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Prayer

Originally posted on Spirit Led:

Fog with trees and lamp post

Connect me
to some nugget of truth
or insight
that I may record it
for the world to know
that I may spill it
from sacred lips
like a stream ever-flowing

And if the sound still falls
on deaf ears and eyes avert
from the vision in my soul

So then use me as the song
in their hearts
the breath when they
are disconnected
the lonely howl of pain
when the darkness lasts too long

May I be the focal point
of hopeful direction
a calming in the rage
a cooling in the heat

Let my life be a lamp in the fog
starting first with me

©SpiritLed 2014

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The Time is Near

Angel heart

The time is near when you will hear the whisper
when you will heed the song
when you will throw your pretense to the sky
and let you heart wander free

free to release the stirrings inside
hold them in peace and give them light to grow

free to open to the connection
that is your birthright,  your Divine gift
your alter to the Source of unconditional love
you can’ t lose it, it’s inside you

The time is near when you will feel,
allow yourself to be cut in order to experience the light
instead of always running into the arms of darkness
trying to numb out the lightest sting

One day you will call on us
and we will be your heavenly beacon
your burning light of refuge
as you make your way through this life

The time is near
The time is near

©SpiritLed 2014


Divinity Entombed

Entrance to Sousse catacombs flooded with light

In the morning you look like every other
sinner, makeup smeared, hair unkempt,
heart heavy with the bloody dawn of forgiveness

For last you went to Sunday School
the preacher warned, “Remember,
everyone’s a sinner”, even 10-year-old
girls with pigtails and lofty dreams,

and you swallowed hard again the accusation
cloaked in kindness, accepting the wafer with a
clutching sense of panic that hell
might befall you if you do partake, and
most especially if you don’t

Heaven became a destination,
a sought-after paradise unobtainable
amidst your sureness that there is no
eternal story, your suspicion that even you
might not be real

And in this darkness welled a great sorrow,
a longing which cried to fling itself to freedom,
in this solitude laid a song, mimicking
the mournful wail of birds at dawn

Beneath skin stretched translucent,
intertwined with bone and sinew,
muscles, fat, and pulsing organs
deep within the essence of you, lies the
realness that you seek, the ghostly ghastly
spirit soul, your divinity entombed

Go now, and wrestle free from your human skin,
allow the light of your eternal being to permeate
the darkness of your soul

©SpiritLed 2014


Sound of No Sound

Lost in thought, her mind
wanders to a younger day, when she
expertly walked the tightrope over joy and
pain, a misstep here and there, but
never completely losing herself in that
cauldron of self-awareness bubbling
below

Pain – it was not feared then, but
admired, on the weathered faces of
the elders, noting their wisdom and
grace, the simple way they brushed
her hair from her face, and kissed
her forehead, assuring her with their own
worry that there was none for her

But now she wonders where that
elder-wisdom has gone, and will it ever
find her, or if it’s even hers to long for,
the kiss of peace long ago washed from
her furrowed brow.

When did she stop trusting herself?
Was it the first time she rolled over in her
lover’s bed only to find he wasn’t there?
When she felt the sharp sensation of betrayal
from one she considered a friend?
When the sting of loss pierced her heart so
deeply she thought she would drown in the tears
she never cried?

In the stillness that is left she listens,
listens for anything that will convince her
she’s alive, and in that empty place, darkness
reverberates like a thousand universes swirling
around their suns, like the hum of angel wings,
like the breath of creation in her ears

Like all those who came before her
Like all who will ever come

The sound of no sound
bringing life, bringing light
resting in the goodness that rests
inside the stillness of her mind,
where she is whole

©SpiritLed 2014


1 Comment

Collection of Words

One collection of words breaks
the camel’s back, upsets the order
of things, rocks the proverbial
boat and sets it sailing in a new
direction, not to foreign lands, but
waters well traveled and often
overlooked for what seems
to be finer things, a path that
appears to offer more, but actually
conceals darkness, a façade
parading as a savior, and because
you are so vulnerable, you hardly
feel the sting of the thousand tiny
cuts, until that one collection of
words causes you to bleed out

©SpritLed 2014


1 Comment

Into the Light, Where You Belong

Smell of mold
and musty leaves
raindrops on the windshield
in the still-dark dawn

linger in the depths
of darkness and desire,
where your spirit most
yearns to be free

where the long-held
confinement has rendered you
listless and lifeless

crazy before the eyes of man
yet pure in your creative depth,

where the Wise Woman,
flowing silver hair,
adorned in robes
of lavender

holds open the door
for you and cries,
“Lay down your arms!

Fight no more,
grieve no more,
die no more.

Walk into the Light,
where you belong.”

©SpiritLed 2014


3 Comments

When Silence Ends

When, as a child, did you play happily
by the stream, and come singing home,
passionately sharing your adventures,
only for the beloveds to tell you, “Quiet!”

And when, in your classes, did you
confidently speak your truth, answer
their questions, paint your construction
paper masterpiece,  and the trusteds told you,
“It’s not good enough.”

And when did you feel the whisper of spirit
in your soul, gently guiding you on your way,
and you shared, and they laughed?

And when did you stop listening, painting, writing, speaking, trusting? 

And when will you decide that the darkness has
lasted too long, that the  passion of a new day
can no longer wait, lest  you tear free from your
own skin where you’ve been confined all these years?

That stumbling across stones and briars,
feet cut and bleeding, is preferable to the safe
and righteous path, where no pain, in fact
nothing at all, makes cuts into your soul?

When will you decide that fear of words
without real meaning will no longer be the
prison walls that demand freedom of the captor?

And when will you stoke the flames, when will you once
again tend to the spark, blow the breath of life into
the still-smoldering ashes, collect the branches and
twigs that have fallen in your path, burn them on
your altar, and fuel the dawning of reclaimed light?

© SpiritLed 2014

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