Fall Flurries
The autumn bounty
of leaves falling
like rain on summer’s worn garden
mounting into sturdy bundles
as we rake away this harvest
into recreation for children
bounding into the crisp pillows
scattering with joy
the frazzled bits of foliage
into fresh ground for snow and
angels’ wings.
©2018 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog
Image: “Fall Flurries” digital art ©2018 Martha Harris. See Martha’s Artistic Flarings @artisticflarings.blog
snow angel – google image
Join Me
Come, friends,
Join me at the table.
It’s time to retreat,
To seek sanctuary,
To cloister and rest
In soul voice,
Heart.
Tis’ the season
To mature spirit,
To melt the ice of fear
As we make a fire of gratitude
With flames searing skyward
In highest prayer,
Grace-filled litany,
Cleansing, preparing, refining,
Galvanizing diamond mind,
As flames sear up from root to crown,
Our crucibles
Cleansed in
God’s alchemy.
Winter’s slumber, a quickening.
Come, friends,
Join me,
Retreat,
Listen,
Allow.
©2018 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog
Image, My Patio: ©Barbara Harris Leonhard
Shadow
Shadow clings to me;
I, to the Light.
No angle to the sun
Will rid me of Shadow.
Shadow is tallest
At highest Light,
And dimmest
At highest Night.
Freedom from Shadow
Is an illusion.
She is always over my shoulder and
Hard to slap
When she constantly rebukes me
Into my tormented ears.
Evasive yet underfoot,
Like old gum
Stuck to my shoes
being dragged
Through mud and straw.
Even at night,
Shadow grips onto me.
My specter in lamp light,
How she looms across a wall
Watching me read,
And how she enfolds me as I sleep
With her cold arms.
Sleek, silky Sorceress,
No face,
Only form;
She is the outline of
The dark side of my soul,
The color of abyss,
The size of void.
Her breath reeks of
Cosmic dust.
She is my pesky hag,
My tyrant,
My saboteur,
My martyr,
My critic,
My blackmailer.
My constant companion
And biographer,
She has written the novels of all my lives,
The Akashic Scholar assigned to me at birth.
My secrets rest with Shadow;
She knows all my doubts, fears, trespasses, sins.
Shadow holds the causes
Of my discords and dis-ease.
My contender, she greedily obscures
That which I must discover,
My authentic selves
In all my lives.
If I uncover my truth,
She will lose me forever,
And she cannot bear to be alone.
Shadow has no shadow
To bear.
Still, she must give up my secrets
If I persist.
Though she is a wounded healer,
Shadow will never heal
Unless I do,
Unless I listen and turn to the Light
In such a way
That Shadow is standing
Next to me,
Not behind me,
My Sacred Sister,
Holding my hand.
My dear Shadow,
You can never abandon me,
Nor I you.
©2018 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog
Image: pixabay.com
Transmutation
Creation is an upheaval
Of shadows
By Light.
Creator’s hands bearing down
Stroking, enfolding
The silken dark.
Tell me your secrets.
The truth will set you free.
Take hold of this Light.
The way is deep into mystery
And verity.
Creator, dispersing Light into the chaos,
Dissipating shadows,
Disbanding the umber shafts,
Bearing from obscurity,
Blinding radiance, for
Dispersing the shadows
Is a messy rooting out of the defiled
From deep fissures.
The Light, driven into the abyss,
Is a searing, sweltering alignment
To lucidity,
To sanity.
Creation is constant,
Alive, ceaseless, vast.
Grinding like ancient machinery
Climaxing in trumpets
And sonic wails
As darkness succumbs in
This cosmic union,
The luster of golden lambency,
The haze rising to the gloss
Of sacral rain.
This is transmutation:
The dark chasm of the soul
Recast into poetry.
©2018 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog
Image: “Transmutation” digital art ©2018 Martha Harris See Martha’s Artistic Flarings @artisticflarings.blog
Sleep Chose Me
Sleep chose me
To take this walk on crisp leaves
Smothered by frost.
Colors, thread bare faces,
Glassy lattice in sun,
Forming halos for owls
As shade dissolves into moonlight,
Magical stasis.
