Winter Calling #Calling #writephoto

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Photo Credit: Sue Vincent

Strength reigns through the barren land

of naked limbs exposed to time

Without adornment horns lift the true

self and eyes peer through darkness

to find life in stillness. What would be frozen

softly beats the heart’s calling

stirring the fire inside that never dies

it waits with patience for the touch

of green renewal to shake the cold

world back to life

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For Sue Vincent’s weekly #writephoto challenge. Interestingly, as I sat down to write about her photo, I glanced over at my teacup and noticed I had also chosen a stag/ reindeer for the morning. 

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Still Time #WritePhoto #Stillness

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Photo Credit: Sue Vincent

The chief looked to the horizon, forever surveying the movement of water. All life was cataloged in its molecules, and the chief never tired of reading its memories. There was a comfort to living in this slow time of stone where stasis reminded people who passed by that there is a lingering but also a letting go. The water, forever rocking against the hard stone, eroded centuries and not minutes.

The chief had seen it all. He had watched the reckless shatter against his chest. The mighty who would defeat fall back into the belly of the womb as though returning to the beloved without choice. And, he had seen love, oh yes, he had seen love.

Each morning he watched the sun make love to Earth, filling her with the seeds of its golden light. He watched the sky blush into crimson before it widened into the blue expanse of truth, spreading open without end. Birds, defying gravity as they lifted to the beyond and danced love across the horizon. And in the deep below, he felt it. Love, spreading through liquid memory in the song of the whales and dolphins echoing the heartbeat of the goddess as it stirred through strata and sank deep into his bones.

For Sue Vincent’s Weekly #WritePhoto prompt #stillness

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The Copper Doorway #WritePhoto

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Photo Credit: Sue Vincent

The Copper Doorway

If you think death waits

for you at the end

of the long road

oh weary traveler, turn

back into the tunnel of darkness

to sweep the membrane clean

 In the black space hear the symphony

of life surrounding you and the Mother’s

breath singing the leaves

back into her body

 

For Sue Vincent’s weekly #writephoto prompt. To participate, click here

 

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The Hermit #Harbinger #WritePhoto

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Photo Credit: Sue Vincent

The hermit curled his head into his folded feathers. It had a been a long day. Heck, who was he kidding? It had been a long century. He was getting old, too old to be doing this work. And, he was tired. The kind of tired that sets into your bones long before they are supposed to return to the soil. He blamed the humans. The hermit discovered the plague of their greed soon after they started pumping darkness into the veins of Earth five thousand years ago.

He didn’t want to feel like such a curmudgeon. In many ways he’d rather be flying blissfully unaware with the starlings. All they did was gossip and cackle about the other birds as they picked through the dirt for worms. The hermit wasn’t much for idle chatter, though. He never had been. Life would have been easier, he thought, if he had been born into a state of blissful ignorance, but life had chosen him to be a hermit. To fly alone as he surveyed the land and catalogued its history into memory cells. Now the weight was simply too much for his body. His wings were too tired to raise him off the ground, and instead folded inward, protecting the heart that was heavy with time. Soon his body would become one with the Earth from which he was born, and he found himself welcoming that day without sadness or trepidation.

Peace, he thought, finally I will be at peace. But what of the rest? Beneath his winged shoulders, blue feathers of truth betrayed him. It was not yet his time. He had agreed to be a harbinger of death, but also of life. And the golden child had not yet been born. The hermit must wait a little longer to pass on the memories in his cells. Only then could he rest in the knowing that someday the light would be returned.

For Sue Vincent’s #writephoto prompt Harbinger. Please click here to participate in the challenge. 

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#Murmur #WritePhoto #Poetry

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Photo Credit: Sue Vincent

Murmur

I am the murmur in your heart

One thousand wings flutter you

awake. I am the golden kiss opening

your lips. My breath reaching inward

searching your darkness with light. I am

the sun, but also the moon. Night dancing

inside of you breaking dawn

into filaments of truth

witnessing the glory

of you rising to meet

me

 

Inspired by Sue Vincent’s weekly photo prompt. If you would like to participate, please click here.

