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She waited until God whispered

Her name over and over again.

Embodying it’s energies into her soul

Until every syllable became her muse

As she witnessed her purpose.

Aching with such a longing to be fulfilled

She yearned for stardust to gather miracles

And place them upon the path before her.

Her name became her prayer. Her purpose became her grace,

And bearing witness became her life.

She was unfiltered.

Her visions raw with such discernment

Of humanity’s weaknesses

As well as her strengths.

Patterns emerging, of indescribable chaos only to

Be eclipsed by a grace that would trickle down

From the heavens each moment a prayer was uttered.

Consumed by a hope that suppressed any darkness

And lit every candle along the path,

She became unstoppable

In her quest to love.

And love she did

With all her might

Until the darkness lay down its sword and

Surrendered to the light.

A million lifetimes couldn’t keep my heart away from you.

I wandered through the desert, a wilderness encapsulated

By body and mind

Watching every breath as it whispered your name

Only to be drenched by sorrow as

You were no where to be found.

Or perhaps was it I who was lost to myself?

A silence so deafening 

I could not sense paradise beyond

My own emptiness.

I waited for any flicker of light

To show me the path toward your heart once again.

The light just drew me back into myself.

And there you were, waiting patiently for me

To love myself again.

Standing naked before God with streams of

tears running down my cheeks.

I watch as they collect like rainwater

On the weary ground beneath me.

A soil warmed by centuries of wounded

souls witnessed by the sun and the moon

that never waivered as they sheltered 

nature’s creation and the beings that

were borne upon it.

Oh to be held by such compassion

by every god in the heavens

Embodying the miracles whispered

as every tear strolling down my cheek

held a prayer by our ancestors to be heard

and answered by all of creation.

Oh Eve
You tended your Garden of Eden,
Your Garden of mercy,
Your garden of creation,
Birthing the universe through your soulful womb
A myriad of times between light and darkness
Forging realms and destinies beyond
human comprehension.
Carrying life through your body
And rooting it deeply into portals whispering unto themselves amidst heaven and earth.
Oh Eve
The seeds you have planted
Even humble the angels
For your sacrifice of self
To herald in a new dawn
For all humanity
Graces us all.
Don’t rush to heal me.
Let me be with my tears
From centuries past
Of wounded lineages
Whose courage rebirthed itself with each generation.
Let me be with my rage
Whose screams are heard across parallel realities
In the awake of transformation
Arising from the belly of the beast
Calling out to every god and goddess
To save me from myself.
Let me be with my fear
Whose voice trembles at the spark of faith
That same voice dragging me into the abyss
One limb at a time
Until every nuance of who I think I am
Enters the womb of God
Awaiting to be resurrected.
Don’t rush to heal me.
There is a time and a place
Where all seasons of change
Are bound by the Divine
And sanctified by grace.

Sometimes you just need to sit down and have a conversation with yourself.

A raw, fierce, deeply rooted, knock-down, wild, illuminating,
Merciful, honest talk about who you are.
Beyond the illusion, beyond how you want everyone to see you,
Beyond how you see yourself.
Beyond how you are supposed to be
Or what you didn’t accomplish
Or the myriad number of mistakes you’ve made.
Sometimes you just need to sit down and tell yourself
“The hell with the story I’ve created so I can feel good about myself.”
“The hell with the story I’ve created so others can feel good about me.”
Sometimes that conversation needs so few words.
You just need to feel how alive you are and grateful.

Happy New Year

There is a certain vulnerability in the abyss, in that space where we think we don’t matter, that our life has no meaning or purpose.

We engage with constructs of illusion and misguided hopes to dull the numbing of existence and experience. Sometimes the direction we ask for from God, a higher power, or whatever vernacular we use to make some sort of sense of our birth leads us nowhere. That nowhere is an emptiness, a break in linear reality where words, meaning and reason cease to exist. That emptiness also holds great power, a flicker of light in the darkness, a renaissance of evolution that connects worlds, lifetimes, realms, humanity and the heavens.
The energies of 2023 remind me of the changing of the guard on a spiritual level. As worlds merge closer than ever, embodiment will be a collective necessity. The distinct nuances of flesh and bone, the blood of our ancestors running through our veins, the scars, both visible and not, that took shelter in our fascia, the heaviness of emotion burdening our organs. The expression of the Divine through human form and the earth will simplify our need to escape our physical bodies in search of the higher realms. The higher worlds and the lower worlds are merging and are here, right now, within you, and around you. There will be a rawness to 2023 that will push us to be more present. Every one of us will have a viable role in creating healthier more sustainable relationships with each other. We will be pushed into creating a healthier more sustainable relationship to the earth. Your purpose will be YOU, your brother, your sister, your neighbor, your friend. We will all be weaving in and out of that emptiness until we find common ground in our ability to be of service to one another. And in that service, no words or meaning are needed. You will feel more alive than you ever have. We will feel more inner peace, together.
Happy New Year.

A stranger to her own body

Her compass was a boundary
Born of insecurity
A rough edge as she feared to dream or awaken
To the mystic inside her that
Forgot how to tell stories
How to dance those words
On the rooftops of wounds
Built so long ago
In the darkest places within her.
Her body was a temple
She no longer visited
A prayer she no longer whispered
A world of rejection and pain
In every crevice hiding between
Flesh and bone
Yearning to feel the one who
Had disowned her remembering
What it was like to come back home.
When will you believe
That all you hold sacred
Is safe
In your earthen vessel
Where lovers and mystics
Angels and storytellers
Magical creatures
The sun
The moon
And the stars
Wait patiently just to hold your hand?

In Greek mythology a psychopomp is a supernatural creature or spirit whose purpose is to guide

a soul who has just died to the afterlife. We die many times in one lifetime, aspects of ego and will, body and mind, ancient ancestors
communing at the threshold of our passage so that they too, can evolve as sentient beings. We embody a myriad of lineages in our flesh and bones, not just the lineages inherent in our soul’s trajectory, but lineages across parallel realities that seek to serve a higher purpose. There is a sense of surrealism with each death, an altering of reality as we embrace a new one, an altering of a lineage as the sacred womb rises to give birth, life, healing and safe passage to those parts of us which need to die, which need to merge with a laden earth encumbered by human disconnect. Or perhaps those parts of us which need to ascend with the angels, a death absorbing grace as the Divine intended to the fullest experience a soul can have.
There is a descent into the underworld where we embrace flesh and bone as much as we do spirit.
There is a descent into darkness where we fall upon our knees and give thanks to the landscape that nourishes our understanding of good and evil.
How fortunate we are to listen to the wilderness that runs through our veins, echoing our names over and over again until the illusion slowly dissipates into oblivion.
To realize that we die so many times during our lifetime. The psychopomp materializing out of an emptiness, appearing in a form of a being we recognize as aspects of oneself.
A hidden landscape versed in the chorus of angels as well as the entreatments of demons. The ruler of this underworld are those wounds we hold close, yearning to ascend, reaching for any hand to help guide our way out of pain.
We become the master of life and death within our own experience. A nuanced pulsation of light and darkness, love and hate, a hunger for light to be fulfilled by pushing through the mire
of a reality created by thousands of years of disconnect from grace. We become the psychopomp that we have prayed for to carry us through this confusion of self and to leave the underworld as we originally left it. With love.
Yes, with love.