Linger here in truth,
Alone with feathers of snow
Clinging briefly to crystal,
Blazing its fire,
Sizzling in waves of storm
Like smothered sand bits
On the wild shore
Holding my footing.
The colors dim into food for forest.
I trample the earth into new stone,
Bedrock for soul,
My blossom,
With the will to live
In granite.
©2018 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog
Image: “Building Blocks” digital art ©2018 Martha Harris See Martha’s Artistic Flarings @artisticflarings.blog
Bloom
as I take root on this plane
may I receive the healing light of
all that is divine
may heaven meet earth
through me to transmute
the crusted fear that traps me
in brambles
may I grow my destiny
without ego mind
may I fully trust the divine order
that teaches only love
may I grow in love
may I be love
may the divine light
unfurl my blossoming heart
in this splendid garden
the Gardener knows the art and seasons
how to plant
how to nourish
how to harvest
I am but one glorious bloom
with no skills in tending the soil
my place in this garden is small
my view is limited to
my small leaves
reaching for the sun
yet I trust in the Gardener and Gaia
to bloom my bouquet
to bloom my love
©2018 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog
Image: “Bloom” digital art ©2018 Martha Harris See Martha’s Artistic Flarings @artisticflarings.blog
Image Wording: Shannon Hensley
A Prayer: Calm Within the Storm
To You, the One Most High,
I send this prayer.
It is not with words,
But with the light from my heart.
Words may tarnish
What I truly feel.
I am of Light, am I not?
Light speaks my truth.
You know me as I truly shine,
And even I am still studying
All the facets of my light
To discover my soul mind.
But You know Me,
My dimensional glow,
My powers and also
Each crack in my face
Shattering my facade.
I cannot lie to the One Most High.
Let me open my heart to You so
That You might read my truth.
May I say, I am hurting.
It shows in my light, does it not?
Is this the death of self,
Or new growth of soul?
Which is it?
All the suffering I see,
All the pain I feel,
It is in my light.
It is dimming my light
Into shadows of fear and remorse.
So I kneel in prayer
To the One Most High.
May I release it to You to be
Transformed into dust for
New stars,
Rather than building a taller wall
Around my heart?
I feel those dense walls of
Heavy stone and mortar
Slowly building up over time,
And the bramble of weeds
Stretching to my throat,
My truth succumbing to the drought
Of tears,
Feeling caught up in surviving
A battle of wills.
May I receive healing
And assistance?
Guidance?
May I be blessed? Saved? Anointed?
When I rise up with my arms
To touch You,
I feel Your Light always
As it flows into my veins,
I know. I know.
Yet I battle Your Grace
All too often,
Thinking I can save Myself.
I can do it.
I will do it.
Only I can make this way.
I work so hard for You.
I am enough, am I not?
Am I not Your vase of seeds
For new gardens?
Am I not Your sword
Battling all to carry Your Word
As I rage in this messy confrontation
Of powers and forces all around me?
Humbly, I come to know that
You are never apart from me;
I am You.
I Am You,
A spark of Source Light.
This light in my heart is You.
How can I dismiss it?
How can I taint it with fear?
How can I wall it off,
Resisting gratitude?
How can I address You but
On my own mundane terms?
This pain is illusory,
This way of mine is illusory,
As is ‘I’ and ‘My’.
As is ‘You’ and ‘Your’.
So there are no words
That can express truth.
All that is
Is the Light,
Emanating into and from the heart
As cosmic breath.
Just being in this Light
Without petitioning,
Without crying out,
Without withstanding,
Without beseeching,
Without condemning,
Without apologizing,
Without negotiating,
Without grieving,
Without fearing a fate,
Without playing the drama,…
Just being in this Light,
Just being,
This is enough,
Is it not?
That is the prayer,
Is it not?
That is the prayer.
©2018 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog
Digital Art “Calm Within the Storm” ©Martha Harris. See Martha’s Artistic Flarings@artisticflarings.blog
Martha said to credit the butterfly to Andrew Lumish. He is the guy who cleans the centuries worth of dirt off the old gravestones of mostly fallen heroes and/or their families.
