Imagining A World Made New #poetry #poems #spiritualpoetry


I’m trying to imagine a world made new

this riptide of dis(ease) softening into rebirth as seven

billion people grow golden filaments

around the darkness of our womb. At night

I claw dirt back into Her body

to hear the heartbeat wrapped inside

release the tired shoulders, She whispers, you

who have learned to wear blades

as you seek to stretch beyond the chrysalis

breathe whole

arms, ready to release

the heavy weight of fight

trap the body collecting pain

without permission. You wounded

warriors of the light

stamp identity upon the heart

pressing the false hold into a battle cry

lodged inside a forgotten throat

Sing truth to open the portal to the heart

and allow the soul

to shout victory

darkness is a demon

only if left unexplored. Let the cry loose

Let it soar through the shadowland inside

until it ignites the joy that is life. Real

life. Release those golden threads and weave

the memory of unity


Wistful Hope #wistful #writphoto

photo credit: Sue Vincent

Hope took a deep breath and inhaled the sky. Fear slid behind her into the recesses of Night as New Day slipped over the land. A land long-troubled by the burden of Misuse and Misunderstanding.

As she stood atop the hill, Hope thought about the green spreading over the barren patches of earth. A sense of wistful longing took hold of her heart and she smiled. It had been a long time since she had smiled. Even longer since she had laughed. Yet, beneath her feet, Hope now felt a tingling. The Earth was waking her children. It was subtle, but Hope knew it to be Life stirring through the Long Darkness.

Her veins began to hum a quiet song, and Hope new it to be Harmony.

Harmony had not been a part of Hope’s life before the breaking of New Day. She had lived a long time. A very long time. She had watched and waited. Her feet stumbling over Dissonance. Cracks in the landscape ever-widening, instead of rejoining. Before the New Day had dawned, Hope was starting to feel Despair in each footstep. Faith had become a long-lost friend and Hope knew only Loneliness.

And then the sky had changed its worn and tattered cloak of gray and dawned the New Day filled with the blush of pink and Hope felt that stirring to breathe deep and full its promise. If she had felt it. So would the others. Soon they would return. Coming out of their caves of Isolation to feel the stir of Harmony. And when they did Love would rekindle its fire and spark the Light of Unity in each heart.

Hope could hardly wait for the Dance of Life to begin.

For Sue Vincent’s #writephoto prompt challenge, #wistful 

Breaking free density: I dream of flying my dogs over an ancient landscape

It was a strange series of dreams, on the surface, but then again dreams are often strange…on the surface. I was in school, a large brick building that seemed nearly endless. My classroom on the upper floor and down labyrinthian corridors filled with turns and shadows. One could easily get lost there.

A labyrinth broken by darkness
The labyrinthian school in my dream reminded me of this labyrinth from my new book.

I was studying art. The assignment I was given was to fashion a multilayered piece that appeared one-dimensional until you turned it, allowing the light to reveal the inner layers that appear shadowed by the surface. The finished piece had been created, somehow, by my hands, hands that I did not believe could create a painting, much less a rather magical one that. A painting that when turned to the light at just the right angle revealed beautiful, hidden layers beneath. Like a hologram, but there were so many layers to this painting I had somehow created, I could not count.

We were to take our paintings outside, to catch the sunlight so that their depths could be revealed. That is when I started to fly, with my two dogs. Normally, in my dreams, I fly alone…

Dogs walking
The two dogs in my dream, pictured here on one of our walks together.

During the day, I had been thinking about density. How we create our own density in our bodies and in our physical environment. We fashion energy into dense forms, like the car I was riding in while I was thinking these thoughts. Cars to drive in, homes to house our bodies, furniture to rest upon, toys to play with…the list is endless. I had also been thinking about how the density inside of me lifts when I visit ancient landscapes where my inner child burst forth into a state of pure joy and sometimes it is as though my feet are so light they hover above the ground…

The processional avenues of Merrivale in Dartmoor
My feet “hover” above the rocks at Merrivale in Dartmoor as I walk in the pure joy of being. Photo Credit: Lara Wilson

I had also been thinking about rocks, nature’s way of creating density to store the memories of Time. These rocks that draw people like me to listen to their stories, and have the ability to somehow make us feel less dense and confined to the worlds we create.

Shapes in stone
This bird drew my eye to the heart in stone on top of a New Hampshire mountain years ago.

The day had not been particularly “light.” I had allowed myself to be bothered by others behavior and the nuances of life we can attach so much importance to but are in reality merely passing moments that we can either grasp or let go of. I was, you could say, feeling weighed down by the time I laid my head upon my pillow to go to sleep.

The mysterious realm of dreams
This image popped up on my screen this morning when I opened my computer. Sometimes there are no accidents in life.

I am not, therefore, surprised my dreams brought me into a school, where I was given the opportunity to learn and grow. It was a gift. An opportunity and I had a choice to hold onto the density within me or to examine the art of my creation and allow the layers of light to reveal themselves.

