Everything Falls

Everything falls

Stones fall

Rumbling

Trees fall, slowly, creaking, crashing, moaning

Temperature sinks

Snow crystals sink and descend

Moods sink

Birds fall, but only if they are shot

Or attacked in air

Otherwise birds never fall

I never ascend in this body

Unless someone lifts me

Or I am in a metal machine that looks like a bird

I can’t even fly in dreams

Though it so happens that

Sometimes I just bend my knees

And lift my feet up

I fly forty centimeters above

The ground

And wave my hands rapidly

Just to tell you, you don’t

Need to fly to the moon and

Sing about it –

It is OK to fly low

With knees bent

Poemcrazy

What is happening for me now –

Sometimes – maybe twice a week or more – I meet somebody’s eyes and we both are completely present and awake. “Foreigners”, that is. And they all feel like the oldest bestest friends. We never stop, I’ve noticed – just a 2-3-second eye-soul contact, deep peacefulness and joy, and then the habit takes our feet away.

But the imprint of love and joining is as strong NOW as it was when it happened – just fully remembering Who we are.

In the night, the dreams are chaotic and very very unpleasant and tiring. But when i get up and abide as Christ, I ask what belief lies under all of that. Then i realize that earlier,this belief was helping me stay “protected” from saying something and causing dangerous situations – so I thank that pattern, own it. and see that it is not valuable any longer.

Today I sat like this in the five-minutes abiding as Christ  – which turned into 3/4 hour – and at some point, a river of toxicity left my brain through my temples or ears in two streams.

Afterwards I felt I had lost about 20 pounds

*
Today I got a new book by Susan Wooldridge:  Poemcrazy. When I was sitting with it, the doorbell started co-cooing like crazy – 6 times, and then a seventh while I was looking at it through the window. THIS IS FOR YOU. DO IT!

Oh yes I will – funny thing is. I have done so many of this word-games she describes in earlier workshops. And now, I am back -and I will find somebody to play with 🙂

Recent poem:

Choices

Left road:

Rain on Monday evenings between 19-21
Military marches for small men with big dogs on Wednesdays
Digging holes for manure Fridays
Flag rising on Sundays, only on municipal buildings
No singing on Thursdays
Whistling: never
Red clothes only Saturday evening after 7pm
Weeping and gnashing of teeth 10 minutes after 5pm each day

Right road:

Moonlight serenades by small insects with lighted bottoms
Checkered dresses and flowered suits whenever
Pink bubbly and chocolate mousse whenever
Nothing matters
Ever
Nothing changes
Ever

Turn around.
Wait for the little red and yellow copter
*

Scream and play

Last night, I wrote myself through a nightly terror:

The Code

When lungs are raisin-dry and dirty demons nibble at your feet,
when you can’t take a breath and cannot cry for help cause there is no-one there to meet
this agony with anything at all, you’re stumbling through the night
and stubbing toes on stones and hearing angry voices who just may be right
in their insistence that you’re not worthy of a life,
you have done something wrong and just this knife
is all you need, to put an end to it and plunge it in your heart.
Since then this pain will have to end, you think, that seems so evident and smart
if only you could find the code to tell you where you fail and sin,
then you could remedy your ways and calm the screams and din
of this old mind that never stops in finding reasons for your pain
-but as you seek for them, you know that trying to find rest will be in vain.
And trying to get out of it and feeling good again is doomed, you say!
Then Love says, now go to the heart and stay
there, child, just let it be, allow it space to breathe; that darkness is just shadow play.
Now turn toward it Sweetie, tell it, hey
old agony, old friend, what if we have some fun instead and write a pome
about it. The Muse is here to take you Home.
We may just recognize the simple truth right here to be:
The Code for healing agony is Play, you see

*

In the morning, I woke up from a reaction I have to something going on in the world – feeling the horrible energy from it.It feels like a global scream.

Exactly at the moment I notice this scream, I am reminded: this is just an energy in the mind that I haven’t forgiven. It’s not “mine,” it’s not  serious – it’s not a sign that I have done something wrong- it’s just this energy.

