Skip to main content

TWIN FLAME by Kiernan Antares

 Each year October calls me into the silence…

But often I resist and then always regret it. This year I've been in a process of letting go of regrets, and so, I immersed myself into the abyss.

The poem that came through with this painting really tells of my experience of being in that emptiness and how the allowing of it flowed into this painting.
'Twin Flames' painting by the author artist Kiernan Antares

Twin Flame

Teacher… it says, offering
the Golden Chalice.
Teacher of what, I ask
in the silence.

More silence deafens.

The time of emptiness, upon me
once again.
Do I fight it over and over?

No, I must listen, this time
immerse myself I will, a
promise ignored, finally fulfilled.

Resting…
Resisting the moments of restlessness, and
filling them with doingness.

Even painting seemed daunting, a brush
too heavy to pick up, a canvas
too filled with promises to engage in just yet.

Days upon days in an empty mind, gazing
into reflections of eyes wherever my head turns, speak
I say, but still the silence echoes.

One week into two into three, I discover
life pulses so fast I have become blind, to Truth
that is mine to savour, the beauty
in the pauses, the slow deep breaths, where
my eyes linger and my ears dance.

Something begins to fill me, as I
cast aside the noise of the world, then slowly
I come back, a little at a time, to a deeper
Knowing that this something, is I.

The Divine I Am, that is
both and all of everything, the particles
coming together in breath, and sound
that tones and vibrates out, in
ripples and waves, touching
the unseen and unknown.

So, I surrendered and into the music, I found
an ease and flow onto the canvas, it felt
so perfect.

I was transported into the strokes, following
its lead without thought, an
ease moved through the brush, inside
and out.

In the altered spaces, the painting
revealed patterns within me, lead
transformed into gold, magical
new love, new life born, from
the empty space… the deep dark womb, the
Star dust.

Teacher of what, I ask
again
You know, it responds
with a nod, the
Golden Chalice once more offered.

A little hidden yet perfectly visible.

~


Kiernan Antares is a visionary artist, poet, and teacher based in Toronto, Ontario whose paintings and writings tell deep and rich stories through contemporary symbolism that offer healing, hope, and empowerment for the feminine soul ~ the heart of the world that has been suppressed in each of us, but is now re-awakening and emerging as a powerful force of love and wisdom. "It is my hope that something in my art will create a tiny explosion in your heart and that you will see that something, that Sacred Feminine Soul you’ve hungered for all along as a woman. She lives within you, She calls to you ~ to remember and awaken." You may connect with Kiernan via her website here, or find her on Facebook. 



~If you are interested in seeing your poetry appear in this blog, or submitting a poem by a woman that has inspired you, please click here for submission guidelines. I greatly look forward to hearing from you!~ 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

IMAGINE A WOMAN by Patricia Lynn Reilly

  This poem invites you to look upon yourself with loving kindness… Gazing at your own true reflection, you will discover that everything you have longed for “out there” is already within you! I invite you to love your creativity fiercely. Faithfully plant seeds, allowing under-the-ground dormant seasons, nurturing your creative garden with love and gratitude. In the fullness of time, the green growing things thrust forth from the ground. It's a faithful, trustworthy process. AND it takes time and patience.  Blessed is the fruit of your creative womb! I invite you to trust your vision of the world and express it. With wonder and delight, paint a picture, create a dance, write a book, and make up a song. To give expression to your creative impulses is as natural as your breathing. Create in your own language, imagery, and movement. Follow no script. Do not be limited by the customary way things have been expressed. Your creative intuition is original. Gather

IMBOLC by Caroline Mellor

The inspiration for this poem came after I watched a magical winter sunset and full moonrise from the top of Firle Beacon in the South Downs... Unusually for me, I wrote the poem quite quickly and changed it very little before publishing it – perhaps the energies were working through my pen! Imbolc is the mid-point between the winter solstice and the spring equinox. It’s a fire festival which I particularly love because of its associations with Brigid, the Celtic Mother Goddess of arts and crafts, clear sight, healing, inspiration and nurturance of creative talents – something which, through my writing, I am always trying to connect with.  I also love Imbolc because, with so much darkness and negativity in the world today, it is a time for hope, potential, visioning and initiation. With love and blessings as the light returns. Photography by Chanel Baran IMBOLC    by Caroline Mellor I am the dream of awakening. I am the returning of the night.  I am the tough green

WINTER SOLSTICE: A GIFT OF LOVE by Carolyn Riker

I’ve had several days now of alone time… It is unusual and a gift that I couldn’t see until I breathed it. I have been able to watch the sun’s rise through the grey of dawn and smile at the flickers of frost melting on the waving boughs of evergreen. It’s unique to follow daylight as it traverses the tempo of a cat’s soft slumbering purr. Night comes swifter and the glow of candles and the flames of fire comfort me more than the steady stream of always-doing-more. As much as I resisted, I needed this break. I had no idea how much my body was trying to tell me   slow down   until the exhaustion settled in around my joints. My eyes swam in molasses. Heaviness of I-can’t-hold-out-much-long, walked me to the throne of my nest. It’s winter’s gift of self-nurturing and love. It’s been a quiet proclamation of femininity and a need for comfort foods. Lemon crisps and cranberry, white-chocolate shortbread dipped in tea; I felt a hint of being pampered without