Nature

A Field of Flowers

The lotus grows quietly in the garden pool. The ibis curls one foot beneath him and blinks. It is too nice a day to spoil with words.

In the wind I hear what I see ~ a low hum of vitality, the bell of flowers ringing. I pass in and out of time, eons press against my skin. I rest in a place within a place, a meadow of myself that is the world pressing close. The river flows on. Tall, thin reeds rock against the current, and the wind like a woman envelops me.

Life is liquid, cleansing, nourishing. I lie in the white mind of universe; knowing what I know, it knows me.

The fruits of the land are abundant. With the quick, bright blade of spirit I turned new ground, planted seed. I struggled with the donkey. Beneath my hand things happened ~ grapes and wheat. In time I drank wine and ate bread.

The field ploughed feeds a man, the spirit cultivated nourishes. I keep one eye on heaven and one on earth, following the seasons, walking the rhythm.

I lie on sweet hay. The sparrow’s song cuts the silence. I hear it now as I heard it ages ago. The birds are Gods. I carry their song in my belly. I am carried in the egg of silence. Even now in the long pause of possibility, quiet beneath its shell, there rises a wild honking, long flights against an autumn moon, smooth eggs waiting to be laid. An old may lying in a field feels embryonic.

Learning peace itself is a struggle. More often I know the air as it whips my face. When the wind is still, I forget the wind. Walking through town, I turn longingly to the mountain. On the mountain I gaze back on the town. When there’s much talk I withdraw into silence. When it is quiet I strain to hear some song. Having no trouble, I create some to keep the day interesting. We misunderstand the quiet. In the heat of the day I seek shadows. At night I praise the light of stars.

The moon grows legs and wanders through an old man’s heart seeking some dark corner to inspire. At midday the Gods walk through town invisible as cats. Only children and wise old men know the difference.

Even night and day struggle, make peace between themselves. We call that beautiful sunset and dawn. In the spirits of men we call it a state of grace. Unless the earth enveloped the seed and the seed struggled against the darkness, there would be no corn.

The moment we are born we begin to die. In each death we are born again. We take in the air and the air escapes us. Call it the breath of life. I no longer call loss disaster. It is the empty heart waiting to be filled. From the act of love, two bodies straining against each other, there rises the star of children. After opposition comes unity. Knowing that removes the sting of failure.

What God wants God shall have, and so I say, make it easy on yourself. The Divine Will asks only that things happen, that what it asks to exist comes to pass. My desire, my little will gives it form. If I struggle it comes anyway, malformed, a lesser power than it should be. If I give myself to it, it passes through me and I nourish it as it nourishes me.

The difference is in the knowing of it. If there is confusion, I have not allowed life, the will of God, to change me. If I know it, I am changed by it. I have ferried myself across the churning waters of emotion. I go with the current; I rock to and fro in the tide. I come to a place I never knew I was bound for. There is a reason for accidents.

When I open my mouth I let the Gods speak and it is like sparrows singing. When I open my heart I find the way, a gap through the wall of mountains. Through me I allow the world to unfold. I have the magick of earth, wind and flame.

Though the future lies shrouded in veils, if I give my will to what I know not, I shall see it all come to pass. No sorrow. No sweat. Knowing the world is as the world should be, I enter the fields of peace.

~From: Awakening Osiris

Sometimes a Wild God

Sometimes a wild god comes to the table.
He is awkward and does not know the ways
Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver.
His voice makes vinegar from wine.

When the wild god arrives at the door,
You will probably fear him.
He reminds you of something dark
That you might have dreamt,
Or the secret you do not wish to be shared.

He will not ring the doorbell;
Instead he scrapes with his fingers
Leaving blood on the paintwork,
Though primroses grow
In circles round his feet.

You do not want to let him in.
You are very busy.
It is late, or early, and besides…
You cannot look at him straight
Because he makes you want to cry.

The dog barks.
The wild god smiles,
Holds out his hand.
The dog licks his wounds
And leads him inside.

The wild god stands in your kitchen.
Ivy is taking over your sideboard;
Mistletoe has moved into the lampshades
And wrens have begun to sing
An old song in the mouth of your kettle.

‘I haven’t much,’ you say
And give him the worst of your food.
He sits at the table, bleeding.
He coughs up foxes.
There are otters in his eyes.

