Audio · Healing · Poem · Poetry

Gaia

We are holding in the cries of fear,

Refusing to surrender to truth.

What can come of filling the streams

Of Gaia’s veins with our tears but a flood of pain?

Can the rifts in her ancient skin be healed?

Can canyon walls ever merge into a New Earth

Free of grief and loss?

 

The fingers of the Sun can only reach so far

Into the depths for galactic truth.

Has God succumbed to the Fire?

It cannot be so.

Though dense on the edges of Holy Planes,

Light is there.

Light and Shadow share one spectrum,

Always in battle for healing,

Finding the perfect balance.

 

Where Earth is upheaved grows new bounty.

The pain of ripping soil births potential,

Shimmering translucent as

Tiny perfect fingers rooting in Time,

Swaddled in constellations

Webbing Then and Now.

Time is connected on all planes.

Today’s prayers heal the past

As it has never ended.

All grief is omnipresent and infinite

If we remain in slumber.

 

Hope is wholeness.

The future is “I AM”.

Tears heal tears in the fabric of Time,

Filling in the rifts and canyons of geologic upheaval

With Love transmuted into cosmic truth.

We are One.

Our tears are Gaia’s rain.

The clogged well of each heart

Is her burden to bear.

Our actions become her prayers or her curses.

She cries in fire, wind and geologic torment when

We fail to love her power,

Which supports us in the lattice of her cosmic apron

To which we cling as babes born innocent

And slow to awaken to her grief,

Which is ours to bear.

 

Copyright© 2017/12/10 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.wordpress.com

Image: Pixabay

 

 

 

 

 

Ekphrastic Poetry · Healing · Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry · Writing

The Dark Apostle

Rising from the coals

And shadows of flames,

Dressed in deep void

With eyes like portals

To the dense bramble

Of your obscure lives,

I am your companion.

There is passion in your fear that

This blood fire is your last sunset.

You smolder in my breath, and

I thrive on your muffled screams.

I hold you down as you writhe in agony,

Locked under my gaze.

My breath is odious;

My face, repugnant.

My laughter, the cackling of fire.

You recoil, gasping for prayer,

But little do you know,

I am the answer you seek,

For so long you have hidden

Inside this clay façade.

Living for self in idle pleasure,

Slumbering like the dead in this carcass

With no clear path to truth

Beyond mindless habit and desire.

Open your eyes! Can you not see!

You rebuke this Demon, but

I am the Harbinger sent to alarm and awaken.

Look at the Foe who will crack open your heart!

If you don’t do it, I must smash the walls

Around your garden!

Had you known your truth is far scarier

Than this Behemoth,

You would have conquered your Shadow Foes,

Binding you to complacency.

Confess, I fascinate you, and

Your compulsions attract me.

I will hold you down

Until you scream for God’s mercy, yet

Little do you know, I am His Instigator,

Inciter of Truth.

I am the fire plundering your earth

To crack open your seed

To hasten your growth.

I am His Leviathan, and though

Cast to the raging depths,

I still rise as an angel.

Not all wings are lucent;

This dark cloak is well worn,

Tattered by lies, deceit, trespasses, addictions.

Though I am the underbelly of the snake,

Dark Light is still Divine.

I am an instrument of His Peace, and

For this you need me, the Dark Apostle,

To jolt you from trance

Into rebirth.

.

©Barbara Harris Leonhard  @extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

Image: “The Devil’s in the Details”, original digital art, ©Martha Harris. See Martha’s Artistic Flarings@artisticflarings.blog

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Healing · Poem · Poetry

Homo Sanctus Sanctus

Homo Sanctus Sanctus

When the well sinks into the deep, and

The songs ring flat. When colors fade

To ice and snow. When the sun sets too fast.

And sleep is needed just to breathe.

When good tidings weep without solace, and

The strains of Noel are but tearful whispers.

No one can hold these holy notes alone.

You alone should not bear the burden of

Dust to dust. This is sacred work,

To restore your Being, to evoke your Soul,

Despite the tangle of muddle in the mundane, where

Your disquieted mind diverts you from

Your path. As you flounder, may we be of service.

