Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Self-Love 101



Self-love is the only way that we truly glorify our Creators and demonstrate our gratitude for the gift of Life.

So much of our energy is spent on the pursuit of learning how to love ourselves; self-improvement, self-help, self-realization. We have created an entire industry whose mandate it is to sell to us the promise of self-love and we eagerly purchase the many ways in which these are packaged for us. We often find these effective for a time; while reading the self-help book, attending the self-realization seminar, listening to the recordings of the self-improvement motivational speaker. Yet once the noise of the activity is over, the anger and loathing of self creeps back inside us.

We are the embodiment of Spirit and the manifestation of Nature. Many of the self-love instructional booklets talk of the first – that we embody Spirit, yet the second is neglected; that we are the manifestation of Nature.

Nature does not loath itself nor seeks to improve on that which it is. Nature simply grows into the fullness of its purpose; the flower blossoming into the perfection of a flower, the tree growing into the grandeur it is meant to be, the eagle soaring into the enormous sky.

Nature simply grows into the realization of the purpose it was created for and does this by uniting with that which has been provided for it to flourish.

We are Nature; our bodies manifesting each element – our bones the earth, our blood the water, our breath the air and the heat of our passions the fire. When we rely on these, on the gift of Nature and the instinct of our Soul we come into fullness and truly comprehend why we exist. We can then share with all of Creation the gifts we are blessed with and radiate the essence of our Soul.

Look to Nature and see how simple it is to love yourself, place Nature in the exalted position of being your mentor guiding you to grow into that which is your purpose, your reason for living. Turn your eyes inward and see the miracle of your form; relish in the way in which all of the elements within you come together to sustain your life. When you can dance in the splendour, lose yourself in the sensual, dive into the pool of gratitude for your perfect body – then you can unite with all of our Creators provisions to fulfill that which you were born to do.

Loving yourself becomes the method by which you reveal your sacred purpose. It becomes the path through the forest that leads you to the Divine. It is the song of love to the Mother and the Father which gave you body and soul.

Self-loathing, the religion of Wretchedness that permeates our culture, is a lie and rooted in the doctrine of original-sin. There is no sin by which we were created. The Mother and the Father created us through love – the original-blessing. How we insult the Divine when we entertain the notion that sin is in any way involved in our creation. How profoundly we dishonour the blessing of life and our Creators by assigning sin to their union.

When we look to the wilds we learn that love and acceptance is what all of life is predicated upon. We revel in the purpose of all creatures and celebrate their existence. We see no need to sequester ourselves from the world – to live apart from the very evidence of our Creators or to choose between body and soul, for love creates everything and we are blessed when we live among all of creation.

There is no teacher who can teach you the secret to self-love. None who can unlock this wisdom from the prison you have confined it in. You alone hold the key; the choice to still yourself, listen to the Divine within and witness the wilds of Nature.

Each day allow silence to enfold you. Escape the din of the experts and journey to the gentle melody of Nature and you will remember that which you have never needed to learn.

Friday, March 2, 2012

13


What would I tell you if you would listen?
What do I wish I had known?

Slow is better than fast
in nearly all things.
In love especially…and growing.

Slow to know, not so eager to be held,
details reveal who you are becoming.

Life is short but time is endless,
there is enough to savour each smile and tear.

Think about hot days lazing under the sun,
that small bead of sweat that inches down your neck…
life is better lived like that.

Slow is better than fast; a journey made on foot,
each step more delicately placed under our own steam.
Burdens we carry chosen more wisely
when there is time to choose.

You know how sluggish time is when you are anticipating Christmas?
That’s good – that anticipation flourishing in the slow hand of time.
It’s giving your body time to know how intuition feels,
giving your heart time to know how love feels,
for you… to you… in you.

Slow is better than fast when welcoming another body
to dance with yours;
the space slowly closing filled with electricity 
(which travels fast so we don’t have to),
time to say ‘no’ and time to say ‘yes’.

Wisdom can catch up with you, so can heartache…
and come together in uncomfortable alliance,
both so vital to the refining of your spirit.

Slow is better than fast – I wish I knew this like I know it now
but I’m glad I finally do.
So I can tell you,
before you rush into life like I know you will,
before you trip, before you fly, forgetting all of this
like I know you should.

Happy Birthday precious one.

Thursday, February 9, 2012

Sanitized Woman


Women have become sanitized in a culture that fears the wild and the natural.

How did it begin; the systematic refining of our nature?

Who first sought to bind our spirits by binding our bodies?

And why?

To what end the sale of the maiden,
the vilification of the mother,
the taming of the crone?

Was she slowly and methodically enticed from the forests;
the moist, rich home of her foremothers?
With sweet music, entrancing songs and vows of everlasting love,
was she seduced to follow the call
of those who would domesticate her?

Or was she hunted; ripped from her home,
her nails breaking as she was torn from the tree?
Did she scream at and curse her stalkers?
Then was she bound by chains until
her scream went silent and her rage was spent?

It is the howling wind or the eagles cry that stirs her memory within me.
She walks with smouldering strength within her wild domain,
she tends to the gardens and the fire,
and easily she takes up her charge.

