Discover, Share, Connect
I had often thought of the village road as going to the city, yet in truth, each part of it is still. Perhaps like time, it is only one moment ever present and not going forward or back. The road is the road, it's me that imagines the purpose, the reason for the tarmac over the land. Maybe that's how it should be, the choice and purpose my own.
The evil dark, not the noble dark, will come at you through your primitive drive. Any hunter will go for the weak spot of an animal, and that's yours, my love. First there will be a trigger to open up the primitive drive, activate it as fully as possible, then will come the impulse to cause harm, one that hurts both others and yourself. Your only protection is to love fully. Love yourself. Love others. Be present in the moment. Question your own actions - own them fully for regardless of the evil force, except in the case of true insanity, they are yours. And long after we have forgiven you, you will struggle to forgive yourself. If an action feels as if it comes from your survival drive, with a feeling of malice, hate or fear - stop. If an action feels as if it comes from your higher thinking mind and with a feeling of love, kindness and compassion - go.
When others see gloom, I see the world in silver-blues. When they see freezing rain, I see a coldness that brings me to a higher feeling of life, more aware of my internal flame. I see them cast their eyes to the ground, their mouth a full frown, when there is a moon above and stars beyond the canopy of cloud. There is a time for sunshine, and a time for wintry sombre hues. Every dance has pause, every song has silence. And so this time, so soon after the dawn, feels more akin to an old movie, one that builds from these blues to the kind of joy that spreads through mind, body and soul. And so I feel the ground beneath both boots, tilt my head skyward, both rooted in the blessed moment and ready for the spring that beckons.
Our art is our joy, our god-given pathway for natural healing. It is not a thing to judge or measure by imaginary yard-sticks. It is the seeds of our minds that grow and help us navigate our way toward happiness and health. It is our right to be as free as the wind and the bird who plays on the wing. Pain may come out in a painting, or the toll on our being be told in a story, dancing and weaving in the metaphors of dreams. Or it may come as fluid movements that are a song of emotions. Yet this is how the mind unites and creativity becomes a bonfire to illuminate our way.
Show me a window and I will show you where your heart yearns to be. Is it a view to the ocean and the playful hearts whom dwell there? Is it of a meadow adorned with rainbow earth-given wings? Is it window to the stars, one to show how they give of their brilliance, an ever-present part of the passing night? For what you see is yourself also, the beauty reflected within as joy. This is connection to our world, our universe, and our belonging too.
The road is midnight under the cloud, yet beyond is the dawn. As the sun sets, its rising is already promised to the land, to the green shoots who wait in faith. And so, even though our eyes may only see one step at a time, we stride on, eyes wide. For when this passes we will be as children, giggling at the imagined monsters that once kept us in such fear.
The houses are paintings, cold in their rendered realism, the road between us a never ending expanse of burning black. Then at times the desperate call, only to run, only to hide... afraid of connection bringing need and an obligation to help. And so the roads get longer and the paintings merge on a horizon rapidly shrinking. All that remains are the trees, the birds, the flowers that bloom and my two feet on the Earth. All I feel is love from a universe away, enough to tingle fingertips and ignite my core. I once thought that loneliness and solitude were different things; yet if loneliness is a utter blackness, solitude is being alone in a beautiful garden. Solitude is when the pain remains, but one learns to let the joy of nature flood in, that natural love that belongs to us all. It's when we release ourselves to love and are reborn as those who remember God's name.
What is the universe but "one verse," one song of love? For it is when love flows most strongly I feel the interconnectedness of all things. It is as if beneath, around and within our reality, it is love that is the creative force, the energy, an intricate, chaotic yet synchronized beating heart of life. That's the way the universe feels to me - a silent song of pure love shining as bright stars in the night sky, the perfect tone that gives birth to spacetime and matter, the voice of God.
All shadows may do is mute colours, soften the volume of the daytime orchestra. Shadows are a guest, dependant upon the shining sun, a passing memento to become nothing at all under the starlit night. So though shadows come as if part of a natural clock, in truth they tell more of golden rays than darkness.
Here we must hear with warm hearts and be curious regarding how to cure. It is time to ask what sight is. It is the moment to think of what eyes are, and how often we see with a sigh, a lazy soft rejecting regret rather than the love that sees a sea of emotions within. It is time to hear fear, to feel the sadness below anger, to know that coping needs co-regulation. It is time to see that acting out is an honest request for help from one in hell. It is time to see that love is boundless, eternal, that when we give we receive - to free ourselves from basic mathematical type-thinking. Love is a seed that grows, always giving more, as natural seeds do. It's time for those deeds to rain from hearing hearts, for they will be the green spring we all seek.