Healing · Poem · Poetry · Reiki

Shadow

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

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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