Audio · Digital Art · Healing · Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry · Quotes · Reiki

Bloom

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

Healing · Micropoetry · Prose · Quotes · Reiki

Healing

The Light is coming in to heal the curse of Ego. As we stand aside, we feel the mighty force of Cosmic Light. It feels like we are losing our minds or that our faces are being shorn off.

This is a painful, visceral upheaval. We feel turned inside out and upside down. We are so dizzy we can’t stand up alone. The battling vibrations of Ego and Light are rocking our souls. We scream and cry out. We hurl our food and creep under the covers, hiding from the shadows.

Out of fear, we just want to die to stop this agony as all is being revealed, the pus of our gross illnesses is emerging. We suffer dysfunctions socially, politically, and environmentally. We have screamed out our prayers for comfort and healing.

The Earth, as well, rages with floods, volcanic eruptions, fires, Category 5 storms. But Mother knows the Light is here. We see it in the firefighters, the rescuers, the soldiers.

The healing is evident. Out of fire comes new growth. Out of eruptions come new lands. Out of storms comes renewal. Floods carry away the past.

The Light is here. It’s in our voices and our intentions. It’s in our manifestations. We wanted this healing, and we are getting it. We prayed for salvation and victory, and so it is. We think this pain is against us, but it is for us. It is answering our prayers.

This is Cosmic truth. Laws prevail. The universe is orderly, and equilibrium must be sustained. God maintains the balance of all life in all dimensions. The pendulum never swings in one direction.

A healing always feels worse before health is restored to wholeness. The wounds cry out until scabbed over. We’ve spilled our blood and sacrificed our limbs. How can we ever become whole again? It would be so easy to curse our condition! Damn this life! Why us!

In our victim stare, we hide in addictions. We bully. We put ourselves ahead of others. We lie. We seek revenge. In so doing, we become what we hate. Anything to mask the agony. We are so powerless in this state.

Little do we know, this is cosmic healing. It is God Force healing involving a huge upheaval of forces involving universal truth. Love will prevail. It always does, especially if we all participate as we are the shamanic link between Heaven and Earth. We are the healers bringing in the light.

Have faith. We are a strong force battling Ego so as to heal. Whenever  we stand together and speak up, rest assured that Ego never wins, Ego never wins, Ego never wins.

Love prevails. Nothing can block out the Light. Have faith. Stand aside. Let in the Light to answer your prayers. Become one with the Light. Be the prayer! Make it so!

 

©Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

 

 

Acrostic Poetry · Poem · Poetry · Quotes

Ego

Ego

Self-regard is essential for growth of love,

But ego can consume the soul of the one

And the soul of the all

If left to weed.

This is the time to tend the garden.

Let not rain to storm

Nor bounty to spoil

For the sake of self alone.

Fruit is to share, not squander.

One can’t tend the plants in hot sun

Wearing a crown.

A scepter makes a dull spade.

The garden can’t flourish

In the hands of the Shadow.

©Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

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Poem · Poetry

The Sea Tree

The Sea Tree

With trepidation, I set off

Through the fierce waves

That clash around my feet.

I feel uprooted from

Such a long journey.

 

The salty broth sweeps me

Along the green wetness;

Misty are my memories

Tossed behind

Like dead leaves,

Those other days.

 

And now I am gone

Not as I began, deceiving truth,

But seeking it

And fearing it, hidden there

In the darkness of a heavy shadow

Of an old tree along the shore

Of this vast sea,

Somewhere,

The shore that holds me.

 

To turn back would be a lie;

To claim what once was

As what is, or

To claim that what is not

Is truth,

Is a lie.

I hate it.

 

My limbs feel long and strong

Yet worn, like bark torn and shredded.

On this sea journey.

I run to what?

The shore?

A dot it is, a bigger dot,

A continent.

I see it, I seek it,

I fear it, for

There awaits the darkness,

Unnamed yet vivid

With some gloomy promise.

A promise? A fate?

It waits.

