Audio · Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry

Abandoned Eyes

Eyes are wise.

With lids open to view,

They deepen light into truth

And soul into song.

 

Eyes hold memories

In colors that blaze from rainbows,

Where owls take flight

Before morning dawn.

 

Eyes have will

For those who choose.

Eyes portend

For those awake.

Eyes are tutors in all realms

For those who seek.

 

Eyes view outward and inward,

For inner sight takes the journey

Of the Blind Swordsman

Into realms of tangled woods

And sculpted caverns,

Sanctuaries of sages there to teach.

 

Inner sight echoes outer sight

In collages and montages

Of memories snapped

In fleeting gazes or

Focused convergence of

Light rays on the soul.

 

Light is tincture,

The pigment of self.

The eyes open to a vast museum

Of your art, and

Your themes are held in

Your inner sight.

 

Outer sight is voluntary;

Inner sight is willed.

These eyes can be abandoned

By those surrendering to slumber,

Knowing not that the light

Is the beacon to the heart,

Guiding the seeker

To self and soul.

 

The world is not just

That before you.

Your eyes are funnels

Drawing light into your heaven.

Where outer meets inner

Is creation blazing.

Light converges with light in spirals,

Drawing you deeper and deeper

Into your being.

 

Vision is a vortex,

Outer truth swirling

Into inner knowing

In another dimension

Which is your empyrean.

 

Outer vision opens to life

And closes to death.

Inner vision closes to life

And opens to death.

Be now a seer

Without abandon.

 

Copyright© 2018/02/24 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.wordpress.com

 

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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

 

 

Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry

Abandoned Eyes

 Abandoned Eyes

Eyes are wise.

With lids open to view,

They deepen light into truth

And soul into song.

 

Eyes hold memories

In colors that blaze from rainbows,

Where owls take flight

Before morning dawn.

 

Eyes have will

For those who choose.

Eyes portend

For those awake.

Eyes are tutors in all realms

For those who seek.

 

Eyes view outward and inward,

For inner sight takes the journey

Of the Blind Swordsman

Into realms of tangled woods

And sculpted caverns,

Sanctuaries of sages there to teach.

 

Inner sight echoes outer sight

In collages and montages

Of memories snapped

In fleeting gazes or

Focused convergence of

Light rays on the soul.

 

Light is tincture,

The pigment of self.

The eyes open to a vast museum

Of your art, and

Your themes are held in

Your inner sight.

 

Outer sight is voluntary;

Inner sight is willed.

These eyes can be abandoned

By those surrendering to slumber,

Knowing not that the light

Is the beacon to the heart,

Guiding the seeker

To self and soul.

 

The world is not just

That before you.

Your eyes are funnels

Drawing light into your heaven.

Where outer meets inner

Is creation blazing.

Light converges with light in spirals,

Drawing you deeper and deeper

Into your being.

 

Vision is a vortex,

Outer truth swirling

Into inner knowing

In another dimension

Which is your empyrean.

 

Outer vision opens to life

And closes to death.

Inner vision closes to life

And opens to death.

Be now a seer

Without abandon.

 

Copyright© 2018/02/24 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.wordpress.com

 

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Audio · Ekphrastic Poetry · Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry

The Angel in the Dark

The Angel in the Dark

If I were an angel in the dark,

I would appear in flames simply from

The radiance of my eyes.

I would fire up candles for prayers.

I would make twilight shimmer

Like a mirror of a still lake.

I would awaken you from

Slumber and despair.

I would cast out your pain with lightning and

Soothe your soul with myrrh and frankincense.

I would gather you up gently and

Swaddle you in my gossamer wings

At the time most needed.

I would bathe you in the Sea of Forgetting and

Deliver you to the Vista of Light

On a path of stars backlit by moonbeams

Splashed on the kind face of

Dark Mother, casting comets

As beacons of her grace.

I would gift you wings and

Teach you how to fly through

Clouds of many colors and

Swing on stars falling into the Sea of Lights.

I would take you to the Hall of Records to

Reveal all your truths and

The oracles of the end of days.

I would never leave you

In times of battle or new birth,

The time of the Death of Fear

As a blazing nova, creating a new sun.

This I would do for you, and

Who would know more of the World of Light

Than an angel in the dark?

 

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

Image: “An Angel in the Dark” (original art © by my sister Martha Harris.) See Martha’s Artistic Flarings @artisticflarings.blog

 

 

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Audio · Poem · Poetry · Voices from the Veil

Tell Them Who Will Listen

Listen to my story.

I was a man who worked hard,

A laborer.

Dirt lined my nail beds

From toil that cost me years.

My hands were calloused,

But not my heart.

