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Darkness comes as strong protective arms, holding us close until the promised dawn. Within it we are as children once more, safe in shields of duvet. Yet in this place so open to the skies, resting in the cricket's lullaby, our eyes are as bright as the constellations above; our stardust atoms seeking the stars until they can bathe in the light of the sun.
In late summer the Earth is ready for the rains, for sweet drops to quench the soils. It is then that the pitter patter returns to the woodlands, simple water to bring nature's magic. The pathways strengthen from a dusty brown to deep mahogany, reviving a healthy glow I've longed to see return. Summer foliage has it's time, the green canopy to give shelter when it's needed, yet this is beauty also, the heaven-given promise seasonal changes fulfilled.
Swift justice is "just-ice," it takes longer to use empathy, to use warmth over icy logic. It's not only lazy and cruel to throw all these kids in jail, it's stupid. We know how trauma alters the brain and how patient and dependable love heals it. So please, no more "just-ice," let's have "just-nurture."
On the days of fearful headlines, when there was doom and gloom right next to pictures of perfect cakes and elicit gossip, everyone in the supermarket looked as if they were under a grey cloud. There were few smiles, less emotional generosity to children, more casual fights between the couples as they walked the chilled aisles.
On the days of good news, of anything to celebrate, it was different and the whoever the folks were that wandered about, the effect was the same... more smiles, more casual caring and emotional attentiveness to others. It was as if a monster that had lurked had gone away and instead a fairy had come to grant them an inner rainbow.
I would wonder if those inch high words of fear or love, coming and going as some chaotic pendulum might, were giving a sort of pseudo-bipolar to us all. I saw those strongly emotive words hitting our brains, stimulating regions that cause hormones to be produced, changing our moods and altering our brains without the bother of a doctor's prescription, consent or anything so mundane as all that.
Those who fear witchcraft have not cognition of their own tongue, for they speak, "Which craft?" It is as if they feel there are two ways to travel, as two boats upon water, and they fear a wrong choice. So we answer that all that is good comes from God, that his 'craft' is a part of nature and of us also. For the ones who seek only the light, the love, the healing that flows in all creation, our magic isn't ours at all. We are not as conductors of an orchestra with a wand, but more as the soft music of the flute. We are ones of duty, filled with love, moving with nature, inspired by the beauty of creation. We are moved by the loving hands of our creator, yours and mine, and have the power to resist the negative force, the one we do not name. The chaos of the universe has a synchronicity that can only be seen by those committed to either the positive or negative side, the forces beyond what we call 'reality.'
If you are blind to it, then be sure that God is trying to reach you and show you the beauty you hold within, to offer you the same chance to serve goodness and live only with positivity, joy, gratitude and love. If you prefer the term 'angels,' 'fairies' or 'rainbow warriors,' that's okay, yet they are only words. The power is in how these sounds we make with our mouths have become a part of the wiring of the brain, and how knowledge of such brings the power of love to some, yet poisons others with a love of power. So, witchcraft? Which craft? The good craft of course, the course to eden (some say to Narnia, to heaven or to paradise); take this chance to sail on the river that gives of itself to the ocean. Our help comes from the lord, the great spirit, the creator of earth and the heavens.
Will power is a finite resource, it burns energy in the brain; then once you run out, you give in. So, for the love of God, stop asking me to make all these pointless choices and then wondering why I can't stick to my resolutions. It's like running an athlete nonstop and then wondering why they can't sprint. So, I promise you, give me some peace, give me a world where everything I do isn't morally wrong in some way, then I can be the person I need to be for all of us, me included.
Danny was so energetic and honest, the brightest spark in any crowd. He was the love of my life, that sweet child. To teach him we had him run, run to find his letters or the answer to a sum. He whirled and twirled and his smile... wow, I wish I could take that feeling in my heart when he smiled and warm yours with it. It was akin to watching a flower bloom, something beautiful.
I told you long ago that I would be the champion, one for all, in the dream of hearing, "and all for one" - to bring unity. Winning is only such when it is for everyone, when the champion shares the podium with the loving connections that were as wind beneath blessed wings. I am an individual, proud of my achievement, yet I only make sense as part of the many, as part of a healthy community of others striving to protect and bring health. So, here I stand, having won my peace so we can win ours. I walked the map of my scars, yet only by the light of so many handmade lanterns, and am forever indebted to those brave angels, those who sang of our human soul in all weathers from every generation that has passed. I was the student of those who spoke so boldly of love even when the price of doing so was high. From them I learned the lesson that it is by walking boldly in the winds of our storms that we strengthen and emerge victorious, ready to help others. And so this prize of love, this peace of self-trust, this fragile flame that survives hurricanes, belongs to all brave souls who seek the noble ways of love, their deeds self-monitored for noble intentions, infused with love, empathy, kindness and compassion for all creation. For when love is the north of our compass, we are able to navigate, to be the captain upon any sea.
There was a time all you said was gold and your eyes were the rainbows in any storm, then the light faded and all that remained was the rain, each cold drop bringing my skin to ice. Yet in that storm, the memory of you became my stars, sometimes hidden by grim cloud, but always there. Perhaps it was your voice in the wind that took it from a cruel bite to merely cold, enabled my soul to survive in that frozen wasteland. They say survival adaptations are born of necessity; the hero born from ash, the phoenix who brings a burst of heat where there was none. Perhaps you weren’t the knight in my battle, but you were the ground and the whisper in the trees while I grew strong. You gave me the chance to learn how to speak gold and to hold rainbows in my own eyes, that’s quite a gift. So, should you want to come to me, to have company in your storm, to be held until the return of the sun, come. Come because I love you right to the essence of whatever I am.
In that time before people were writers, when the spoken word was the way of the world, we were the wise women. They would come to us with a choice, faces of puzzlement and fear, and we would ease it. They would ask, "Which?" We would find the way of the great spirit, the one who is love, heal their worried soul and they would be happy once more. Then came the fear of the paranoid ones, and "Which?" became "Witch!" We always were your friends, we who could use simple words to heal and feel the goodness of God giving subtle directions, answering prayers in clues for eyes of the soulful. So please come again, yet feel that you say, "Which?" and we will help the best we are able.
Nearby my bedroom window were the tips of trees, a way to watch the seasons change in real time. From the bare wands of the wintry days, to the promise of spring buds and green leaves of the summertime awaiting their golden days. The rest of the room was simply the room, pretty though it was. That world beyond was everything to me and I breathed alongside my cousins of root and branch.
It's not that I help you and you help me, rather I help him, you help her, and because we all do that, there is help for us all. We all have skills and areas of need, and when our skill matches the needs of another there is the most wonderful feeling of joy. We find an opportunity to help! That's community and it's awesome.