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Dear One

Dear One,

I adore you and I miss you and I don’t know what this sadness is but I know it isn’t love.

It’s something else that’s passing through that comes bubbling up when my heart is touched.

I’m grieving what feels like a loss even though I know you are not gone.

In fact you are closer than ever but feel very far away.

When we meet the light is blinding and the shadows loom.

I know you are busy with your priorities and that I am not one of them.

But hear me, I am your soul. I am with you always waiting for you to stop and to feel my presence.

Just stop a minute, breathe, put everything down, listen to the songs I am singing to you.

It’s very old stuff this feeling and this pattern, I know it.

I feel sad that I pour out vibrant rivers and you look away.

I feel sad that I am the ocean and you are thirsty.

I speak the pain of self-abandonment, clawing at passersby for relief from the gnawing inside.

If you don’t think this is about you, it almost certainly is.

Look deeper.

If you think this is about you, it almost certainly isn’t.

Look wider.

This is about all of us and its older than time.

We are two sides of the same coin, realising that we are at each other’s back always and yet believe we cannot see each other.

Don’t look around in front of you, sink back into what is holding you up. It was always there. It is a part of you. I am a part of you. We are whole.

I love you.

Be at home.

Rest in me.

Please.

I won’t leave.

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Forged in the flames

“I will take friendship plus attraction any day over falling in love. For I am no fool for fickle: I search for a love that is built of friendship and can withstand the most merciless rains and flooding.”

~Waylon Lewis, Things I Would Like to Do with You. 

Maybe this is becoming true… And yet….the lover and the mystic in me adores the fire, the burning away, the raging, the purification, the vitality. In the end though, I look around and all is ashes.

Now that I am a little older. Now that I have held strong for so long in the heat of soul fire. Now that I am charcoal. I catch fire easily, I burn deep and hot. Still throbbing embers after the flames are gone.

If I can hold a little more heat, take a little more pressure, go a little deeper into the earth and closer to the molten core of it all. I’ll become a diamond. I’ll reflect back the dancing light of the flames and stand clear and shining in the heart of the hottest inferno.

What to do? Perhaps the friend, who can stand through all storms, is the diamond, forged in the fires of greatest intensity. Perhaps the way out is through. What to do?

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“You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.” ~ Mary Oliver

Glancing sideways into your window as I pass on no particular business, a glimpse like a cannonball of the warm hearth within. Not for me this rich tapestried chamber, not for me this flickering firelight, not for me this shelter. I must make my peace with the storm.

This is harder than I thought a hard thing could be. The fire is so enchanting… Do I need to follow this pain to the ends of the earth until it becomes a treasured friend or falls away like old skin?

I’m resting in myself, nestled in the crook of my own heartbeat. Warm home fires burn, cleansing fertile flames.  Keeping safe from dungeons and dragons, making light what has felt so heavy. That’s not the way we ebb and flow, not the way we learn and grow, not the way we are…

The sea finds the shore by being still fluid, allowing the rhythmic sway of the moon to send soft ripples of energy through it, propelled to meet the land in perfect time.  The distance between two waves of the whole never closes until they disintegrate on the shore and return deep to the belly of the ocean to be born anew.

“To love purely is to consent to distance, it is to adore the distance between ourselves and that which we love.” ~ Simone Weil

I love this man sitting before me now, because I do not possess him and he does not possess me. We are free in our mutual surrender. I need to repeat this dozens, hundreds, millions of times, until I finally believe my own words.” ~ Paulo Coehlo, Eleven Minutes

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“This ache, this longing is the thread that guides me back through the labyrinth of compromises I have made, back to my soul’s desires… If we are never consumed by the transforming fire of our desires, we risk falling in love with the sweet ache of longing, the daydream of “what if…” or “someday…” — Oriah Mountain Dreamer, The Invitation Plus

Rising like a yell from deep in my belly and setting my whole body vibrating, a sudden eruption of desire consumes everything. To go, to stay, to be, to have, to do… Blacking out into satin soul chambers, gasping for breath and back into blinding light. Childish foot-stamping desire, fierce and violent burning desire, heart- achingly tender desire.

Calling me forward as I fight to look behind, the harder I resist the louder it calls. When I hold it in my belly it agitates and burns, leaves my back weak, my shoulders tense and my head aching from the strain. What else is stuck in there with it? Force to create, will to act, courage to be… When I say YES with my whole being, I spiral up and out like swifts on the wind.

Follow the tiniest of lights, the littlest spark of flame in the forest. Follow it into the darkness and into the morning. Hold it lightly in the palm of my hand and sit quietly with it. Find my way back through the trees to the thread, and follow it home.

“… desire was an entirely free sensation, loose in the air, vibrating, filling life with the will to have something – and that will was enough, that will carried all before it, moved mountains, made her wet…It is an emotion chosen by my soul, and it is so intense that it can infect everything and everyone around me.”

— Paulo Coehlo, Eleven Minutes.

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“Gloriousness and wretchedness need each other. One inspires us, the other softens us. They go together” — Pema Chodron

The much ridden and reported Rollercoaster, of life, of love, of evolution. The filthy U-bend and the glorious flow. As we climb higher, there’s further to drop, and the ride goes faster…

Beauty shines out of the integrity of being as we are, life being as it is. A warm dog by the fire sighing deep with satisfaction, a scared soul reaching out for comfort in their grief, the flaming warmth of dying leaves – radiating back to the sun, the deeply rooted sway of trees.

Everything can and does change in a moment. If I can be in this moment, I can change everything, every moment.

“As a warrior you take responsibility for holding the balance between light and dark within you and, by extension,  the world around you, and ultimately when you go deep enough,  the universe.”

— Barefoot Doctor

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If you love the world, it will break your heart. And if you don’t love the world, it will break your heart.— Eric Allen Bell

Every day learning to be love is like learning to walk on hot sand.  This is the core of everything, the root, the causeless cause, and so – fundamentally – everything else I have to offer and reflect on comes down to this. I didn’t know how to begin, so I began at the end of everything. Hoping I can work backwards from here!

If I hadn’t felt overwhelming pain, my heart wouldn’t have the capacity to experience overwhelming  joy and love. It was only after grief softened the ground that love could sear through the permafrost and crack my heart wide open like a river emerging from deep underground, carrying me through the rocky rapids, splendid scenery and deep silent pools of my subsequent experience.

To speak it straight from the heart like a laser, feels hot and dangerous. Why is love so taboo? Why does it get boiled down to Hippies and Clintons and Twilight – all the life oozing out of it and leaving behind an amorphous untextured gloop? A seeping social miasma, another set of standards to measure up to, another norm to swallow whole – sharp square edges and all.

If I speak of love like this does it offend you? Make you squirm and look away?  How about this…? The awesome, magnificence of love in its glory is immaculate and terrible, with manes of ice and flame, and shimmering brutal claws. It’s not all roses.