Faith

Sunflower

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Art – Matt Chambliss

Music –  “Sunflower” Paddy Sun

Sunflower

From the day of Her budding She has longed for the sun
Her being is drawn towards the light
The very core of Her aches for the life-giving warmth
In the night-time she hopes for a light to shine on Her
But all that shines is not the Sun
All that has warmth does not give life
So even though she may dance in the reflection and the distraction of the moment
She knows that it will pass
It will not beckon her to put down roots into the dark rich soil
She waits for the morning
She longs for Apollo that she might be made whole
Her face ever toward the sun, seeking the heat and life her Soul craves
Yet to see Her, to know Her is life-giving
The Sunflower is strength
A symbol of beauty and faith and life and vitality and intelligence
She already possesses that which she seeks, out There in the heavenly Sun
Orbiting Her eternally, yet never accessible
She does not understand that she is venerated like she does Apollo
She is longed for like the Sun
That there are those who turn and follow Her movements across their skies
Who mark their days by Her appearance and in Her leaving
Rest O Sunflower, put down your roots
Allow your blues, browns and golden facets to grace the green of your new growth
You are already everything you desire

Hallelujah (Audio)

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Image result for image extreems hallelujah

Moving between the extremes

Softness, tenderness calls like a siren toward the rocks

Fierce anger rises with power cutting through the vulnerability

Neither place is true

Both snapshots of experience taken out of time

The truth lies in the tension of love and hate, sweetness and rage

He said “There are cracks in everything but that’s how the light get in”

I begin to see

Though perhaps only dimly, through the haze

The hallelujah erupts from a well too deep for words

The holy scar is opened between the sacred and the profane

Glorious it rises transporting the soul back to the Maker

That sweet, powerful, fierce place where once I dwelt

And will return to somehow

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Hallelujah . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Soft                                                         Callous

. . . . . . Sweetness . . . . . . . . . . Passion . . . . . . . .

 

Oceans (where feet may fail) – Reposted for a Friend

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Perhaps it is that when one feels washed overboard, afraid, exhausted, and without a raft there is something in the depths of grace for us there.  Perhaps the raft is what keeps us from knowing.  Blessings, sweetness, and understanding that you are not alone.

Whatever flavor of spirituality that you may tend toward there is a depth and beauty in this.  All poetry is metaphor anyway.  Hold them lightly or risk their death.  Where there is beauty there is the perfume of truth.  It resonated with my soul from that place in me that is too deep for words.  It allowed me to weep.  That is a good gift for a hardened sometimes stupid man like me. 🙂  Maybe my chakra thingy is better for it.  Blessings on your quest for the One who is beyond all metaphor.

Wake up Sleepyhead

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Dawn_Real-You_Alan-Watts

Ease is the natural state, harmony the true habitation

There is a reason for the dis-ease

It signals, it beckons, it prods

Dis-comfort is god’s grace

Dis-satisfaction does not allow one to rest in the wasteland

Like a splinter in the mind, itch needing scratched

It plays on the fringes of consciousness

Where the frayed sparking edges of the matrix can be perceived

Signposts pointing beyond the current constructs

Go toward that which terrifies

The soft places where there is no defense

Raw, exposed, vulnerable

That is the space of transformation

Surrender control and just be

It hurts, it frightens but it won’t eat you

Silly boy, you are made of stronger stuff than that

Let the false, frightening, fiction, fade

Hold the ground along the narrow middle way

Waves will wash over threatening your balance there

Be still and let them pass

Suspend belief so that you might know

Once you know, belief is no longer needed

Now no more bouncing from side to side like a pinball in a game

Seeking solace, addicted to flesh’s temporary fix

A junkie hooked on the drugs of thinking, fixing, doing

Yes – no, good – bad, right – wrong, same old round and round

Answers, solutions are not in a game designed by others

One that is cast like a net upon the sleeping masses

The way leads out of the trap and into the paradox

The lesson requires unlearning, dying so that life may emerge

What Is calls and heralds a new morning

Wake up sleepyhead, time for dreaming is done

The Acorn and the Oak

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OH TO BE LIKE AN OAK TREE

Stepping out into a broader space
Leaving behind the familiar comforts of the rut
But, there I held sway, I was the master

Predictable, easy, except for the slow withering of my soul
Did my tricks to get my treats
But the former was confining and I had out grown it

Like a plant in too small a pot
Roots bound, tangled, seeking new earth
But to step out is to become weak again, to let go, to become a child

There was a brief thrill in the stepping out
Really it was a small thing made large by ego’s fear
But there was really no power there

Like a spider’s web it clung inciting primal fear
No power at all to resist a decision
But now the familiar is no more

Where once I was large now I am small, ignorant, and inexperienced once more
Planted in new ground hoping for the water and the warmth and the worms to do their work
The plane is large, expansive, might I grow to fill that new empty space

But the great Oak lives inside the tiny, shiny acorn
Food for squirrels or master of the Woodland
I am the Sower and I am the seed
It is not the breaking through that is the challenge

It is sitting still long enough to put down roots and grow in the new larger place

There are multiple buts in this process

But either way.  Be Groovy! 