 

I see it now, but

Not before the journey

Did I care

What fate is or was or

Will be.

I was a child then,

Bathing in a vast

Bubble bath sea,

My ship of ivory

Floating with me.

I carved it myself.

The best shape, broad, Spartan,

Ominous.

 

I had many battles that conquered

The foam and dirt

On my dusty skin, but I

Was never really clean afterwards.

I did not care to be clean.

No warrior dies without blood

In his nails.

I only cared

That my ship floated

And did not melt

In the hot water.

 

It is all a dream now,

Those times,

Those sunny times

Under the mint-green leaves

Of summer light.

But even then,

There were shadows.

 

To the shadows I was drawn

By humming bees

And chanting crickets.

I loved the sounds,

Sounds like no other.

I was there.

And there I went for good deeds,

I thought,

To step on the tiny ants,

Black, and shiny, and ugly,

To make them crawl

Towards my impending foot.

I loved the shadows for that

And the belief my sport was

Redeeming.

I was Someone

To contend with.

 

The sun seems hot now,

As it did then.

To wait for the deep shade

On that looming shore.

The waves sway me

To that beach of tall trees

And hidden trees

In a deeper, thicker, blacker heart,

To myself.

 

It is still there

I can see it now,

Black and still.

 

Always black is my mind

Inside, and deep is

The stillness within.

But it stirs with the shore noises.

Deeper and deeper it stirs,

Warning me, yet

Engulfing me and twisting me

As the sea is.

Away from the sunlit fields

And trees that were once

In the meadow of life,

A dream in time.

 

It is all a dream.

So deeply I dream in the blackness,

A dream that is a dream –

I hope is a dream –

But it stirs so real now,

As real as the chanting crickets.

And so fearful

But so inevitable,

It stirs with the beat of my heart –

The dream, the sound,

The truth of it.

It stirs.

 

I am alone, yes.

I should be alone,

And the shore is near.

I feel old;

I feel as old as life is.

I feel I want the shore

To be under my feet,

To be my roots.

 

And here it is.

The waves have slapped me

Onto the shore.

I look for the ship,

But it is gone.

I think when I see

That thick, humming veil of blackness,

Of my times in the meadow

When I crossed the shady paths

And killed

Those tiny creatures,

Those black, helpless creatures.

I stepped on them and squashed

Those tiny lives.

Oh the horror I would feel now

If I had killed the chanting crickets,

As well!

 

Deep into the darkness, I walk

From the shade to the darkest deep;

The beat of my heart stops

As the sea roar never will.

 

Commentary

This poem was written years ago in response to Heart of Darkness. This poem can be applied not only to Marlow and Kurtz but to all humanity because all of us confront that final darkness, the death of our ego, and have to come to terms with our deeds. The sea in this poem is life beginning and ending for this man, and yet, it is never ending.

The image of the tree is the man who is growing from an innocent boy, to an imperialistic youth, to an old man, who is facing truth. The shore holds the enchantment of evil, the seducer, and of the inevitability of a long-awaited death. The death is not just physical but spiritual with the realization that violence and domination are not justified. The speaker knows what awaits him and surrenders.

The root of any suffering is ego, which is the Shadow Companion that puts this man on a pedestal and deceives him into thinking that power and self-esteem are gained by oppression and brutality.  Facing this shoreline, the confronts his ego and must come to terms with his life choices. In this sense, his death brings anguish and grief, not salvation.

Copyright © 2018/02/12 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.wordpress.com

Image: “DeepRoots” digital art ©Martha Harris See Martha’s Artistic Flarings @artisticflarings.blog

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Audio · Ekphrastic Poetry · Poem · Poetry

The Mirror of Fear

The Mirror of Fear

What is fear?

Fear is not an itsy bitsy spider or a snake.

It is in this mirror, so look inside.

See yourself as thoughts.

Thoughts can have claws

That grasp your eyes,

Forcing you to see

Only shadows and suspicions as Truth.