 

I turn toward it and say, “welcome! Welcome. Welcome” with a full heart –

and it’s just not there anymore

 

 

Sillybillywillyninny

Silliness – my sacred angel muse. You always bring me out of gloom and into smiling with all my cells. Here is one of many many many I have written. If i get more than three likes there will be more 🙂

 

Twinkle, twinkle, little Tsar

Little Nikolaj of the House of Romanov had a very sober mama, and the upbringing was English – so there was not so much twinkle in Nik’s early days. Maybe because of that, Nik felt a deep urge to decorate his horses with medals and jewelry he borrowed from his family members. One day his father Alexander caught him in the act of adorning his horse Freakin Awesome with Grand Cross of Unrelented Victory and with the blue diamond-necklace Tatarataaa from his grand grandmother. Or somebody. Alexander immediately understood the little boy’s need for bling and twinkle, and actually shed a tear or two, since he had had the same urge as a boy. So he simply removed the jewelry from Freakin and hang them on his son. Just this one time twinkle twinkle big time it was, and father and son bonded deeply.

No more labyrinths

The Place where you are right now
God circled on a map for you.
 
~ Hafiz
 
The poet tells you
god has put a circle around you on a map
to locate you in sacred space.
Then why do you keep tunneling
underground,
carving labyrinths for your escape?
~ Dorothy Walters
from Marrow of Flame
This morning, waking with the usual baaad feelings, i got out of bed, put my feet on the ground, and was filled with deep release.
I went to my PC to send a mail – and found the two poems above from  the beauty we love
This is what I am being called to love.
No more carving labyrinths
Without judgments, the baaadness turns into something quite interesting

Blue Ballon

Balloon

 

Breath

Balloon

Image

The Enchanted Room

Saturday was all magical.

I visited a dance-performance for toddlers. We entered a white silk Yurt. Seven parents with eight babies about one year old – a happy 3 year old boy – and me. We sat on the floor at the walls of the Yurt, and in our center was a white feathered bird/angel-like girl who with great presence delicately  danced and moved and wordlessly related to the children- and lots of red balloons. She moved with complete presence – delicate slow movements. The babies connected with her and each other.

The dancer played with tiny glass rods in mobiles, their delicate clanking sounds made the babies first look wide eyed and then smiling. At one point, the dancer stepped into what looked like a bird nest of Origami triangles made by many colored silk. She pulled it up – now it looked like a moving pyramid-dress – and then she started to whirl like a dervish.

A strong wind arose in our room, and suddenly all the red balloons lifted and danced

I can’t really share the beauty, poetry and magic about it – but we all felt it and connected on a deep level, and time and space disappeared in pure bliss

At no time – it lasted about 30 minutes – did any baby make a sound – there was one who repeatedly crawled out, was fetched by his mother and at the end was in rapture as the rest

The dancer also played with a big bird-puppet – man-size – became the bird, and played with the babies. At the end, she fell asleep, sitting, and we all tiptoed out not to wake her up

At the door, I asked a smiling lady who had made this wonder of a performance and who had made those amazing props and costumes. “It is me” she beamed – “Oh, are you a theater-person?” I said I was, and started to share about my bliss and gratefulness that some people made creations like this – serving presence, beauty and poetry. I found myself taking her hand and kissing it, she looked at me with tears and gave me a warm hug.

Then a tall beautiful man was standing there – it was her husband, and the composer. We shared about our love for simplicity and presence and poetry, In that moment, my late theater-husband’s spirit was present, I felt his gratitude at the performance and the work – and the husband took a step toward me and embraced me

*

This text  below –in blue – has disappeared two times while writing it. Now I write it for the third time. Thank you God for my determination.

In bed same night, I go into the pelvis again as a teacher has recommended, to find the blocks in the two lower chakras and just BE with them. I find my little Leelah there, and also a huge black snake. She points to it and her eyes are crossed in fear.