My wife, pregnant,

We were happy.

Our home, built and painted in all the colors.

Still, we lost that little soul too soon.

Our tears washed our souls

But could not flush off our grief.

My toil was not the cure

For this deficit in love.

Our loss stole our smiles.

We sat like trees for years

Rooted in grief.

Can you hear me?

Though torn apart,

We are not alone here.

This is my garden now,

And we are tending it.

We are family in loss,

But not in this garden.

Tell them who will listen.

 

Copyright © August 6, 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image: pixabay 

Audio · My Mother · Poem · Poetry · Voices from the Veil

Hello, It’s Mom

Hello, it’s Mom. You called for me, so here I am!

Dad has visited you. Do you recall the dreams?

I called you shortly after everything,

You thought it was just static,

But I had so much to tell you.

I’m in a good place.

I can see old friends and play cards.

I’m learning about

How it is,

Who we are,

Why we are.

Maybe I’ll be back there

Someday and one day.

So many lessons to review;

So much yet to learn.

I recall everything;

You were a big help.

Don’t worry if you cried in fear.

I know you did your best.

I was not me.

I’m here for you now.

I’ll be fine; let go of worry.

Dad knows best here.

He’s been here before

As he told you.

We’ve seen all the old souls

In our ancient lineage.

You will know, someday.

I am more than Mom,

Dad is more than Dad,

You know?

We have many forms in this race.

God has God has God.

There is no beginning, no end.

It’s like a quilt, many stitches and layers

With complex designs.

As above; so below.

You are a finger of God

Reaching out to the human being until rebirth,

And so you will return to God.

And God will return to God as well.

Then we will be one again.

Essence to life to dust to essence.

We here know this.

I will return, and there are many who will

As will you.

This is our choice.

We are fine!

So glad you asked!

Let’s keep in touch.

Much love,

Mom

Copyright © August 6, 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image: Mom and I enjoying one of my birthdays

IMG_0856

 

Audio · Poem · Poetry

A Dream: Truth Be Known

I.

Those who whisper, darkness hides.

Ambriel beckons, wings outstretched.

Truth be known, silence stolen,

Angels calling the inner truth.

Open boldly the rusty gate.

All is illusion stored inside,

Iron bars dissipating in Pashar’s breath.

Take hold of Ambriel’s wings –

Those who slumber in denial,

Hold on tightly; hazards await

Though angels guide the steps.

What awaits is all electric knowing,

Held in light, colors outstretched

In every angle, heated by love.

No boundaries to this mystery.

In these terms, you’ll understand

The journey to that place,

Shown in dreams never forgotten

You’re the first to enter; the last to leave.

II.

Elemiah, your guide to wisdom

Appears in a white skiff,

And star beams lap as waves

On the glassy side of your soul.

You take the ride gladly.

Another companion, Michael,

To Heaven’s solid shoreline,

Sand sculpted of stars.

There to greet you,

Women in tiaras, men in tuxedos,

A pickpocket with no shoes

In a fine Armani suit.

Behind them all a brilliant doorway

Leading to many rooms with no walls.

Michael beckons, Come, Not that way –

The path of hot rocks,

Upon which Armani man dances.

You follow into the banquet hall.

There, inside no outside, just light.

No way to know when night becomes dawn.

The walls, tall, wide, heavy, yet gossamer thin;

Lines of doors meandering snake-like

On and on, meeting as a fine black dot

Elsewhere and nowhere.

As the partiers gather, holding champagne.

They snub the new arrival; how earthly.

You’re led to a storage room, solid, static.

It breathes of death, smells of dirt.

Lined up are cubicles of dining room fare.

Maple, oak, hardwoods, arranged for the viewing

Of passing mourners. All the while,

The partiers’ laughter rings from the banquet hall –

Are these their wares, artifacts

Of lives unlived in wooden cells?

Smaller rooms holding other partiers

Resound of music of the ages –

Bach, Beethoven, the Beatles,

Hendrix, Joplin, Bill Monroe, Ice Cube.

Room beyond room

Inside each room, a room,

A dream in a dream in a dream,

Dreams beyond dreams.

Behind a glass wall,

An ex-nun at the blackboard

Teaching new recruits:

No rock and roll; no smoking.

Upset that He never appears;

The angels and seraphs shoulder all the work.

III.

The chandelier’s gone, the dirge of wood,

Stowed in dust, the skiff awaits.

You were first, now you’re last

On this journey home past the Sea of Forgetting.

Ambriel lays you down to wake

And whispers the oracles.

As darkness flees the sun’s ascent.

Truth be known.

nebula

Copyright © 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image: The Eye of God (ngc 6751)