In The Labyrinththe character Sula, and her five fellow teen protagonists must face their trapped fears and release their density in order to open the gifts of their light bodies. It is essential not only to their individual journeys but also to their collective, as they realize they are each a strand of light in the network of light that connects all life. As warriors of this light, they come to understand they must embrace their true selves and learn to fly above their fears to carry out their mission of repairing the broken lines of light within Earth.

And they are not alone…None of us are. Sometimes we forget we are all connected. That the same fears and light reside within all of us, and we can either create more density together or reveal the light of our creation.

When I left the confines of the brick school building and walked out into the classroom of Nature in my dream, I found myself walking with my two dogs. As my feet lifted off the ground, so did theirs. I lifted first, but they followed my lead. Their leashes weightless ribbons joining us together in a trinity as though we were one-self. I felt rather felt like Santa Claus (yes, I actually had this thought while I was flying with the dogs in my dream), with my companions Rosy and Zelda flying ahead of me over the landscape below. A landscape filled not with mortored walls, but with the classrooms of the ancients. It was glorious to be flying over these places that draw my soul, and allowing myself to notice, but not stop and linger, where I felt the density of fear. I was there to discover and learn. I will remember this, I told myself, so that I can share it with others.

When I woke, I felt much lighter than I did the day before. That is the gift of these sorts of “dreams.”

The Journey of the Feathered Seer Part 3: Finding Peace


Bratha left the Raven’s Nest with the gifts of the clan. Now cloaked with the wisdom of a seer, she traveled with her guide to speak Truth to those who sought knowledge. I had a day to process my experience at the Nest, which followed the weekend’s workshop with the Silent Eye School. If you read Part 1 and Part 2 of my journey, you will know that it was a transformative experience that was difficult for me to put into words. To play the role, and then travel the landscape where a seer once walked to share the wisdom of the Light, feels like both a gift and a burden. It is not my intent to sound dramatic, but there is the question that always begs to be answered, What does one do with an experience such as this? 

It is intensely intimate and personal, yet it is also, I feel, one to be shared. Bratha’s need to seed the magic of the land and the truths of the Universe is also my own. It is the inherent longing in all living beings to know Home.

Leaving the Nest was difficult for me, as I imagine it must have been for Bratha and others who have known its presence. Feeling my heart open to the raw and beautiful truth of my unseen guide, and the magic of a now troubled land had stirred a deep longing inside of me. It made me acutely aware of how latent my own senses were, and how separate we often live from Truth. I had never felt such a connection to the Land and to those who have loved it so fully and completely, and whose presence can still be felt in its stones.


There is a safely to the Nest, but the fledgling is born for flight.

As I walked down from the hight of the Nest, as Bratha once did, I carried with me the feeling of sorrow and longing. In the hours that followed, each time I attempted to process my experience into words, I wept the abuse of this sacred Earth that is both our home and our mother. When we focus on the life we have grown accustomed to living, it’s too easy not to feel the inherent connection we have with our Earth Mother and with all beings who reside within Her.

The Light of Hope, though, was also within me, as well as its tangible presence in the form of a handful of stones of different colors, charged from the collective energy from the weekend’s workshop. There were many others who would be planting these seeds to help “re-enchant” the land and repair what mankind had broken. And, there was the knowing that there are so many beings who reside on this planet who are doing their part to seed the Light within and without.

After a day in Bakewell touring more recent, but still old sites, my traveling companion, Deb, and I got into our car once again to drive to the moors. This time we were following Sue, Stuart, and Sue’s son Nick, to the site where Bratha lived out the end of her days as a Seer of Truth.

Once again, the weather on the moors was blustery and cold. Perhaps worried I would wander again, Sue kept pace with me, and I, a little reluctantly, reigned in my urge to explore alone. As we walked the paths through the heather, I realized my heart was at peace. The land here does not feel distrubed and broken, and its energy is not the same as the high cliffs of the Nest. It is a place where one goes to pay respect for the Land and those that tended the Light within.

A stream runs through the hills where, thousands of years ago, people dwelled in harmony with the nature, and sought wisdom from the seer. In the land of the dead, where cairns mound gently above the heather, a circle of rocks rises out of the earth. At its entrance a larger stone stands out from the rest, and the ground dips on both the outer and inner sides of the circle.


I traveled through the cairns near the stone circle before I paid homage to the Seer’s Stone. Here, in the land of the dead, I felt strangely comfortable and at home. The sense of peace was ever-present, as well as an atmosphere of reverence for the departed souls. I was walking upon sacred ground that seemed to be protected by those who had walked before me. My eyes, though, often turned toward the river valley that divided the living from the dead. Sue, reading my thoughts, asked if I wanted to visit the waters that held the memory of Bratha in their song.


The tears, this time, were gentle, as I broke a path through the heather and made my descent. My companions stayed near the top, as though knowing I needed to walk alone as I stepped, once again, through the tenuous layers of time. I headed downstream, and then gradually made my way toward the fork that brought water down from the land of the living, taking in the energy of the stones I passed along the way. Above the stream, large rocks jut out of the side of the hill and take on the forms the past. The whale stone carries the memories of waters much deeper than those that are now no more than a gentle brook.


