Our Gifts

gifts

Our love, greater than any,
Our passion, unmatched
Yet we falter,
We fail,
Our steps come out of sequence,
Each one like feet in quicksand

Shouldn’t it be easy
For those who have answered the call to love?
Shouldn’t a life of passion
Follow the most direct path?

And yet that passion keeps us fiery,
Out of balance,
Darting to this fire and the next,
Trying to put out each one simultaneously
While rejecting the fire inside,
That heat which fuels the drive to move at all,
And which inspires movement to continue,
The movement that is love,
Given selflessly to the world,
Yet heaped minimally on ourselves

Shouldn’t it be more easy
To love ourselves,
To fuel the fire within,
To stoke our own divinity?

Slow down, dear ones, and rest,
There is time for movement forward
And there is time for fighting fires;
The times spent freeing feet from quicksand
Has more forward momentum
Than actual movement often does

Relax, embrace the resting times,
The quiet times,
The times which feel like stagnation,
For these are our gifts too

©SpiritLed 2017

Let it Rise

Fire mandala

When the fire in your belly burns hot
Let it rise
Let it burn up the untouched debris of your heart
Let it cut the cords of inequity
Which still tie you to your waking grave

Burn the ashes of your untouched past
The parts you thought were shattered and lost
Still piercing the hidden portals of your heart

Melt each smoldering layer
Until only the truest you remains
No longer fighting for life
But shining eternal in your own pure light

©SpiritLed 2015

Signs

be the change

Do you see the signs around you?
Do you catch the subtleties
of human form and language,
the gestures that, though invisible,
may signify the change that is to come?

Do you feel it in your bones,
like an ache that cannot be quenched
with all the fire in the universe,
yet softens with only love’s touch?

Do you run in quiet fields
with tall grass, listening to the whisper
as each blade glides against another
as your feet swish in the underbrush
stepping to the time of nature’s rhythm?

Do you laugh as if a child,
with the freedom and grace that is confidence
in endless tomorrows
and eternal play?

Do you gather all the signs,
hold them close to your body
in the place where love enters you,
shout forgiveness and gratitude
and fiery tears into the blackened sky,
counting every blessing, every gift,
every challenge that brought you to your knees,
raise hands to tomorrow,
whatever that may be,
whatever you may become?

The doing
being
forgiving
honoring
laughing
loving
crying

Do you see the signs?

©SpriitLed 2015

Quest for Fire

fiery beauty

From birth
your light is massive,
expansive in its source,
yet being human keeps it dim,
hides away the greatness,
the vastness of the being inside.

Where you fan the flame
the world attempts to put it out,
until it smolders in silence,
sometimes for decades,
often an entire life,
drowned by the ashes of its overcoming.

So then, your quest is to find your fire,
douse it with the fuel of Love –
the only energy which the world cannot obscure,
the only source which cannot be burned up
in the combustion of humanity

©SpiritLed 2015

Set Fire to the Night

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When the white hot fire rises,
when all the particles of your body
tremble in righteous indignation,
when even your hair feels a’ sizzle,
eyes shooting flames,
tongue with burning words,
reach deep inside
where the cooling waters flow,
quench your thirst
but not your will to be heard,
to speak your truth,
to own that which is rightfully yours:
your Words, your Truth, your Soul
spoken in love and power,
setting fire to the night
extinguishing the heat
with one fiery embrace

©SpiritLed 2014

Earth Angels

Фантазия. Акварель, монотипия.

We are earth angels,
you and I

We walk the streets with bread in our pockets
feed truth to those who can’t be sated

We convene with demons on the lam
coax their claws out of the eyes of righteousness

We tear the flesh and dare not heal it
light the garden of your darkness with our seeping wounds

We grow flora in our hair, nurture earth’s creatures in our bosom
wash in salvation of the earth and stars and tides and of heaven itself

We tear down walls with artistry,
dance the feeling onto each page caressed with holy fire

We renounce the vows of poverty, silence, and suffering carried for lifetimes,
made for holy men but not for human angels

We are the earth’s mighty angels, you and I
ordained for the deliverance of men across doorsteps
of light and love, into the arms of the ancient spirit of One

©SpiritLed

On the First Day

The door is open for me and you,
to uncover eternity and love incarnate,
though the keyhole remains hidden
to those who shield themselves from love,
so quiet your mind, like an infant, languish
in the pleasure of being pure and at one
with infinite life, for it was out of blackness
that the grand palm opened and extended
outward in all directions, and life was formed,
like a great sun, a glowing ball of fire
and light, each ray a perfect and divine
expansion of the original, distinct but not
separate, each extolling the source with its very
existence, extending into all space and
time, drawing from the ethereal
energy source to bring light into the world,
for on the first day, out of blackness,
God created light, and it was us
and it was perfect

©SpiritLed 2014

The Healing Parts

The healing parts are mighty and wild,
careening through the dark mind,
simultaneously passive and angry,
they take you over, consume your soul.

They hunger for affection, else they grow
a life of their own, they thrive on tenderness,
else they join together to conquer
their demons with your pain.

The healing parts want to survive,
as the soul writhing in the night.
They are displaced and dissociated,
and only love returns them home,
validation of their realness,
so they may quench their fires,
no longer reduce you to ashes from the
inside out.

The healing parts are us,
and we, them. We are the parts
we buried deep so long ago, the voice
silenced and the voice raging, the broken, fragile,
lonely, fearful, hurting, hating parts.  We are healing
and we are real.

©SpiritLed 2014

When Silence Ends

When, as a child, did you play happily
by the stream, and come singing home,
passionately sharing your adventures,
only for the beloveds to tell you, “Quiet!”

And when, in your classes, did you
confidently speak your truth, answer
their questions, paint your construction
paper masterpiece,  and the trusteds told you,
“It’s not good enough.”

And when did you feel the whisper of spirit
in your soul, gently guiding you on your way,
and you shared, and they laughed?

And when did you stop listening, painting, writing, speaking, trusting? 

And when will you decide that the darkness has
lasted too long, that the  passion of a new day
can no longer wait, lest  you tear free from your
own skin where you’ve been confined all these years?

That stumbling across stones and briars,
feet cut and bleeding, is preferable to the safe
and righteous path, where no pain, in fact
nothing at all, makes cuts into your soul?

When will you decide that fear of words
without real meaning will no longer be the
prison walls that demand freedom of the captor?

And when will you stoke the flames, when will you once
again tend to the spark, blow the breath of life into
the still-smoldering ashes, collect the branches and
twigs that have fallen in your path, burn them on
your altar, and fuel the dawning of reclaimed light?

© SpiritLed 2014