I look at it. In a big rush of release and gratitude, I tell her: “Sweetie – it is just a big black balloon!” She instantly becomes present. “Who blew that up?” I asked – she answered dreamingly, “I did – “

“Yes you did honey – and so, the only thing that powers that snake is your own breath and your belief that it has power over you”

She is completely motionless. Gradually her eyes come alive. She looks at me – “I made this up to scare myself and keep myself from doing the bad things all the men told me that I did.”

An awesome smiling Presence is around us. I ask her if she would like to let the air out of that balloon – to allow the fear-image to just … deflate?

She finds something sharp and sticks it into the very tip of the snake. She is not strong enough. I find a sledge and hammer the sharp thing into the rubber – and whhoossh, the punctured snake is catapulted in the air, doing the spastic dance we all know that balloons make when we pull their plug.

It sinks to the ground – a pitiful black rubber skin.

And now we discover the plug – it was there, all the time.

She looks at me right in the eyes now. ” I decided this , Mum. I don’t want to be scared any longer.”

I feel the deep release in my body. Fear has been punctured, seen to be self made.

I see Jesus taking her on his lap, putting his arms around her, and I go to sleep. For the first time in 25 years I have a good night’s sleep: I meet my father in our shared Christed Self, all stories have fallen away – punctured. I notice that next to our house there is a large enclosed area: a beautiful church is there. Its energy reminds me of Corfe Castle in Dorset

*

Before I fall into deep restful sleep, it dawns on me that that white Yurt is such a great image and symbol of a healed root-chakra: the parents and the babies, held and nurtured, bathing in the safety of the white yurt, with playful red balloons and a birdlike messenger from Heaven

 

Sunday  October 12

The Drowning

Sunday, in the morning, I dosed off, and when I awoke, the old agony was there. As usual. I heard “get up” and I would not listen: I was utterly convinced that only sleep could make it better. I was wrong

Sitting with the little Child in the morning, again going into my pelvis and the two lower chakras, I saw an image of a child bursting up from deep down in the sea, gasping for air – oh my God, the agonized feeling in the morning is just Child’s constant companion – “I am drowning – I am going under – and nobody cares.”

I talk to her – reminding her that I am with her in this. After a while, a feeling of death arises – a place where nothing moves or lives, desolated, isolated . At first, I sense irritation – and then, seeped in Grace, it is clear that this is the outskirts of Loneliness – the deepest feeling in the specter of separation.

I feel a surge of release and gratefulness: we have found the outskirts of it, now is the time to dive in.

And we dive.

It is intensely visceral. First the nothingness – the stifled never -voiced cries for help – the hopelessness – the toxic ice needles throughout the body – the fear of being suffocated by violent men’s too big penises – the girl realizes that she does not die, since she is aware of it all – she is what can not die – at this point everything flows easy, and no more dissociation.She hears:

What do you want?

I don’t want this!

SAY IT AGAIN

And there is her voice and her will -!

I – adult Leelah – sense it with all my body: this is my will and I mean it.

Now comes the hatred and rage, like a volcano from her: “I want to shove this penis down God’s throat so he experiences what he wanted me to experience.” Her language is crystal clear, her hatred and violence as well – as well as the details. The venom pours out, all the thoughts and images are just experienced and allowed = forgiven – and suddenly we sense that there is  radiant clear light around us

Like awakening from a nightmare.

I knew about this hatred and fear of God intellectually – the Course really drives that in  – but this was experience. Now I test-drove my new racing car!

She tells me that she needs to rest now, and Jesus sits down with her and they are playing a game with glass pearls.

Thank you Holy Spirit for the clear demonstration that the hatred and violence comes from one false thought in the mind: that God is a cruel God who sees us as sinful and guilty and subjects his children to unnameable cruelness and punishment.

The victim and perpetrator are forever two sides of the same coin: the belief in separation – and separation is happening each moment I believe that I am anything else than the Light and Love He has created me to be.

This Light of Awareness is Who I Am

 

Please note that nothing written here is intended as medical advice. Readers who think that they need help with a physical or psychological condition are advised to seek a qualified opinion.

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