Love is overflowing into my cup from my own cup
Satisfaction in being understood.
I am happy being myself
Alone I am fulfilled
I am full.
Love is overflowing into my cup from my own cup
Satisfaction in being understood.
I am happy being myself
Alone I am fulfilled
I am full.
The wounded sit in the sun
Applying salt and balms to wounds and to the leaches that puncture and drain and suck and creep
Removing them one by one
They are careful to find them all.
Those black worms that stretched themselves above the mire and down from wet leaves so they could launch and latch onto the warm blooded
They hide from the blazing sun as they lay in wait for the clouds and fog to impede the vision of their victims
The innocent thrash blindly and fearfully through the undergrowth
They may as well have waved a flag and harnessed themselves to a target
The enemy simply lay in wait
I remind myself to have patience and compassion for the innocent. They are the blind and the walking wounded
They shall see when they are ready
They shall heal after the firing squads have emptied their barrels and the Vampires have had their fill.
Kindness
Patience
Eloquence and space will be required
For the innocent foolishly stumble through the mire and damp leaves that are laden with vampiric worms that would rather consume their victims as they live because they are impatient for their timely deaths.
They seek desperately with drooling mouths without care or compassion or kindness.
Their desires are for themselves only
Their victims discarded after they have had their fill
They seek out and return, only once the hunger reminds them that sustenance is required once again.
They hide from the sun and lie in wait for the fog.
A little art performance for you.
We don’t always shine at our best. It takes practice and self belief before we feel comfortable being us and challenging anyone who says otherwise. It’s ok to sputter and spurt before you become a blazing fire. Be kind to yourself, especially when the darkness feels overwhelming. You are valuable to this world as you are. You are the only one who can shine the way you do.
You are light.
I gaze upon those with whom I see as those who look like me
But as I stand to face them, and look into their eyes, I see things I do not recognise. Despite the skins they wear.
I peer into them as strange things.
Aliens and vacuous beings
The search begins to look into the eyes of those who carry the light
The light that shines the same as mine
The light I can warm myself with
So that not only do we look right together
But to also see into each other as equals
As one
As those who recognise each other as home, sustenance and pure energy.
I am the fool and the wandering minstrel
I clap my hands and I play amongst the crowds
I wander around the grounds of palaces and scuttle through the alley’s and the gutters of the shanty towns
I am seen on every corner and on every stage
Thousands remember my face my charm my talent
I am flocked by the masses…..
But in the quiet and the silence at beginning or the end of the show
No one see’s who really sits behind the mask of the performer as he sadly wishes for a single one to love him when he sits there alone, silent and invisible in the darkened wings of the stage and before he emerges from the dressing room.
I welcome you little stars as you shine the brightest this very night
I see you greater than you have ever been
As darkness surrounds you
This is the time you will be seen
Your greatest hour
The moon hides herself with intention
So shine gloriously
This night is yours
All are listening
The stage has been set
Stand together as a beautiful chorus of healing, love and brilliance.
As we navigate our paths by you.
We send you our love and gratitude for the honour you bestow
Trust your own inner guidance. You are worthy of love, support, happiness, peace.
People returned secretly at first
One by one, until they became a long line of seekers
They are those who are pulled by desires they do not understand
Remembering how abundance had rained upon them once
They remember tasting food from a table of foreign delicacies
They had secretly loved and wanted more of
But to their peers and to their allies
They pretended to despise the table
Choosing instead bland gruel lacking flavour, colour and nutrition
They turned up their nose at the foreigners
Their wisdom
Their skills
Their wealth.
They returned to their gruel, expecting to find satisfaction again as they had once before.
But they had to forcibly swallow and choke it down
They checked with the cooks
Who looked at them strangely – No one had ever complained before…
They added sugar
They added salt
They added cream
And although it helped a little
It did not satisfy
After all gruel is gruel
Boredom and dissatisfaction grew
And slowly, slowly
One at a time
They looked toward the foreigners and remembered how nice it had been
How fiery, satisfying, interesting and vibrant and warm it had been.
But pride held the loudest of those who had laughed, to sit with the gruel forever
But one by one, those who had secretly loved and desired the foreign table, visited the foreigners in secret
They sat at that table again so they could taste the riches and the wealth that they brought.
Knowing that by doing so, they would be forever changed and that is what they hoped for.
I see a mess
The garden is weed
Rocks sit as innocent as icebergs
They create infertility and broken backs
But there is no other space
And sustenance must be procured
One weed
One stone
One rock at a time
They must be destroyed
removed
vanquished
crushed or banished
It starts slowly
Painfully
The overwhelm of where to start causes procrastination
But there is nothing to fear
You can start where you stand