Tag: mysticism

  • Christ the King Prayer

    Oh Holy Mystery, The oneness who comes in forms of delicate twigsbirds’ limbsthe tadpolesthe octopusthe galaxy that swims. Help us see, too, the power, the kingdom, the righteousness of ChristNot hovering above or beyond but deep in bodiesbeneath and beside. Bodies of tiny thingsvibrations of stringssomewhere deep within. Help us know not by our minds…

  • Praying Without Words

    Letting the sun of spring hit my faceonly reminds me of the goodness that is always heredeep within me when I remember to slow my pace. So I treasure the sound of rustling leaves as the gum trees sway.And in this wind I remember to pray. Not the ‘Dear God’ words I was taught when…

  • Time Deconstructed

    In the beginningIt was wilda whimsical dance like water waltzing in the wind we were surrounded by this warm liquid, whirling in the wombWe were blind, deaf and dumbnot wholly ourselves and not wholly our mom’s. we were but whispers of possibilitynot yet penetrated, permeatednot yet fabricated. We were still dust of the earthWaitingto be…

  • The Cycle of Change

    Withered, worn out and weatheredI wonder whether I can continue to stand on this dirt that feels more like sand.The fruit of abundancethat took months of patience and pruningnow lays decayingbeside the branches that have broken off from every deep frostor thrustof wind Will I ever win? Or is life less of a game and…

  • Emerge

    All will emerge they say… Who are they anyway?Those mystics, philosophers, musicians and artistswho wonder and dream and sit still on grass planes… All will emerge If I just sit as stilland watch the world flutter by If onlyIsathere. All will emerge If I let myself join in this fluttering symphonyand remain free within meLike…

  • To Believe

    You see this landthis place with weeds and dandelions, of earthworms, of beetles, of stones, moss and seeds?This is what we are meant to believe. Not something with our minds to grasp, to calculate in maths, or with moppy music to memorizebut something with our musclesthe memory of movements etched into our membranesour fingers and…

  • Presence in Pain

    Holy motherThe one who nurtures us in her wombBirther of the rocks, the pebbles, the pedals and all the people placed and knitted into this world. This world. A world full of complexities, of creatures and creativity. There is so much to live for in the beauty of these crevices. We can feel it in…

  • Forget

    We forget Too often how beloved we are. Like a mother chid connection. Like the womb we are born from. We are knit seamlessly by beloved energy, eroding our hatred, our fear and our dualities of destructive ideas of difference. Don’t forget The yarn, the needle, the wrinkly delicate hands born from another woman’s bosom…

  • Lions, Sparrows, Doves

    Lions, Sparrows, DovesThey know. Do you?The truth, tucked deep, down inside?That running towards the headlines, text books, bachelor degrees, that Masters, those PhDs, the sophisticated language that trips up those lesser than me, has become our idol. Reliant on knowledge and in fear of vulnerable Wisdom.For Wisdom, she knows what is true, the body, the…

  • You are raindrop

    You are breath. Breathing the landscape, the city scrapers and the office papers. You are breath. Breathing out the energy, the wonder that makes the inhale even possible. You are not one speck of sand amongst the endless piles, you are the raindrop that falls amongst the whole of the ocean breathing in and breathing…