When your wife calls down,
You close the door and
Tell her it’s fine.
You will not let her see
The strange guest at your table.

The wild god asks for whiskey
And you pour a glass for him,
Then a glass for yourself.
Three snakes are beginning to nest
In your voicebox. You cough.

Oh, limitless space.
Oh, eternal mystery.
Oh, endless cycles of death and birth.
Oh, miracle of life.
Oh, the wondrous dance of it all.

You cough again,
Expectorate the snakes and
Water down the whiskey,
Wondering how you got so old
And where your passion went.

The wild god reaches into a bag
Made of moles and nightingale-skin.
He pulls out a two-reeded pipe,
Raises an eyebrow
And all the birds begin to sing.

The fox leaps into your eyes.
Otters rush from the darkness.
The snakes pour through your body.
Your dog howls and upstairs
Your wife both exults and weeps at once.

The wild god dances with your dog.
You dance with the sparrows.
A white stag pulls up a stool
And bellows hymns to enchantments.
A pelican leaps from chair to chair.

In the distance, warriors pour from their tombs.
Ancient gold grows like grass in the fields.
Everyone dreams the words to long-forgotten songs.
The hills echo and the grey stones ring
With laughter and madness and pain.

In the middle of the dance,
The house takes off from the ground.
Clouds climb through the windows;
Lightning pounds its fists on the table.
The moon leans in through the window.

The wild god points to your side.
You are bleeding heavily.
You have been bleeding for a long time,
Possibly since you were born.
There is a bear in the wound.

‘Why did you leave me to die?’
Asks the wild god and you say:
‘I was busy surviving.
The shops were all closed;
I didn’t know how. I’m sorry.’

Listen to them:

The fox in your neck and
The snakes in your arms and
The wren and the sparrow and the deer…
The great un-nameable beasts
In your liver and your kidneys and your heart…

There is a symphony of howling.
A cacophony of dissent.
The wild god nods his head and
You wake on the floor holding a knife,
A bottle and a handful of black fur.

Your dog is asleep on the table.
Your wife is stirring, far above.
Your cheeks are wet with tears;
Your mouth aches from laughter or shouting.
A black bear is sitting by the fire.

Sometimes a wild god comes to the table.
He is awkward and does not know the ways
Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver.
His voice makes vinegar from wine
And brings the dead to life.

~by Tom Hirons – Poet and Storyteller
Art: Stephanie Carr Gromm

Prayer To The Green Mother

Green Mother, Green Mother
Faery Queen Unseen Mother
Stars within the field Mother
Flowers that will heal Mother
Take us to the Mound Mother
Bring us underground Mother.
We’ll make not a sound Mother
As they dance around Mother.
Teach us how to dance Mother
As we flirt with chance Mother
Returning through the roots Mother
By seed and flower and fruit Mother
Green Mother, Green Mother
Faery Queen Unseen Mother

~Author Unknown

The Cycle of Nature

“In the cycle of nature there is no such thing as victory or defeat: there is only movement. The winter struggles to reign supreme, but, in the end, is obliged to accept spring’s victory, which brings with it flowers and happiness. The summer would like to make its warm days last for ever, because it believes that warmth is good for the earth, but, finally, it has to accept the arrival of autumn, which will allow the earth to rest. The gazelle eats the grass and is devoured by the lion. It isn’t a matter of who is the strongest, but God’s way of showing us the cycle of death and resurrection.

And within that cycle there are neither winners nor losers, there are only stages that must be gone through. When the human heart understands this, it is free, able to accept difficult times and not be deceived by moments of glory. Both will pass. One will succeed the other. And the cycle will continue until we liberate ourselves from the flesh and find the Divine Energy.

Therefore, when the fighter is in the ring – whether by his own choice or because unfathomable destiny has placed him there – may his spirit be filled with joy at the prospect of the fight ahead. If he holds on to his dignity and his honor then, even if he loses the fight, he will never be defeated, because his soul will remain intact. And he will blame no one for what is happening to him. Ever since he fell in love for th first time and was rejected, he has known that this did not put “paid” to his ability to love. What is true in love is also true in war.”

by Paulo Coelho

Pine Needles Pray

Pine needles pray,
nestling down.
Their scent rises.
The Forest breathes
and exhales prayer.
Its wind moves
into fissures.
Granite takes
it in
and firmly
issues a
prayer to
a mushroom
lifted by its
bold touch
and sends it
down to
the juicy
soil-cracked
seeds
whose prayer
makes the
Forest tingle
down into the
roots of
the Great Oak
embracing
them all
and touching
the Great
River of
Light only
those who
pray can
enter.

