Source Energy that creates galaxies, pours the seas into existence, carves the Grand Canyon with its wind or shapes the African tip from Cape Agulhas to the Cape of Good Hope does not care what you have been or could be. It is of no debate if you are an artist, a politician or a garbage man. The Divine does not wait for you to write a symphony or cure cancer or even ponder if you’ll stop drinking or go to therapy or walk away from that job. The Energy that has spun the Universe into existence cares only that you know who you are. A masterpiece, no less extraordinary or powerful than Niagra herself. That you came from love, are love and will return to love. Such infinite intelligence cares only that you recognize the noble fire that burns in your veins and in all life that you see. It waits in the deepest quiet for you to feel its presence in all that surrounds you. It speaks endlessly to you, knowing that you have an intuitive ear within you to hear its loving call. For everything, all of it, even the body you walk around in was made for you. Specifically for you. What you do with this gift is up to you and only you. There is no panel of judges or Greek chorus lamenting your choices. There’s just love for you. That’s it. Love.
There is an eternal flame burning steadily in the heart of your being that joyfully wants you to walk out that front door. Regardless of your personal story or what you think is your state of happiness or lack of it. Regardless of your circumstances: poor, rich, abused, old, privileged, employed, unemployed, alone or in a full house. At the heart of you is a fire that is never diminished. Let go of everything you think you know about yourself or your history or what potential you think is or isn’t in your future. Challenge the validity of all you think lessens or blocks you. Let go and step forward. You are a child of the Universe, your time is now and that awareness is all the Energy that creates galaxies and pours seas into life is hungry for. Your awakening.
Old limb: Photo by Noelle
In the cracks I find my depths
Dark wounds empty
Death and an old life
Lies a field of
Lone Leaf Beached: photography by Noelle
It felt good as done at the start. Bound, lost, no exit. Pressure to make a diamond lays on my mind. After all these years have I nothing? No smooth finish, but a stumbling out the door. Denial isn’t a river in Cairo, the old joke trails, but it is an immense watercourse in my mind. With Titan effort I withdraw and hibernate the winter. At first waiting for Godot. Then like driftwood, I surface upon a lone beach. No place to go. No direction suggests itself and after a bit, I can no longer sit. Crying. No warmth or comfort. I walk. Crying. Then walk with the most outrageous and worrisome yelling, before walking with no sound at all. First aimlessly, then with a longer stride. More determined, yet aware of what floats by me. Breath in, breath out. I no longer appear to be in any hurry. Anticipation taps at my heart. Single and free, alone on the beach. The expanse a welcome blanket and the endless sea it’s own serenade of the lover yet to come.
Inspired by The New York Times crossword puzzle: 3/11/2012. An exercise in creativity from Front Range Writers Room hosted by Marj Hahne
Stained glass at Living Arts Center in Denver: Photography by Noelle
As a child I was quite the tomboy, catching bull frogs in the lake behind my house or craw daddies in the creek. I still listen to frogs on summer nights to determine where they are and to what mate they call. I’m especially fond of finding crawfish in the streams that I hike. Spring has been slow to come to Colorado and the creek is running fast, deep, ice cold and swollen with snow melt. Not very hospitable for a crawfish. Still, I look. Today, I was about to turn away after quite some time standing, when it’s tail caught my eye as it scurried across the creek bed beneath a rock. Life! Spring is here!
I meditate so that I may cultivate the quiet, the patience, the awareness and the love for this moment. Even the long waiting part. Even if there’d been no crustacean. Even with the red wing blackbirds that squawk like old Bolsheviks into my ear from the thicket for my intrusion. May you live a long life my mud-digging friend. You lit up my heart tonight.