Mists #Writephoto #SueVincent

My contribution to Sue Vincent’s weekly  #writephoto challenge:

 

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Photo Credit: Sue Vincent

 

She was forever looking away. Her back pressed against the trunk of the oak sought the grounding Earth below.

 Will you not turn, just once, so I can see your face? The sun god’s plea was held in each drop of mist. His love hovered over her skin. One billion kisses ready to penetrate her pores, but Diana chose the sheath of the moon’s light. Her gaze always turned to the hunt of darkness.

The shadowland beckoned as the sun god gave up the futile quest for victory, and Diana rose from her rest beneath the oak and slung her quiver of arrows over her shoulder. She had dreams to chase through the hills and valleys.

Night was the time when memories ran wild and played with fear and hope. Those who would be fooled called them nightmares. They never knew who controlled the real demons so the mind could travel where it would not dare venture during daytime.

I care not for your false face, Diana sang as Day descended. You have left too many blind, and my work is endless because of your trickery. I will never be fooled by your golden touch. Fools, she whispered, only the fools who sleep and call themselves men. If they only knew I was trying to save them.

 Some of them do, the oak reminded her. Don’t forget those who have passed through the mists.

 

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Help Me Raise £250 For The Dogs Trust By Leaving Me A Link To Your Blog

A wonderful cause, please read:

via Help Me Raise £250 For The Dogs Trust By Leaving Me A Link To Your Blog

When Sexual Violence Goes Public, an essay by Michael Watson, M.A., Ph.D., LCMHC

Food for thought:

Jamie Dedes's avatarJamie Dedes' THE POET BY DAY Webzine

Regular Wednesday Writing Prompts will resume on January 3, 2018. This thoughtful piece is shared here with Michael’s permission. It was originally published on his blog, Dreaming the World.

Well, the weather turned warm again, with a bit of rain; now the temperature is dropping slowly and there are hints of blue through the overcast. There are rumors of a snowstorm next week and more before Christmas. We shall see.

Here in North America we tend to forget how pervasive sexual violence is, and how retraumatizing public conversations about sexual abuse and harassment can be for victims of sexual crimes.

This was brought home to me again yesterday while speaking with a colleague in Boston. She works with severely traumatized individuals and spoke about her clients’ experiences of retraumatization due to the recent flood of sexual assault accusations against prominent men. We agreed the resulting, much-needed, public discussion about…

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Keaton Jones ~ A Plea For Help

A powerful post about the consequences of bullying…

By Hook Or By Book: Book Reviews, News, & Other Stuff's avatarBy Hook Or By Book

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When Kimberly Jones picked up her 11-year-old son, Keaton, from his school in Knoxville, Tennessee one day last week, he had an unusual request. He asked her to record a video of him in the car.

You see, Keaton was leaving school early, and not for the first time. He was afraid to have lunch at school because classmates had poured milk on him and stuffed food in his clothes.

“They make fun of my nose,” he tearfully says in the video. “They call me ugly. They say I have no friends. Why do they bully? Why do you find joy in taking innocent people and finding a way to be mean to them?” at this point he’s sobbing. He adds: “People that are different don’t need to be criticized about it. It’s not their fault.”

Keaton’s mom posted the video on Facebook last Friday, pleading with parents to talk…

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Guest Writer Spot

Today I have the pleasure of being a guest writer for Esther Newton’s wonderful blog. Please check it out. The post is taken from a healing book I am currently working on. Also, Esther’s blog is worth pursuing in and of itself. Thank you, Esther!

Esther Chilton's avatarEsther Chilton

This week, I’d like to welcome Alethea Kehas, with a strong piece of writing, as my Guest Writer.

Exploring the Body’s Memories: An Exercise in Constriction

By Alethea Kehas

 

When we begin to let go of the grasp of our past, we begin to heal and move more fully into the present. Yet, it’s often easier said than done. The body and mind like to hold onto what we have experienced. There is a comfortable routine that develops. An experience is lived and stored in our cellular memory, as though with the intention that one day we may wish to retrieve it. Sometimes this is useful. For example, the body and mind’s memory of how to ride a bike, or drive a car. The ability of the body and mind to distinguish healthy foods and how to consume them. The list goes on. What happens, though, when…

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Yoga When You Are Not Used To Love #yoga #love #healing

Yellow rose in garden
A Rose Opens to Light

I have started working with the mantra Aham Prema, which, translated into English means “I am Divine Love.” 54 repetitions with the mala beads brings my voice outside of myself to a state beyond insecurity. My body becomes a vibration of energy amplified by the back of my throat. Constriction releases as I settle into the frequency of the ancient notes of Sanskrit.

“I am Divine Love.” Aham Prema.

Quite some time ago, I was sitting inside a pub with a friend of mine. We were talking about yoga, and she was telling me how it brings her to a state of discomfort. “It’s like welcoming the divine into your body,” she stated. I thought that was beautifully perfect.

Aham Prema. “I am Divine Love.”

Is this not what we all seek? Yoga, and all that it encompasses, is not merely a series of poses, it asks us to let the divine into our bodies. This energy of unconditional love. As we open ourselves up to the practice, we cannot help but let this energy in, and at the same time, the divine in us becomes ignited.