~Jim Roberts

Beannacht – A Prayer For Peace

On the day when
the weight deadens
on your shoulders
and you stumble,
may the clay dance
to balance you.

And when your eyes
freeze behind
the grey window
and the ghost of loss
gets in to you,
may a flock of colours,
indigo, red, green,
and azure blue
come to awaken in you
a meadow of delight.

When the canvas frays
in the currach of thought
and a stain of ocean
blackens beneath you,
may there come
across the waters
a path of yellow moonlight
to bring you safely home.

May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
May the clarity of light be yours,
May the fluency of the ocean be yours,
May the protection of the ancestors be yours.

And so may a slow
wind work these words
of love around you,
an invisible cloak
to mind your life.

By John O’Donohue

The Snow Drift

My body was blue as Thine, O Beloved, when they found me. I was stiff as if held in a close embrace. Nor was I conscious of aught but Thee, till the small fires of Earth brought me back with an agony of tingling pain.

How came I to be lost in the snow-drift?

I remember how I had taken shelter from the blinding storm. The snow fell about me, and I waited, turning my thought to Thee.

Then did I realize how every snow-flake is built as a tiny star. I looked closer, burying my face in the white pile, as in Thy Bosom.

Mine arms embraced the snow-drift; I clung to it in a mad ecstasy. Thus would I have pressed Thy Body to mine, wert Thou not Infinite and I but as tiny as a star-flake.

So was my body frozen – as by the utmost cold of interstellar space.
It was blue as Thine when they found me locked in Thine embrace.

From: Hymns To The Star Goddess

Ice River


How do we get to travel beyond our own limitations and out and beyond the old barriers and cages of self? The ice river is a very ancient and also, a very well known way to do just that. It exists in many different permutations across the widest range of cultures; and it is a truly magical occurrence. Just as magical are the winter lands.

There is no accident in the fact that Superman’s “Fortress of Solitude” can be found at the North Pole, the palace of the Ice Queen and Father Christmas’s multi-coloured magical workshop “where all the toys in the world are made”. This is deep magic, very old, very powerful.

On this journey we do nothing but to scout these lands “beyond” and become more familiar with them, re-claim them as our own and begin to make a first connection to the magic which resides here and which truly, “cannot be found in any other place, in any other way”.

Many people spend a lifetime “looking for their magic” and this journey will show an aspect of this magic which is perfectly ours, perfectly our own and perfectly reachable – if we make the effort and seek it out with volition, get to know it and when the time is right, re-awaken it from its frozen sleep.

On a personal note, it was Ice River directly which taught me how to use my “night eyes” – to see the patterns of the energy world with a set of other senses than the physical eyes. What it might do for each individual of course, I cannot know – but I do know that I would like each person to at least travel there once and just make that first contact, so their own “north poles” are once again, a part of their world in awareness at least.

~Sylvia Hartmann

Ice River

Let’s transport ourselves for a moment
to a different place, a different time
of where the autumn turns to winter
scapes, a gentle merging as the sun
is low on the horizon and the air
tastes sharp and clear.

We would stand
in warming furs, well covered
snug within
and we would see ahead
a river white and wide
straight river, out into
the far perspective where
the banks have merged
before the low horizon
meets the single point
in distance.