May we be the weavers drawing your threads into

The tapestry of grace.  May we be the space holders

Bearing up your sorrow for

Transmutation on this bridge of Light,

Offering the way for us all to thrive.

We are harmony, interwoven by cords.

Our affinity reverberates in the geometry

Of the cosmos. We are one on this journey

Infinatum.  Onward. Onward.

Onward. Still, a foundation can crumble,

Spinning us Homo sapiens sapiens

Into a deathless chasm and endless

Drowning in shadows. Without you,

The compass is not viable. Without you,

We agonize. Remember who you are.

Your song resounds in Excelsis Deo.

You are the hymn, echoing light and love.

 

Eros el mago. You are the mystery, the magician,

Creating sacred alchemy though the effort

Can be painstaking and insufferable,

Full of fear and regret, guilt and shame.

As biography begets biology into bloody

Mayhem, you can recast this malaise,

Gradually interlacing it to the Light.

You are the cosmos, made of filaments

Of nebula, and the framework of planets,

You are spiraling brightly in helical orbits

Divinely connected to the web of life.

The macrocosm is your microcosm.

There is nothing wretched in the Holy.

You are the blessed child entering the castle and

Feasting on the ambrosia of bliss

And joy. We need you. We so need you.

We cannot uphold this firmament without you

If we lose our hold. Eros el curador of debility,

Desperation, and despair. Your grace is a baptism.

A holy communion of purifying fire

Igniting soul out of ash. May you bolster us and

Redeem us, our healer, Homo sanctus sanctus.

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https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/

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Notes if needed…

*”Eros el mago” in Spanish means “You are the magician.”

*”Eros el curator” in Spanish means “You are the healer.”

*”sanctus” is Latin for “holy” or “sacred”

Carolyn Myss teaches the our biography creates our biology. This simply means that how we live affects how we thrive as a biological life form.

In the book The Gene Keys Unlocking the Higher Purpose of Your DNA, Richard Rudd uses the term Homo Sanctus, which I found inspiring.

Nick Seneca Jankel reports of a serendipitous experience in which he was approached by a stranger in India who said, “Eros el Mago” to him. This experience helped ignite an awakening. (Coast to Coast AM, 12/12/2018).

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©2018 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

Image: Orion Nebula from Pixabay (I chose this image because it depicts a web and a bridge.)

Healing · Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry

A Prayer: Calm Within the Storm

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.

Audio · Poem · Poetry

Extraordinary Sunshine Weaver

This is an older poem explaining the origin of the name of my blog. I found this name with one of those fun apps that came across my Facebook page. Though the method to discover this name was mundane, the name speaks volumes. Source is all. I decided to keep the name for my journaling.

Weaver is Source, who connects all things.
Strings and threads are cloth woven for wear.
Sunshine is Source, who reaches out rays
Like fingers to heat and heal,
To create Spring, spiritual connection,
To nurture Gaia,
To create rain as food,
To dream life,
To forge love
And evolve Source.
Extraordinary is this mystery.
All extends from Source as fingers of light
To nourish and thrive,
And as night falls awake so do all
Return to Source.

 

©2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard@extraordinarysunshineweaver.com

Image: Pixabay.com

 

Poem · Poetry · Quotes

The Dream

The Dream

We are the subconscious of God

cast as stars born of dust

holding mysteries

for Him to entertain.

We are symbols in geometric mist,

designed for play

on colliding stages.

We are joyous novas

spinning in tune with

cosmic harmonics from

the fount of creation.

We are the dream infinitum,

His genesis,

His parable,

His hymn.

 

©Barbara Harris Leonhard@extraordinarysunshineweaver.com

Image: https://www.google.com/search?rlz=1C9BKJA_enUS777US777&hl=en-US&tbm=isch&q=nova+astronomy+free+images&chips=q:nova+astronomy+free+images,online_chips:wallpaper&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiutsHbxL_cAhVIwYMKHdLvAzMQ4lYIOSgB&biw=1024&bih=748&dpr=2#imgdii=yZPwSz3yjdaI_M:&imgrc=KCgsopvwQJPe6M: