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 · Digital Art · Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry

And Then There Was Light

[/ audio]

And Then There Was Light

Destruction is Creation.

The Void, ripped open

By the Light,

The Cosmic knife

Piercing through dark matter,

Spilling shards of radiance,

Bleeding light, birthing stars,

And us with the dust.

All wounds, transmuting pain into

New flesh.

Beauty and innocence, nurtured in a

Dark womb.

Birth, emerging with screams and

Open eyes.

The butterfly, born from

Shearing off the face.

Roots tearing the soil,

Blossoming the manifested.

Light and Shadow, betrothed,

The polarity;

The paradox.

 

….an older poem with new art….

©2017/10/29 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.wordpress.com

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

 

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 · Poem · Poetry

And Then There Was Light

[/ audio]

And Then There Was Light

Destruction is Creation.

The Void, ripped open

By the Light,

The Cosmic knife

Piercing through dark matter,

Spilling shards of radiance,

Bleeding light, birthing stars,

And us with the dust.

All wounds, transmuting pain into

New flesh.

Beauty and innocence, nurtured in a

Dark womb.

Birth, emerging with screams and

Open eyes.

The butterfly, born from

Shearing off the face.

Roots tearing the soil,

Blossoming the manifested.

Light and Shadow, betrothed,

The polarity;

The paradox.

 

Copyright © 2017/10/29 Barbara Harris Leonhard @ extraordinarysunshineweaver.wordpress.com

Image: https://www.events.iop.org/e/from-the-big-bang-to-homers-last-theorem-123641500/page.html

Audio · Poem · Poetry

Spirit Guide Me

I.

Spirit guide me in this prayer.

Listen to my Heart song.

If You are there,

I am here by the pond,

Near an altar where

I raised my hands

And gathered You.

 

So now I listen to Your song.

Who am I here

But just a voice

Growing louder in Your words.

The sunlight falls like rain

On my Heart so thirsty

For the cup that holds the light.

 

I walk the path that winds

Around the labyrinth of my soul

To find the Heart of You,

Warm to touch, and so I do

Gather You and fill the cup

For just a taste to last

An age of a day to contemplate

My Heart and Soul,

My dust to dust.

 

Around me are the fallen leaves,

Iced then thawed this day

Of spring midst winter’s blister,

The trees warmed and stretching

With help from a rustling breeze

Of healing light held by stones

On this path to You.

 

And when You call,

No need to shout, now that

The door is opened to my Heart,

Which Shadow hid so long.

That door she could not close it right,

And from that crack, I felt the light

And could not turn away.

 

II.

Shadow, listen. You are vain

To think You know my real name.

We were mismatched from the start.

You grew like vine work on my Heart.

The vines like fear entangled me.

And sapped my Soul –

No nurture there –

And I felt like dry earth

Under crisp grass,

Parched, yellow, twisted

Crumbling in Your breath.

 

You called me Friend, and so I listened;

I had no choice, I thought

You were right.

And I waited for Your promise

To quench my thirst.

But the vines only tightened,

And I felt no air to speak

In that vacuum in the

Underbrush of my Heart,

Where worms of deceit

And grubs of despair

Made pathways in my hair.

And jealousy took hold in my eyes,

Once lanterns to my heart,

But now cold candles of you, Shadow.

 

There, no light, I worried,

Yet no tears could spill

From this dry vessel,

Just a fossil or an artifact

Of my Child Soul overgrown

In this infertile soil

Of my Shadow Soul.

 

And so You held me

Like a captive

With nowhere to go.

And so I feared that doorway

To my Soul.

And Spirit whispered so,

So I dare not say no

To this light breaking

The day lock on my Soul

 

III.

Spirit’s breath like crystals

Melting on my hungry lips.

The vines, now dry,

Like shackles falling to my heels.

I emerge, stretching upward

Like a candle flame of

Blue searing gold,

Gold searing orange.

 

Now I am pink and fresh

With tender skin

Warm, moist, unbruised

By Shadow’s grip.

And on my tongue

New words of Spirit’s songs.

 

IV.

So now I lay me down to sleep

In Spirit’s arms

Bundled in her lullabies.

Like Psalms to the Heavens,

The Truth unfolds its wings

Into many angels

Spiraling into the light.

They hold me close,

And in their stories,

I see myself in many colors.

I am crystal;

I am water;

I am memory

I am now;

I am tomorrow;

I am.

 

 

Copyright © Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image: Pixabay.com