I see through her eyes when I look upon the sunrise
and my body stirs,
my skin awakens and aches
for the heat to caress me.
She reminds me of a power that rests nestled in my hips
and I find myself swaying with the rhythm of desire.

I lament when I think upon her submission
and the cost of such an act.
I struggle with the insanity that such an act demands,
the relinquishing of her body and the shunning of her intuition;
the sources of all the wisdom in the world.

And I ask of all my sisters, as I ask of myself;
to what end this sanitization?

Through seduction or rape we surrendered our home;
when will we take it back?

Remember, we once were warriors
and sentries of our Mother.
We knew the feel of power in our hands
and the grit of earth on our feet.

What has submission cost you, my sister?

No matter the method of her abduction
they did not consider
all the times she sat on the earth
under the fullness of the moon,
her blood enriching the soil.
So that even when they placed her in the castle,
the bedroom, the kitchen,
she continued to cultivate under the tree.

I could not write these words if it was not so.
The sunrise and the eagle’s call would not stir a rich and bloody scent,
not cause my hairs to bristle.
I would not hear her footfalls,
twigs breaking under her sure step,
as I walk about the cultured hallways
and tread upon polished floors.

Monday, January 16, 2012

Consider...

Consider my whispers…
there are words within
and pleas and visions
of God and you.

Quiet does not diminish
the bigness or the urgency
of my reaching breath,
seeking a heart to hold my hand.

Consider my whispers…
for as you turn your ear to hear,
you will find a gentle breeze
that moves across your face
drying any tears

like a warmly blown kiss
that you would otherwise
miss.

Tuesday, January 3, 2012

Surrender Prayer

Please God,
if I must surrender,
let it be to bliss.
Let me fall into the madness of your love
and the insanity of your desire.

Please God,
may I be received by the light,
my weapons and armour stripped from me.
Detain me in the wilds of your living Earth.
Let there be no escape.

If it be your angels who are to be my captors,
then willingly do I wave my flag and raise my hands.
If I am to be bound once again Lord,
let it be by a golden thread
to your throne.

Thursday, December 8, 2011

I Build a Bridge


The Divine is surely alive in each one of us, where there is a beating heart so too there is the Divine. Earth, water, air and fire are the body that carries the soul – all of us are made from the holiness of Nature.

The one we judge, whom we gossip about and slander with our words, the one who causes us to weep, are creations of the Divine, all are expressions of God.

The wolf that takes down your cattle is also a Masterpiece of God.

How is it that I withhold my compassion from my brother and my sister who cause me grief when I know we both come from the same Mother and carry the same light within?

Is my soul of any more value than another’s, is my journey to wholeness any more perfect?

In my enemy’s voice I hear my own and I shrink from this. In my enemy’s actions I see my own works and I rage against myself. When I extend my compassion solely to those I deem worthy then I extend no compassion at all. There is no sacrifice in loving only those that I already love. To them my love flows freely. But to love my enemy means that I sacrifice my ego and my pride, then I overcome the wall I have erected between us and build a bridge.

How often have I heard the wisdom of this? Yet still I find myself retreating and cowering behind the walls I have built, but blessedly less so now. Gratefully, as I sit more and more in silence and empty myself of the noise of the world, my most wonderful soul rises up, filling me so that I breathe the wisdom of compassion.

I am so blessed by this body that stumbles and by the wisdom of my soul that rises. I am so blessed by those whose presence allows me to know what true compassion is, those who are my greatest teachers.

Any wrong I have known I have done to others. Any judgement I have made I have made of myself. Any separation from life that I have established has come from my own self-loathing.

The man who is filling our Oceans with oil does so so that I can drive my car. I am not a servant to the man but a servant to my need for comfort and convenience, my true master and oppressor.

My search for justice must spring from my fountain of compassion or no justice will be served. Justice that does not arise from compassion is revenge. Revenge comes from our need for comfort requiring no emptying of the mind.

Revenge never satisfies us because it keeps our minds busy with our enemy’s actions but does not move me to examine my own. Therefore, I will continually seek revenge for the multitude of wrongs I witness and deny justice for my own.

I have been the cause of great suffering to others. Who can say the suffering I have caused is less than any other? There is no hierarchy to suffering unless I create it to vindicate myself.

True justice requires self-reflection and forgiveness.

I build my bridge so that it connects foundation to foundation, the essence of me to the essence of you. As I cross this bridge I am mindful of the weakest beams lest I fall through and never get to you. My desire for a just and compassionate world moves me to strengthen these places. My soul is the carpenter.

Thursday, December 1, 2011

It's all coming.


I am in love with this past
that has so long defined me.
So I am bringing it with me.

Even that voice which frets
we might return to darkness
is coming.

Congruence is over-rated.

It may even be a conspiracy;
causing me to believe
that it must be achieved
before I can wear the badge of
Wholeness.

I am imperfect.

But my wisdom is profound.
When I try to share it, I stutter.
So I write my wise words instead.

I write badly and sometimes I don’t.

These days I can sit in peace,
more or less,
while I dance like an ass
on this imperfect journey.

God chuckles and I laugh at myself.
Whoever promised me congruence?