Reaching for the light.

Reaching for the light.

It shines downwards from the heavens.

The light of the moon, the sun and stars.

Infusing me with what light likes to bring.

Warmth, illumination, nourishment.

The two of me.....

One receives directly.

She can surrender to it shining directly inside.

Unafraid of what is shown...fearless and ready.

The other is reaching out letting it gently in.

Sometimes certain things need the softness that touching can bring.

Both infused with light--Love.

May all beings find their light to bring into the dark places.

Directly or gently --- whatever's needed.

Love.

Almost forgotten.

Reaching through time takes a strange focus.

Strange angles, upside down glances.

You can miss things if you look straight.

Things hide. Things camouflage themselves. Things change.

Glancing into the corners, the nooks and crannies.

Something long lost....almost forgotten.

Found and held in the gentle hand of memory.

It wishes to be in the safety of the dark places.

The light is too bright too glaring.

Place the memory in a quieter place, away from the light.

Not back to the darkness though, place it someplace safe.

Close to you, like a back pocket to take out in quite moments.

Then back again when it wishes to return to a more private space.

Keep your memories close, they are fragile things, sensitive and wandering.

You mustn't scare them away with loudness and strong focus...

But glance at them with soft and gentle focus, lovingly.

Piecing myself together.

Piecing myself together.

Molecule by molecule.

Slow going.

Patience is required.

I can feel how slow it will be.

I honor that and myself.

In the meantime I'm going to surround myself in light and wrap it around.

Wings of light, soft and gentle.

Living inside the earth.

Right now I'm going to live inside the earth.

Stillness.

Returning to the beginning.

Womb like and close.

Holding.

No movement in time.

Timeless.

Safe until the time of returning.

Not yet.

Renewal.

Healing the past.

The past feels like ice slipping out of my pores.

I hope I'm melting it away.

The ice encased me, frozen and stuck.

Always looking out hoping for warmth to thaw this isolation.

The warmth came later...

Not too late, just later so that the ice is still sliding down my chest and belly.

I know I am melting, a mess trying to get it together.

I'm reaching through to the past to pull myself here...all here.

I have found her...all alone....I am holding her through the barriers of time.

I will not let go...I will pull her into the warmth I have found....hold her.

We all have that obligation to those lost parts, those frozen, those all alone.

To reach through time and bring them here with us, both safe, all safe.

The Morrigan, Macha

One of three.

Of one mind in war.

She carries the heads of those slain in battle.

Ruthless and precise.

By this I mean you won't see her coming to collect.

It will be over in an instance...done and done.

No ring of metal around thine neck will block this sharp blade.

The Morrigan will do what must be done in the end.

She is a mistress to duty, to the hard choices.

The gods have gifted her with a diamond heart filled by fire.

Fiercely burning, hard at the outer, ethereal inner.

She waits and watches to see where the battle lies next.

Ready.

Nelson Mandela

Thank you wise man.

You have taught us through action.

Through patience, unending.

To be human is to love, to care, to forgive.

We are trying to measure up to you but you were so wise,

It might take us awhile.

But you will watch us and be patient, unending.

First the 2, then the many...

Establish the outer.

Make it strong and balanced.

This is the protection needed to create new things.

Ideas and vision brought forward,

To manifest things in the right order.

That takes time and patience.

It takes energy....from the beginnings of things: the void.

The raw quality of the void feels strange and unsettling.

It has no clear form and it waits to follow the breath, the movements unseen.

I see it's stirrings.

Just born from nothing.

It smells like snow and lightening.

It looks like flame.

Blue and spiraling.

It sounds like wind moving through a narrow passage.

Quick and loud.

Becoming the many.

Warrior returns home.

It's been a long time coming.

The warrior returns.

Dirty, tired and beat up.

Finally taking it all in.

Was the fighting worth what remains?

The fir of his/her jacket is caked with dirt and blood.

The spear is dull, but used.

Still he/she has returned alive and victorious.

Always prepared for a last breathe, always ready to die in battle.

Alas homecoming is bitter sweet, no fan fare, nobody waiting.

What is the next step?

Reconcile the imbalances created.

Heal the wounds, admire the scars left.

Remove the warrior garb, because we all know naked a warrior remains.

He protects the outer...

She nourishes the inner...

Both necessary, both warriors.

One being together.