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Frozen #WritePhoto

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Photo Credit: Sue Vincent

Frozen

In the midst of a world that appears frozen

follow the purple path within

Know that beyond the shadows holding darkness

there is always a source of light

reflecting truth. Waiting to melt the way

as it softens the heart that would stay cold

Indifference is the face of fear grown tired

Used to the battered landscape, the eyes refuse to see

the false hold. And so we remain frozen together

in stasis, an inert body wanting to be held

until the fever burns once again

into love

 

For Sue Vincent’s weekly #WritePhoto prompt. Click here to participate

 

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The Chalice & The Sun #yearning

I had been intending to write a blog post about some recent explorations I’ve had with the chalice as a symbol when I opened Sue Vincent’s Thursday Photo Prompt this morning. There before me was a photograph of water in the shape of a chalice illuminated by the light of the sun. The title, “yearning.” I realized that perhaps I had just been provided with the image I needed to explore this ancient symbol in the way it has come to me recently…

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Photo Credit: Sue Vincent

Years ago, when I first began exploring Tarot, I bought myself the Rider-Wait deck. I  often shuffled the cards to find guidance for my life and writing journey. As frequently happens with Tarot, a card will repeatedly show itself. The Queen of Cups was that card for me.

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The Queen of Cups in the Rider-Waite Tarot Deck

The archetype of The Queen sat before me on her throne contemplating a capped golden chalice in her hands bearing a cross at its top. The card is filled with archetypal symbolism, which is up to the individual to explore in relation to his or her own inner journey.

Now, when I look at the card, I rather fancy the queen shedding the crown she wears, removing the church-like dome of the chalice, and discarding her robes to dive into the waters of life before her until there is no separation. Becoming, if you will, the opened chalice, as in the photo above taken by Sue.

 

Like many, I find myself deeply troubled these days by what appears to be the masculine side of fear’s desire to hold a tighter reign over the divine feminine. We seem to be spiraling backwards (but not backwards enough) instead of forwards as we allow fear to take over. Here in The States we are seeing its struggle for dominance in the form of control over the female body. A struggle for dominance that stretches back thousands of years.

It is disturbing on many levels, for this is not a “war” driven only by men, but by women clouded by the dome of patriarchy that holds the reigns of indoctrinated spirituality premised upon fear and control. When the desire to control over-rides love and balance, Truth is lost.

A couple of weeks ago, my son went on a past-life journey facilitated by a dear friend of mine who is a trained regressionist. We were attempting to get to the root of his extreme sound sensitivities, and what unfolded was a detailed narration of a life as a Templar knight. I won’t tell you his story, as it is not mine to tell, but it feels significant to me to share part of the quest for the Holy Grail that came through. 

A story that was woven into the tapestry my son recalled hanging on the wall where, nearby, a golden goblet with decorative handles held the wine he drank. Of the nine pages of recording from the regression, two phrases haunt me the most, “trying to get the holy grail, but not the blood of Christ, but of someone else.” And later this, “the [priest] tells the story that’s written on the walls. The same story in the tapestry. It is the story of the holy grail, but it’s different. Like it has not been modified.”

“Modified”…

About a week after my son’s regression, I gave my friend a healing session in trade. As with my son’s regression, we had no idea where our journey would take us, but put our trust in the highest aspect of self that is a channel to the divine. I had not been consciously thinking about the chalice while I channeled the healing energies for my friend, but opened myself to receive whatever messages her higher self desired to bring through for her. In her recent history, my friend suffered a serious concussion from a car accident, and even more recently, had a hysterectomy. I was not surprised to see the healing energies travel to these two regions of her body, but I was not expecting to see the chalice.

Inlaid into the structure of her ethereal body, a golden chalice appeared before me, resembling more the “goblet” my son described from his regression than the one appearing on the tarot card. For, it had no cap. Nor was it ornately structured. Instead, the wide basin filled her womb, open to receive. Below, a long narrow stem ran the canal of birth, connecting to the base that opened into the place where life exits the womb. The handles, the fallopian tubes.

Before me, I saw the sacred vessel of the divine feminine fill with the light of the divine from above. Although her physical womb is now gone, she had not lost the essence of the chalice she bore inside of her. She had only to open the golden “womb” to receive the seeds of life giving light from above and allow them to fill her with their creative potential, grow it, and birth it into the world. 

The unbroken, uncapped womb that is the chalice.

And so I find myself gazing into Sue’s photograph and seeing the waters of life held within the womb of the ocean illuminated by the light of the sun. The light upon water create the form of a chalice-like image, with two open ends, in the continual cycle of life. Life not driven by fear or control, but by the light of  Love. 

I think a lot these days about what is happening to the female body is happening to the body of Mother Earth. My writing is taking me deep into her womb as I continue book two in my Warriors of Light visionary fiction series. My characters lead me into the chalice of Earth through broken lines humans have created. They draw me into mysteries that I have yet to discover, into an ancient past were once the vessel of Earth flowed free with the Light that is Life. A time when Earth’s children lived not to destroy her in ownership and greed, but to live as One in harmony. Balanced and fed by the Light within that is also without.  

And I find myself filled with a yearning to return.