healing

Patience

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There was a gentle knock

on The Door.

Wasn’t ready to see,

to engage with,

The Tender Bits

in-side

nervously fidgeting,

worrying,

concerned

about what they were sensing

from the out-side.

Better to ignore

the knock

to scroll

endlessly;

much easier to delve

into other people’s lives

dramas, and belief systems.

Learning, staying informed

the justifications applied

here, now.

Judgement, the bile that arises

when the scrolling

finally

ceases.

Anger,

shame,

guilt,

searing self-recrimination!

Oh no, not this again!

Such utter waste of precious

time and attention!

Why so weak?!

In the midst of spiraling

into the familiar Abyss,

a faint voice

in the Wilderness,

Patience,

calling for restraint,

for kindness,

generosity

and self-compassion.

Breathe, she suggests.

Next time, perhaps,

see if we can just take

a slight look

at The Door.

Soft and Slow

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Memories,

cannot access many –

blurry,

scary,

unwelcomed

they are.

Better to keep locked deep –

for now.

The time may come

to visit certain memories,

one by one,

soft and slow,

well resourced,

strongly grounded,

begin to see

the memories differently,

to heal the broken Heart,

melt the frozen bits,

integrate it all,

emanate a clearer frequency.

genius

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Genius

seems to come

at a very steep price.

Typically,

heavy drugs

for a gifted musician

or

egregious infidelity

for a talented athlete.

Why?

The weight of The Pedestal,

the unrealistic expectations,

the Godlike projections?

Or dizzying fame

borne too quick & too young,

allowing no adequate time

for a stronger foundation?

Always a similar story,

a shared humanity,

the need to escape the anxiety,

that knawing

lethal

relentless

core belief

of innate

unworthiness.

Alas, nowhere to run,

the angst always comes back.

Some heal, eventually learn.

Others, they cannot return.

Be You

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a bit of a contemplative time,

going within,

diving deep –

deeper than ever before,

meeting and making friends

with all the variations

and parts of Me.

Listening

to all their stories

and different perspectives.

Breathing,

long and slow,

taking it all in, 

heart breaking and opening –

no judgement,

only Love ❤️,

patience,

and compassion 🙏

At the core,

The Messages

all seem to be same:

Be you, Beloved,

please do not deviate

from your Original Face 🤗

Original artwork by Lili Arnold for CauseBox, 2017

annihilation

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death.

annihilation.

trans-formation.

no going back,

a time to grieve,

to let go

to let it burn 🔥

it – that which was

and can no longer

be

here

now.

a new identity awaits,

must allow the old

to gently fall away.

scared?

yes, petrified

standing

naked

at yet another Threshold.

where am I going?

where is my Songline leading?

skin shedding,

ancestral beliefs rising –

disempowerment,

unworthiness,

scarcity

the possibility of not living

to full potentiality.

that story ends

here

now

with me,

with fervent prayers,

with aligned community,

with Trust and surrender

day by day,

breath by deep breath,

re-leasing,

re-membering.

a child at play

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I am

a child

at play,

blissfully oblivious

to the perceived madness

“out there”.

In my imagination

I dwell

touching Earth 🌎

and Sky 🙏

No war in here,

nothing to fight for.

No hatred,

only true Love.

Generosity always,

in lieu of greed’s

incessant needs.

So bright,

exquisitely simple,

where I play.

Ease-full

especially when

the discomforts come.

CommUnity,

where I play.

It’s a small

intimate world 🌎

We know

see

hear

heal

tend to

each other.

Not Perfection –

far from it –

we are children

after all!

In our play Ground,

chaos joyfully dances 💃

with Innocence!

We are children

at play!

Come,

now,

join us!

All are welcome!

sweetness

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not enough

then

suddenly

too much!

something missing

what?

a yearning 

for sweetness,

release

from discipline,

a tipping point

of sorts,

can no longer run

or hide

sadness

disappointment

fear?

of what?

barely space

between internal stimulus

and its well-trodden response.

a mere taste

then

suddenly

the deluuge,

surrendering to the waterfall.

a deep

familiar

insatiable

hunger

for sweetness

presence

purpose

excitement

reasons

any

to be

here

now.

the fetus

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innately worthy,

The Source,

from which we all

spring.

when do we forget

what we really are

and spiral

down

deep into The Abyss

of not enough

and the sense of

unworthiness?

grateful for those moments

in exquisite remembrance,

a glimpse,

swirls of pale pinks & greys,

the Curiousity of Creativity

condensing into form,

the fetus,

planted in a womb.

Message Blocking is Active

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blocked 🚫

mere months

after The Transition

of he who was The Force

keeping family afloat,

tethered,

ever so delicately.

without him,

shedding,

the masks came off,

niceties abandoned.

“Love” disintegrated

to the point of blocking 🚫

take nothing personally.

still, sad,

feels abrasive,

like a middle finger 🖕

borne of deep hurt

a sense of disrespect,

expectations unmet.

The Circle 🔵 dwindling

by death

and, now, blocks 🚫

everything

so tender,

tenuous,

ephemeral.