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Showing posts from 2015

LISTENING TO THE NIGHT by Tracie Nichols

My relationship with the throbbing pulse that is LIFE...
 - with the sentience of her - is so often deeper and clearer in the pre-dawn pause each day seems to take. In those minutes she whispers to my parched heart, watering me with her presence until I’m brimming with juicy life. What makes this work is attention. My attention meeting hers, forging a fragile bridge between here and now and everywhere and every when. 
Listening to the Night by Tracie Nichols
We meet. We touch. We trust. We expand into each other and into deeper versions of ourselves. 
“listening to the night…” she keeps whispering to me (she being Gaia, LIFE midwife)
“listening to the night…” as if there’s more to the sentence more instruction to come.
but no.
just, “listening to the night…”
is she listening? am I?  somebeing else? . . ….and, so, I listen….. . …(rain) . ….(my breath) . . ……(stonesong from her bones) . . . and then… . . “linger with me…” . linger implies  pausing

HINDSIGHT by Anca Mihaela Bruma

We all need a Path...
Some of our paths are separated from each other but later forced to unite again: the synchronicity is inescapable! Some paths just touch each other briefly and scatter in different directions; forever changed by the meeting. Some come back again and again, across Time and Space... always finding each other.
Once treading upon your path there are chances for deviations: small moments, which come into play and knock you off the trajectory. But this could be powerful to change your path, to change your future, like an act of nature, an act of Love! Once this deviation happens you’ll surely find yourself a new path... unchartered, unknown, stretching out ahead of you. At least, this is how it was for me.

Hindsight
by Anca Mihaela Bruma

I found a clandestine translation
between our hearts...
with coagulated rhythms
of thick lines of Reality...

You and Me...
no more conjugated by a verb,
no more nouns
pleaded to be sung,
no more chorus
to fill the empty line...

My wings cannot fit,
i…

LET ME LOVE YOU: ALL OF YOU by Cassandra Abdullojonova

This poem was written for every woman who has ever felt inadequate and unlovable…
The words written here are what I believe the Universe sings to us every morning when we awaken and every evening before we sleep. 
The photograph accompanying this poem was taken on my journey backpacking through Thailand. I walked by this trash collector several days in a row and began to admire its inherent beauty. Actually, it felt a little like me. Patched up, worn out, full of junk needing to be released...yet vibrantly unique, eye-catching and memorable. 
May these words and this photograph become a reminder that no matter who you are and what you're carrying, you are worthy, you are loved. 
Let me Love You: All of You by Cassandra Abdullojonova
I want to love you: Every part of you Your past, your darkness, Your vices.
I want to cherish you: On days your own spirit Is silenced to your cry With the only response The echo of your solitude
I want to embrace you: In moments you feel inadequate And to unlock the …

AFTER THE SUN FALLS by Mariann Martland

There was a recent night when I experienced a great loss, my life changed...
 I broke into a million pieces and putting myself back together still feels like a monumental task. Yet there was a voice, a small voice that was speaking to me and when it's very dark, when it's very quiet I can sometimes still hear it…

After the Sun Falls  by Mariann Martland
night brought loss, morning, new grief. life, as it was known, changed. broken and alone,
the ache running deep, into the marrow of bone, to the pit of despair.
everything shifted, altered. what remains, now tainted. life, as it was known, changed.
then, a heavy breeze whistling a whisper, “your sun will rise again, my child.”
body curled in fits of pain, head bowing low with regret, sorrow, shame, pounding life into ground.
“your sun will rise again,” whispers growing stronger, clouds blazing. from afar the Sky, speaking loudly,
“life as you know it has changed, my child. you will ache and mourn and writhe in your agony, in your love and you must feel. feel.…

THE WAY OF BHAKTI by Madhava Lata Dasi

One day I met an interesting woman...
Although she was not connected to yoga, or any other practice, our conversation fell on the Bhagavad Gita, and to my surprise she had read it all. But what amazed me more was the comment she made about this ancient, Bhakti Yoga text : "It is a book about Love!". 
At the time I had already been practicing Bhakti Yoga for several years and I had never thought of the Bhagavad Gita from that perspective, as a book on love. I was intrigued and I wished to share her vision.
Now, several years later, my search into the insights of Bhagavad Gita have continued in so many ways. By presenting this poem I am expressing my gratitude at having arrived to this perception of the Love-message in this book. This poem was inspired by verse 3.16 of the Bhagavad Gita, which states: "A cycle is made to turn.  One who does not keep it turning,  a sense enjoyer of errant life,   lives in vain, Partha."
To emphasize the link between the Sanskrit text and this…

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 meslow downuntil 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 guilt. And the words started to flow even w…