There comes a time of liberation

When you are not bound by the constraints of identity
Of self based perceptions of being
Of others perceptions of living
Of shame based thoughts and behaviors
That tread slowly like footprints in your heart
From long held sins of generations past.
You are not your mother
You are not your father
You are not those who came before them
Yet you are of their blood, sweat and tears
You are of their triumphs and failures
This does not make you who you are
Your choices do.
Liberation is not for the faint of heart
It is for those with valor
Who see themselves as worthy children of God.

So much suffering goes unnoticed or is marginalized. I watch as violence rises within humanity whose moral compass has been challenged by wounds past and present. Bearing witness to our own challenges, not to mention those around us, has become all about survival of the fittest.
Who do we reward the emotionally and spiritually strong and berate those we see as weak?
Why is there a need for separation?
A wound can leave a sense of depersonalization that all of us struggle with.
Who are we without our wounds?
How do we identify with the world around us?
We tend to isolate in times of weakness but present ourselves when we feel brave.
I see so much separation with our individual and shared suffering. It has an element of dehumanizing us because somewhere in that separation, our unworthiness motivates us to continue to separate even further from ourselves, from each other. Bearing witness for many carries shame, as though a wound becomes a trademark for our life story and survival is a means by which we attach our deepest insecurities to life itself instead of receiving life as a gift.
It takes a lot of inner work to truly see life as a gift and not a race to thrive and rise above suffering.
This competition we have created so that we may live evokes such an emotional and spiritual death, the dehumanization of humanity.
The us vs. them mentality will not help us rise above, but will only compel us to fold inward.
I respect your suffering.
I respect my suffering.
May a beautiful friendship grow from that space.

You walk the earth
Grounded into a body
You are unfamiliar with
Throughout time
Hoping for some semblance
Of understanding how your soul
Could embark on such a journey
Through daunting trials
In a vessel which is compelled
To endure heaven and hell
In its entirety
Waiting with anticipation until
Your return home.
Be gentle wayward soul
Respect the vessel that
Was bestowed upon you this lifetime
Treat it with kindness
And befriend all that it has to offer you
While you are here.

Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness cannot be substantiated by man’s intolerance of his fellow human being. Whether it be molded by ignorance, greed, irreverence or an innate darkness which has not yet been disciplined by the light, those truths which we hold to be intrinsically evident are only as such because we are given the simple but profound privilege of life itself. A life which we take for granted is not a life at all. It is a prison in which we are held by beliefs which further the illusion that the darkness and that which fuels it is the key to humanity’s survival. One cannot survive on darkness alone, especially a darkness which does not yield to the light in which all truths carry equal weight for all humanity.

There is an invitation to surrender

Sometimes we wonder what we need to let go of
Those words become shallowed over time
As we move from wound to wound
Masking every grief, every anger, every fear
In a duality of an imagined existence
Not knowing what the path is
Or even if we are on it
Or asking if we have a choice to be on it.
Sometimes you just have to stop thinking
And processing your life as a journey
And simply look around you
Look at life with your eyes
Feel life with your mind
Be in life with your heart
Love life with your soul.
That pivotal moment where you stop thinking
about what you should be doing to surrender
is the moment you start belonging
to the life you were given.
In that moment of belonging,
You surrender without even realizing it.


Sheltered in a womb

That portal of infinite hope
Whose currents initiate contact between human and the Beloved
Consciousness runs deeply between the light and the darkness
There comes a moment when sacredness becomes your only breath
The waters become your body
The nourishment you receive becomes your testament
To a life between lives
A momentary destiny
Between worlds
Where you are the keeper of your own fate
But then the contractions begin..
The world you have created is shifting to an unknown paradox
Where realities merge in confusing distortions
Between body, spirit and soul
Your breath will depend upon more than just sacredness to survive
As you begin your journey through that intrepid yet wondrous birth canal
Into a world you had not remembered since your last incarnation.
Birth slowly dear children
Your presence is needed by your own life experience.


Trust in herself became her greatest adversary.
Thoughts and emotions trickled like delusions
falling from the sky, echoing whispers of dismay
to her intuition.
Oh how she spent years gathering herself, her wisdom, her courage,
befriending a knowing that had softened her path all these years
only to recognize that even the known has shadows and darkness
that lurk in the mysteries of being.
Trust became a stranger in her own land, in the vessel she had nurtured
since in utero. The softening of her worth became hardened once again
and learning to trust herself in a new way had her calling to every angel in the heavens.
It is not a path to walk or a mountain to climb.
It is a birthright to be claimed at every corner of your life.
Filled with as much tribulation as it has joy,
trust will have you rebirthing yourself a million times over in an existence only you can define.

Your rebirth
Will be the most powerful,
Wild, exciting, intense
Frightening, blissful and heartbreaking
Moment you will ever experience.
Savor it as you would the first tear you ever cried,
The first moment the sun touched your face,
The first moment your heart beat with love,
The first moment you whispered a prayer,
The first moment you believed in a power higher than yourself,
The first moment you were afraid of living,
The first moment you were aware of dying.
Your rebirth will echo throughout time
And be felt across parallel realms
Savor it and let it be nectar for the gods.

Some of us live in the ruins of our story.

We shelter in the dust of emotion that has lit fires throughout our existence.
We go deeper into the darkness plowing through the mire to find familiarity in what we perceive is comfort.
Holding to any semblance or remembrance of hope, the ruins become our home in both heart and mind.
In time those ruins will crumble. It won’t be any external force of nature but a new fire being ignited as you hear the heavens call your name.
A door will rise from the dust and it will open, just enough for you to see a flicker of light.
You peer through the door and see a form you don’t yet recognize.
Could that be you?
Surrounding the form is a story, similar to the story you have been telling yourself only the ruins aren’t there anymore.
You begin to shake with an intensity of both courage and fear.
Do you stay or do you go?
The silence is so deafening that you feel the void with every breath you take.
You clasp your hands in prayer and ask God to give you strength.
You haven’t prayed in lifetimes, yet you are beginning to remember.
You reach for the handle and open the door a little wider.
Your heart pounds as sweat pours down your face, so frightened of losing the story which has kept you safe all these years, even if it was in the darkness.
Versions of your story flash through your mind, versions of yourself pass through your heart.
You keep telling yourself you can do this.
I believe you can.
Trembling, a voice whispers in your ear.
“You are my prayer. Your story is my light.”
You think it is a voice from the ethers but you turn around to see an old version of yourself.
A version that pushed you through the doorway to the other side.
You look around you and realized you are in the beginning of a new story.
You look at your old self, and with tears in your eyes and such gratitude in your heart, you tell them just how much they have been loved.

The ancestors are circling in luminescent drops of water pouring outside my window right now.
The storm has come, finally, as the ethers have been waiting to purge these last few weeks from remnants of darkness.
Residuals of humanity’s inherent weaknesses and misgivings,
Cruelties left to gather dust, fearful of this purging that would offer a glimpse into the light.
I have been waiting for this intensity of a storm this morning.
Whose ions silence even the deepest of desires,
Whose aliveness beckons every ancestor awaiting purification
To be summoned to the front lines of transformation.
Wanting to run naked and raw in its thunderous pulse
Yearning to be drenched by its glory
I wait and watch
Until the moment an ancestor’s spirit reaches out and touches my heart
Letting me know they have moved on to another plane
Another place of refuge where the soul can learn
And pass on their medicine to me, to future generations
Awaiting purification.
Oh how I love mornings like this.

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