Even the plants hold faces, and sometimes they join with the rocks. Before the fork in the river, a large arrangement of stones topped with bracken that looks like a mane, give the sense of another guardian protecting something sacred.  It follows the slope of a hillside, where mourners once gathered to pay homage to a feathered seer whose ashes returned to the land she loved.


The peace I felt at this place of rest was a stark contrast to the energy I experienced at the Nest where the skulls of a sacrifice defiled the cycle of life. After a short visit, I was ready to return to the land of the dead, up the hillside where Bratha welcomed those who sought her counsel.

At the circle of stones, I found offerings from travelers, perched atop and around the divination stone. Hair ties mixed with Earth’s flowers, and I gently untangled the natural from the unnatural. The stones, I have learned, do not wish to hold offerings that do not decompose, so I pocketed the ties to throw away later.

As I sat with my back to the divination stone, I felt the memory of Bratha’s presence in its body. It is no wonder that those who pass by pay homage to this stone even without knowing, perhaps, its purpose. Facing outward, toward the land of the living, one can imagine the Seer sitting in wait to those who sought knowledge. The power of the inner, the unseen, courses through your back.

When you step inside the circle, the outer seems to disappear. The silent voice of the soul guides your thoughts, and the inner realm where darkness dwells amid the light of the soul’s truth takes over. All answers must come from this place. This circle holds an inherent magic, as all of them do, and its small size against the much larger landscape surrounding it can defy the eye that chooses to think in limitations. Like other sacred sites, this one seems to be a microcosm inside of a macrocosmic landscape that threads the Web of Light throughout Earth. It carries the light of the stars and the heavens; the light that weaves through each being and connects us all back to Source. It carries Peace and Hope for a world ready to awaken once again.

To be continued…





The Return of the Goddess

Yesterday I baked myself a birthday cake. A day late. It came out okay. The children and husband were polite, telling me it was “good,” but I knew they could taste what should have been there. There is a belief held by some, myself included, that the food we prepare for consumption holds the emotions we feel as we assemble it. When I took my first bite of the cake I had made for myself, because I had decided I couldn’t let the occasion pass without one, I tasted a distinct note of melancholia, if not the definitive spice of sadness.

A not so pretty cake before the strawberry sauces was added 

Birthdays are never easy days for me. The wounded inner child comes out weeping to be nurtured, loved and adored unconditionally on this day, as well as the cloaked goddess who desires to cast aside the garment of domesticity and shine in all her glory. For at least one day. Instead, reality takes over. The hectic nature of our modern lives consumes the celebratory energy of the day, and the goddess and inner child are squeezed into the spare moments. But they are still there, waiting to be let out, and I find I can no longer deny their presence, nor do I want to.

I don’t think I am alone in my hidden, or not so hidden desires. In fact, I’m pretty sure they’re shared by most of my fellow goddesses in hiding on this planet. There was a time, you see, when the goddess was revered. The woman-as-goddess was simply an undeniable truth. There was no question of our sacred power and gifts. We were revered and honored for the divine famine energy we possessed, as well as that awesome ability to create and bring forth life.

“Ancient” artifact of 3 goddesses – Bath, England 

I’d like to believe we are gradually coming back to this place, but we’re not there yet. I am not the only woman out there who has to occasionally bake her own cake, and buy her own flowers (yes, I did that too). And, I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with that. It’s a step toward honoring that inner goddess and child. It is an expression of self-love that is essential to healing the wounded spirit.

The lovely sunflowers I bought myself

Last night I told my own daughter, who, I might add has had at least a handful of pedicures and manicures in her twelve years on this planet, while I have had one, a pedicure, in my 43 year, that life was not always like it is now. I brought back the time of the goddess and told her about how women shone in all their glory in a way that honored their power and truth. A time when we were not something to be feared, but revered.

I told her this is something that needs to be brought back, and that it can start within the home. That it is not a selfish desire. It is, quite simply essential. When we look at the world we live in, it is hard to deny that we are out of balance, and the scales have long been tipped dangerously on the side of masculine force. Notice I said force and not energy, as the true masculine energy is not forceful in its power, and it is always, ideally, balanced with the divine feminine nature that exists in all of us. We have forgotten that we are both. We have forgotten harmony and balance, and the glorious celebration of who we are. We have forgotten the need to bring forth in ourselves and others the hidden energies that lie in wait inside of us, so that we can nurture their rebirths.

The goddess within needs to be brought out. It’s high time we celebrated “her,” and revered her. It’s high time we starting using the name “Isis,” who was once celebrated as an aspect of the divine mother, in the name of love and not war.

So, you see, what I held inside and desired to come forth on my birthday this year, is an energy that exists in all of us. We all hold within us the dark and the light. The yin and the yang. The divine masculine and famine energies. And, there is always, always, the inner child waiting to come out to dance in the sun (or rain). If only for one day, but hopefully everyday.

My children, several years ago, dancing in the rain