What if, though, we are not used to unconditional love? To being loved by ourselves in this state, as well as by others?

Dissolving the barriers of conditioning is not an easy process. We must become naked to our true selves. Is there a more vulnerable act?

Aham Prema. “I am Divine Love.” Say it out loud. Where do you feel it? Where does this mantra take you?

I am brought to the throat, the place where the history of constriction of my truth is held. The power of my own voice, I notice with the first repetition of this sound feels uncomfortable. There is the impulse to cringe at what my brain wants to perceive as disharmony. The false voice of the critic creeps in to take its accustomed place of silencing. Yet, I continue on. I move the beads through my right hand, holding place with my left. I feel my voice grow in strength.

Aham Prema.

By bead 10, I discover my voice has taken on a life of its own. It fills me with its resonance. I no longer care if it sounds pretty because I am already drawn into its raw power.

Aham Prema.

I am Divine Love.

Points of Light

It is the start of the festive season again. The dark nights of winter allow the fairy lights and decorations to sparkle in every town and village and through the windows of homes up and down this little island. People, even those who already look harassed by the work, expense and extra busyness of December, smile at each other for no reason and offer greetings. It seems as if we somehow respond to the colour and light in the darkness in a way that transcends the everyday stresses of modern life… as if the inner child sees the wonder of the sparkling lights and understands their significance.

via Points of Light

Magic #Writephoto #SueVincent

 

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Photo Credit: Sue Vincent

The white fairy waited for the travelers to pass before she stepped out of the hillside. They were so focused on the cold, she wasn’t sure they would notice her, but if they did, they would not have been ready. Her job was to catch the ones who were ready. Those who ventured into the forest not to get through it, but to become it. These travelers were easy enough to spot. She called them the dreamers. She could see the glow of their green hearts as they gazed in wonder at a landscape that looked lifeless to most.

Of course, they often spotted her with ease, even when she sometimes tried to test them with her stillness. Eyes that could see were never fooled by attempts at camouflage. Today, though, she was waiting for the one who didn’t yet know the world he thought was real was really a facade. These were her favorite humans. She loved to catch the veil as it lifted from the inner eye. The moment of surprised delight that followed made the wait well worth it.  Magic, these travelers were about to discover, was not a just the stuff of fairy tales.

 

If you would like to participate in Sue Vincent’s weekly #writephoto prompt, please click here. 

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November

About a week ago I decided that November topped the list of least beautiful months, at least here in New England. What a foolish thought, I realized later. In that moment I must have been wrapped in my own bitterness, bemoaning the cold air and a landscape stripped of color. I had not thought about the beauty of things laid bare. Nature unadorned shows the strength of the core. Here, in November, we are given the gift of endurance and the beauty of the self that cannot be hidden.

 

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A November tree

 

I am remembering my dreams during this month. The wild, naked woman running free, yet still grasping the garment that refuses to hide unadorned beauty. A red room filled with ancient wonders pushing up from the roots. The face of a wolf projected in the clouds and the unseen urgings of bear and bobcat drawing the dreamer into the inner cave of the soul.

 

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November’s Fruit

 

The fruits that still cling to bushes in November are most often red. Brilliant red. The color of blood. Of the water of life. The root of being. The berries remind us that life endures, waiting to be reborn in the spring. That beneath the surface, the roots are continually nourished, quietly stabilizing and preparing for the inevitable new growth that will occur after the winter months have passed.

 

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The Gentle Green of the Sage Plant Endures Amid the Fallen Leaves

 

November marks the passage from the fruitful abundance of early fall, into the stark landscape of winter. The outer growth turns inward. November begins the season when the soul seeks to be seen in its naked truth. It is not always an easy time, but it is a necessary turn in the wheel of life.

 

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Light Shines Even in the Darkest of Days

 

The Path to Truth #spirituality #truthseeker

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Paths Divided or United?

Some people might call me a “New Ager,” others might assume I’m into the occult and therefore play in dark arts. Neither of which are my truth. I am, simply a seeker of the greater Truth that join us all. Is this not, ultimately, the path we each walk?  Yet how many of us choose to label in an effort to divide, instead of unify?

I was just on Instagram, scrolling through posts and had to stop at one and write this blog. I was tempted to comment, but I didn’t want to fire up a debate. The post was religious in nature, from a young woman who had turned to the teachings of the Bible, which had saved her from the “New Age” movement she had been pulled into.

Does there have to be a “right” path and a “wrong” path? Is this not the ultimate goal we are all trying to overcome? To embrace a journey, in whatever way it opens for us individually, which leads to the truth of our being? Is there a need to label it, and call another path wrong, because it is not the one we chose? When all paths of Truth lead to the Light, why must we divide them?

I’ll admit, this deeply troubles me. Those who claim to be holier than another because of their belief troubles me. I think about what divides instead of unites and how wars are made of this stuff, whether between two people, or entire nations.

Therefore should we not beware a path that seeks to divide instead of unite?

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A recent Instagram post of mine