 

Fears can lay claim to you –

If you are in wakeful slumber –

And discolor the Light

Streaming from your eyes,

Blinding you to

What is Law,

What is Truth

What is Blessed

Unless you awaken to the knowing that

 

Fearful thoughts may birth a Monster,

Growing eight legs,

Crawling into your Self,

And making webs

That bind your heart to

Trap vermin, for at the very least,

Fear will make a feast of you.

 

Fear mouths caustic and corrosive words

Spiraling into smoke upwards from fire,

Becoming tentacles of lightning

Splitting your House in half and

Consuming your Buddha Soul.

But Fear will claim you had set this blaze, not she,

For she is the Great Manipulator.

 

Fear is Ego, the Beast,

Fed by her friends who are

Complicit in heinous actions and betrayals of you

Regardless of color, station, or creed.

Though in words the Beast is the Richest,

The Biggest, the Best, the Most High.

 

Ego is deaf to all but to her own voice.

She clamors with empty notes of grandiosity,

Unblessed streams of cacophonous disharmony

Wailed in false-etto.

She mesmerizes you into chanting her name, for

Ego loves her own soul and possibly

Those dressed in her image, for

Who else could she trust?

 

And if you see Ego’s crimes,

She is but the victim

Of your malpractice, right?

She projects her doings onto you.

You are unholy, not her.

Get It? You’re the loser.

You are the problem.

You are the disaster.

You are to be scorned.

You are to be defiled.

You are to be ridiculed

For exposing this Great Wonder.

 

Ego is kin of the Wicked Witch,

Who banished Snow White

For being the Fairest in the Land.

Ego loves those she can trample or smear,

For you are but a minion in her eyes

And worthy of her ridicule and shame.

As long as she is able to diminish you,

No one will be The One, but Ego.

 

Through the bravado,

Ego consumes all creation.

What can be forged by this Fear Beast

But a cold sweat?

There is no art in Fear,

Only incoherence in forms

And rambling tales,

As told by the choking tweets

Of dying birds.

 

Ego lies and deceives,

Making a wedding of

Nightmares and presentiments,

Muddling order and

Tangling lives into a bramble of thorns,

Suffocating souls, and

Drowning them under mushrooming thoughts

Of toxic orange horror

Unleashed by the despotic Sisters of Fear, for

They love your screams and pleas for salvation!

As long as you are in disharmony,

These ghouls have your soul.

 

So take heed.

Wake up to knowing.

Fear is Ego; Ego is Fear.

The antithesis of Love.

Ego bears her creed and

Her shield of ghouls masked as

Bowing Saints ready to do her bidding or

As the Winged Monkeys in Dorothy’s nightmare,

Flying forth from the tower to apprehend

The Tin Man, Scare Crow, and Cowardly Lion,

So you have worse to fear

In this your shiny mirror

Than tiny spiders and snakes.

 

Copyright© August 17, 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image: http://fantazia.centerblog.net/rub-gifs-animes-miroirs-.html

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Audio · Poem · Poetry · Reiki

What is Healing?

What is healing but
The stabbing to death of pain,
The banishment of shadows,
The release of sorrows,
The burning of poison arrows.

The diseased are their own healers.
Healing requires arbitration and litigation,
For Illness takes possession
As the unwelcome tenant in the temple,
Stripping away a clean visage,
Creating squalor and decay,
Planting bramble in the garden,
Making infertile the soil;
Evading eviction, and even
Dismissing kind offers for other accommodations.

Illness commandeers the ego,
Becoming its own soul.
This unwelcome tenant deceives,
Creating attachments,
Becoming dependable,
Appearing useful,
Providing false amenities, while
Ordering demolition to your heart.
And in so doing,
Laying claim to your prosperity.

But healers can vanquish this tyrant
From their sacred property
Once they know their powers, for
It is the landlord who holds
The keys to the mansion and
The one who can open the gate.

Healer, awaken;
Heal yourself.
Break this unholy contract
Wrought by the thief
Inhabiting your house and
Garnishing your treasures.
Continue reading “What is Healing?”