day.

An odd day to have, when we consider that realistically, every day is an Earth Day. We live it. We breathe it. We would not be. Literally. Without it.

And yet, there’s Earth Day. To remind us of what so many of us may be taking for granted, to counter what too many do not want to accept as Truth, to open our eyes to what we can do better or more of or less of.

For the Earth, yes. But if that is not incentive enough–for ourselves. For our children and their children and their children’s children.

People vary in how well they hear Earth–or how willing. Some prefer to not hear. Others spend life more attuned to Earth than others. Most children do.

Children often are attuned to Earth. You see it in their intense attention to a crawling ant or an undulating earthworm. You see it in the careful handling of leaf and pebble and that tattered bit of some insect’s wing that you really don’t want to find in their pocket when you do the laundry. You see it in their awe. In how hard it is for them to tear their eyes away from listening to do whatever you find so much more important in that moment, but they don’t–for they are listening to the Earth’s heart.

Children listen. They are naturally attuned to the rhythm of what birthed them. Till we teach them not to. Till we fill their world with too many competing sounds and none-too-subtle visuals that they tune-out the ripple of the earth-talk for the beeping of their videos and ever-busy-schedule-noise.

The Earth talks. Most days it speaks softly, slowly. Other days it shrieks and growls and thunders, matching winds and storms peak to peak. Earth speaks. It has always spoken. Native Peoples everywhere have listened, been tuned in, respected both the cycles of the earth and the sanctity of the sanctuary it provides us.

They have loved and feared the earth–because for all its perfect habitat for people and our fellow living beings, the Earth is not a subtle being. It blooms explosively. It raptures in shuddering volcanos. It sweeps down in tornados and hurricanes.

Native Peoples listened to the subtle: to the slow drawl of the summer and the fleeting flutter of the spring. To the deep rumble of the winter and the dried crinkle of the fall.  They heard those just as they heard the fury and eruptions. Most of us today listen only when the voice is loud enough … when Earth Talk drowns all other sound.

Even then, do we hear? Do we listen? What do we understand?

The Earth talks. All of it does.

Trees whisper. They bend and laugh and cry. They may do less of it these days, with less of them to pass a whispering along to, but talk they do. Their voice is not quite heard as it is felt, reverberating down their trunks and through their roots. In case you wondered, a small one states with certainty that Fairies often speak back or translate–you can see their lights flicker in response …

Oceans talk, as well. If only we would listen.

The fish, the whales, the jellyfish and sand-beings.

The growing grasses talk. The roses sigh and blush. The daisies sing and bow to bees for their gentle contribution.

Animals all carry their own voice. Individual and harmonizing. In body-language, pose and poise, hum and throaty purr, cries and song.

If we don’t hear it, it is not from lack of conversation abounding all about us, but from dulling of the senses and a denial that makes it easier to not know. For we would not be able to go on abusing Earth and its inhabitants if we did fully hear and know, if we maintained an open eye. If we let our heart know.

Those among us who fight to remain open hearted to the Earth are often achy-hearted. Frustrated, too, and yet immensely hopeful. Because we know it can be–should be, could be, oh-please-would-be birthed anew.

All living things have a voice.  The whole Earth hums. Abuzz with sound. Much of it unhappy now, these days … but it can turn back. It can remember better times and calibrate its tuning forks and old-sung centuries.

Let us listen. Let us recognize the tunes that whisper life and harmony. Let us work to dim those wounded melodies that rasp pain and pollution and hollowed out caverns where resources were all but stripped out.  Let us amplify the ones that celebrate renewal.

Earth talks. May we hear, and see, and listen, and understand. For the sake of all that is, for our children–let us truly, fully, take a stand.

 

Renew, Refresh, Believe

easter egg hunt

For all who celebrate Easter

Who praise spring’s freedom

Rebirth

Renewal

Restoration of new hopes and

Fresh possibilities.

May it be a day of close connection

Of bonding

Great fun

Much affection.

May it a day to celebrate

New life

In all its forms

The delicate

The Playful

The endlessly adorable beginnings

Of little ones commencing

A first path

And of the new paths

For us all

Unfurling alongside.

elephant attachment

sprout buddies

Imagination

door to sea

Open a door to imagination.

Re-visit forgotten times of untethered awe still left of childhood. Do not worry–your spirit does and always knew exactly how. Just go.

Open a door to imagination.

Let what isn’t, could not, would not be–become. In your mind’s eye, make reality.

Open a door to imagination. Fret not. You can’t get lost. You are already home.

Think of wonder. Fathom fairies. Fly aboard an eagle. Cradle soft onto the foaming sea. There are no rules to conjuring. No timeline. No bonds of gravity, age, physics. Relativity folds time onto itself. Explore.

Open wide the door.

For a moment or an hour. For a blink or afternoon, reshape yourself along the creases you never saw were possible new vistas. Find magic in the corners of your heart. It is there. It never left.

Open a door to imagination.

Breathe in light. Discover open spaces beyond air, beyond even what you believed could be imagined. Understand. Expand.

There are worlds out there. Awaiting your inspiration.

And more doors await. Beyond. Right here. Keen to open. You.

To imagination.