Audio · Poem · Poetry · Reiki

I Am a Revolution

I am a revolution

Invoking symbols

Cradling light

Gifted by my Savior,

Whom I met on a path.


He emerged from the mist-

At first as my father-

Till angels called

In hymns resounding

A chorus of blue, indigo, violet.


From man transformed,

There He stood,

His palms outstretched

And all around Him,

The auras of the ages,

The colors of time,

Silken and white,

Halos with His name.


He held them as a ball,

Vibrating colors

Molded into a gift

For my calling.


He smiled in gratitude

For my humble offering

To carry good in my heart,

A bucket of blossoms

From seeds yet scattered,

Filling the vessels

For gardens to come

This spring and always.


I will walk in His light,

A prismatic path

Lit for onward time.


Held gently in His palms,

Which now envelop me,

I feel wrapped in cashmere

Woven by the Mother of Mysteries.


He appeared as my father-

Whom He once called in light

To minister to others-

So as not to scare me.

Since His power is so great,

I cannot fathom it.

But it was really Him

This time, and so needed.


He whispered many songs,

Harmonious and lyrical,

Such compassion in His hymns

Such grace in His brilliance.


I was so blessed and awed

That He would give me these gifts

Wrapped in shimmering colors

With the lace of clouds

And ribbons of rainbows,

Red, orange, yellow,

Fire pure.


And innocent was I to think

I would meet a lesser Guide.


Why was it for me to find

So great a gift, the Divine.

The answer was clear-

I chose the way that took me there,

For I listened for His call,

And His eyes lit my way.


There we stood in words

Of time stopping.

Many truths are yet

To be received and revealed,

Many gems to find

In the rock face of my soul.


His words, solid beams

Of empyrean fire are

Dispersed on my heart,

Where He gathered me

And where I will take Him

Back down that path.


Copyright © 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard






Audio · Poem · Poetry

A Dream: Truth Be Known


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.


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.


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.


Copyright © 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard

Image: The Eye of God (ngc 6751)