And we would step upon
our starting point,
a frozen lake
so deeply frozen,
thickest glass
of white and blue
so solid now
beneath our feet
and as our feet
would quite without
our mind’s command
would now begin
to move and slide
and skate in
rhythmic pulses
left to right
and as our bodies
bend into the movement
and our arms begin
to reach as well
thus we begin
our journey
forward
upward
on the river white
and raise our eyes
to where the point
of far perspective lies
and we begin to travel

Faster, faster still
and lighter,
each forward pulse
increases the momentum
each forward pulse
adds speed and now we
seem to fly towards
the point of far perspective
where the land must
meet the sky and all is
one, and silent white,

pulse travelling
pulse carrying
pulse flying
as the point expands
and seems a light
that seems to grow
in brightness and
you know

the doorway
lies before you
as you keep your eyes
towards the gate of far perspective
as you approach
and it grows more defined
and clearer
in your vision

soft white
and pulsing with a beat
that is the same
that pulses in your body
that brings you closer
closer with each beating
of your heart

It grows
the doorway grows
and now it fills your vision
here it is,
here you are
here you have arrived
at the gate of far perspective
and another pulse or two or three
bring you into the white
and white is right
and all there is
and for a moment there is
nothing but the movement
on continuing and phasing

slowing from the impetus
relaxing down and slowing more
until you passed the gate
and you become aware and see: T

he winter world before you
and the river still
and frozen still it is for
you to travel glass and icy smooth
and yet it is a river and it turns
and loops through winter land.

Slowly and without the slightest effort
you begin to glide the Winter River
and you see all along
the banks on either side
fantastic landscapes, crisp and white
the sky so radiant blue above
and all is winter still
and winter reverend.

Gently you glide by
and you perceive
enchanted castles,
frozen wells
and there’s a knowing
that there’s sleeping things,
snug and safe
in timeless slumber
deep beneath
the sweeps and crests
of ancient ice
that lie a frozen ocean
stretching far
and further still.

Gently you glide by
and you perceive
ice mountains,
sparkling glass
fantastic sculptures
that are beautiful
and they are here
as they could be
not anywhere
but here

Gently you glide on
and know that this
is now a world
that others never seek
to seek, nor seek to
travel.

And as you travel,
and observe,
and as you travel
and you marvel at the beauty
and the clarity
the timelessness
and perfect beauty of the white
your world grows larger
and a part that has been
long denied
has taken and is taking now
its rightful place
at last.
And you can know
as darkness falls
and Northern Lights play
in the sky
beneath your closing arc
that there is magic here
that there is much
you never thought to seek
that you might think
of coming here again
to seek and find
to learn and love
to stand before
the vastness and the beauty
and you might find
the kind of treasure here
that simply cant be known
in any other way
in any other place.

Glide by
Beneath the banding lights
of dancing jade and purple,
celestial blue and green
in hues you’ve never known
you glide on by to find
the gate of far perspective
for your journey here
was one of recognition
and of admiration
and of re-connection
to a something
that you might have thought
you had forgotten
and yet that lives
and sleeps and breathes
forever in a beauty
that cannot be found
in any other place.

Beneath the diamond stars
in stillness you return
and close the distance gently
as the gate grows from the point
of far perspective
widening on your approach
and with a tiny sense
of deep regret
at leaving once again so soon
and with a small decision to return
when time is here and time is right
you move towards the growing gate of white
that takes you back and through into
your time of mind,
and back and through
into your time of here and now,
a gentle dis-so-lucian
of the magic and
a gentle drifting back to self
in thought, in mind, in
physicality
as your awareness of the here-and-now
comes back in gentle waves,
in gentle waves of feelings and sensations
here and now
and bright aware
retaining and remembering.

~Sylvia Hartmann

Oceans of Energy

If you could shift
your point of view for just a moment, as you
now grow still
and silent within,
without a thought or care,
without a thought of worry or desire,
then you might just begin to feel:

A power tingling in your fingertips,
a breath that draws to you
a part of all there is, of which
you are a part,
and that surrounds you, buoys you, nourishes, protects
and reaches far and wide
and further still
into the deepest blues of oceans
the deepest greens of mountain lakes
and all the creatures that reside
in forest groves, eternal deserts
as above,
the stars are dancing.

Oceans of energy
and they lie at your fingertips,
for you to navigate and learn
to know the ancient arts
of balance, deep release
and once again restore
the Even Flow,
the perfect state of being.

Silvia Hartmann, 2001

Worth Exploring
Subscribe
If you'd like to be notified when anything new is posted, you can subscribe via feedburner..

Enter your email address:

Delivered by FeedBurner

Moon Phase Tracker
Bread Crumbs
Be Merry


I think it's time to go shopping... maybe even buy some really cool stuff at my online shops!!

Stats