Nature

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

The Blessing of Light

May the blessing of light be on you –
light without and light within.

May the blessed sunlight shine on you like a great peat fire,
so that stranger and friend may come and warm himself at it.

And may light shine out of the two eyes of you,
like a candle set in the window of a house,
bidding the wanderer come in out of the storm.

And may the blessing of the rain be on you,
may it beat upon your Spirit and wash it fair and clean,
and leave there a shining pool where the blue of Heaven shines,
and sometimes a star.

And may the blessing of the earth be on you,
soft under your feet as you pass along the roads,
soft under you as you lie out on it,
tired at the end of day;
and may it rest easy over you when,
at last, you lie out under it.

May it rest so lightly over you
that your soul may be out from under it quickly;
up and off and on its way to God.

—Ancient Celtic Blessing

Deep Peace

Deep peace I breathe into you,
O weariness, here:
O ache, here!

Deep peace, a soft white dove to you;
Deep peace, a quiet rain to you;
Deep peace, an ebbing wave to you!
Deep peace, red wind of the east from you;
Deep peace, grey wind of the west to you;
Deep peace, dark wind of the north from you;
Deep peace, blue wind of the south to you!
Deep peace, pure red of the flame to you;
Deep peace, pure white of the moon to you;
Deep peace, pure green of the grass to you;
Deep peace, pure brown of the earth to you;
Deep peace, pure grey of the dew to you,
Deep peace, pure blue of the sky to you!
Deep peace of the running wave to you,
Deep peace of the flowing air to you,
Deep peace of the quiet earth to you,
Deep peace of the sleeping stones to you!
Deep peace of the Yellow Shepherd to you,
Deep peace of the Wandering Shepherdess to you,
Deep peace of the Flock of Stars to you,
Deep peace from the Son of Peace to you,
Deep peace from the heart of Mary to you,

And from Bridget of the Mantle
Deep peace, deep peace!
And with the kindness too of the Haughty Father
Peace!
In the name of the Three who are One,
Peace!
And by the will of the King of the Elements,
Peace! Peace!

By Fiona Macleod – 1895

The Storyteller

The little boy stumbled through the forest. He was sure that wild animals were chasing him, and wanted to eat him. As he crashed through the undergrowth he suddenly emerged into a clearing. He looked around, fearing that he could hear animals, but all was quiet.

The little boy walked further into the clearing. He saw a small stool with a book on it.

He stopped, and looked around wondering who had left the stool, and the book there.

He walked over to the stool, and picked up the book to look at it. Without thinking, he sat down, and opened the book. He started to read aloud. The only sound in the clearing was the little boy’s voice.

He had forgotten about his earlier fear, and he had also stopped imagining that he could hear animals after him.
Once he had finished reading the story he put the book down, and he said to the clearing, “I’ll come back tomorrow to read again.”

The little boy left the clearing and reentered the forest. He wasn’t afraid anymore. It was if he had a new found confidence, and manner.

The next day he returned, and found a different book on the stool, and as before, he sat down, and started to read.

This went on for a week. After seven days animals started to come through the undergrowth, and entered the clearing. When they saw the boy, and heard his storytelling they would stop, find a place to sit down, and listen to him.

One day he heard a roar behind him, and the little boy turned around, coming face to face with a tiger. “Shhh!” he told the tiger, and gave it a smack across the nose.

The tiger was taken aback, but he did as he was told and he went to a tree. Then he too, sat and listened to the little boy.

This went on for many years, and some animals died never to return, while others grew old as the little boy did. One day, when the little boy was no more but a little old man he died as he was reading one of his stories.

The animals looked up, and listened to the silence.

Wild dogs howled, elephants trumpeted their calls, birds tweeted and chirped, monkeys chatted and tigers roared as one.

The tiger, who many years ago the little boy had smacked across the nose, carried the little boy, and laid him to rest under his tree.

The animals lined up to pay their respects to the little boy who had devoted his life to reading to the animals.

As they lined up they were watched by God, Buddha, Allah and Ganesha, standing off to the side, who had tears in their eyes, not because the little boy that had died, who now stood next to them, but because as each animal came to the body of the little boy, each animal would lay their head down on his chest, and shed tears over the boy’s body.

Finally a small baby elephant came, and laid his head, and trunk down on the little boy’s body, and his tears flowed over the little boy’s chest.

When the animals had left, there was an eerie silence over the clearing.

Many, many years passed until one day, a small girl come running through the bushes, with a frightened look on her face. She stopped, and looked around the clearing. She saw a small stool, and so she walked over to it, wondering who would leave such a thing here in the forest.

She sat down on the stool and looked down. She saw a box full of books.

The little boy smiled.

― Anthony T. Hincks

Invocation of the Goddess

Lift up thy arms and call my many names,
I am known as Innanna, Diana, Demeter, Isis, Neth, Brid, Astar, Hecate, Selene.
Beyond death I am but eternal even the passing of the seasons.
I am inside you, your mother, and your sister.
I have been with you since the beginning
and I will be with you in transformation of spirit.
The weak and the lost the hungry and the sick are all my children.
From my womb comes all life .
Beckon unto me in times of need
for I hear you my child.
I am the Earth on which to rest your weary body,
I am the water that washes away the tears of humility,
I am the air in which you breath in the breath of life ,
and I am the fire that burns deep in the passions of humanity.
I am all you see and all that you have yet to discover.
My arms are the tree limbs out stretched
and open to receive into my soul your knowledge,
my roots run deep,
as my devotion has no boundries.
The wise ones who’s beckons I have known,
from above and from below.

Found at: The Witches Eyes

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