Journey of the Heart

I am an aspiring bhaktin (practicing student) on the path of Bhakti Yoga… Bhakti Yoga is the yoga of devotion. This poem came as a metaphor of my inward journey in this wintertime of hibernation and contemplation. It reflects spiritual growth, trust and surrendering to this process of new life. Remembering the importance of patience, protection, time for space and growth...and to be open to Grace. 'Winter Landscape' by Martin Lisec My Winter’s Prayer There lies a seed within, deep inside one’s heart, resting in the womb of the Divine Mother. This wintertime of hibernation is a holding place always there, protecting, waiting for the Springtime of life. When the seed begins to open to the Sun within, we remember His Light and Love. Nourishing, caring for this tiny seed, this sweet delightful bud, the flowering of our True Self appears. Beginning in the dark womb, with patience and loving care, ...

For a few days now I have felt a longing in my heart…   I’ve felt a thirst and emptiness that cannot seem to be quenched or filled. I have allowed very real material concerns, like a nearly broken marriage, to distract me spiritually and have been seeking to regain my footing and find myself once again on a more steady and sure path towards He who I seek. 
 In times of reverie throughout my waking hours the image of Radharani has filled my mind.  (Radaharani is a name for the Supreme Divine Feminine in the Vashnava tradition) Like a lighthouse stretched over a vast sea of nescience she seems to call out in a love divine; beckoning my soul to come back home.
 This morning I arose and as I sat by the computer a beautiful and gentle light passed through the curtains and warmed my heart. Instantly the image of Radharani once again filled my mind and it was as if she was calling me to come this early morning to a place of solitude alongside a riverbank where my h...

(Submitted by Lynda Vargas) Last night, holding hands, my husband and I admired the full moon... Together, we watched as the moon illuminated our home from the window above our front door. I thought of our son in New York, seeing the same moon reflecting on the East River, our daughter in Seattle walking her dog under the same moon, and our daughter in Florida gazing at the same full moon through the tall trees from her bedroom windows. It brought me a feeling of peace, knowing that we all share the same sense of awe when we see the moon in its wonderful fullness.  The moon teaches me that what is missing will soon appear, what is lacking will be fulfilled, what is partial will be made whole, what is dark will be made light. Then, again, what is complete will again disintegrate, what is whole will break up, what is gained will be lost, what is perfect will disappoint, what is joy will fade into sorrow. Then, ever so slowly, peace, beauty, love, and light retur...

I have always believed that poetry is painting with words…   An artist friend posted somewhere saying "when did she become a messy painter" and my muse flew. Original painting by Charlotte Atkinson I Shall be Messy and Profligate With Words I shall be messy and profligate with words today! I shall paint you cerulean skies, with white and grey clouds.. And love the color of blood. I shall be messy and profligate with words today. I shall paint you spring green trees, with baby pink blossoms. And love the color of blood. I shall be messy and profligate with words today. I shall paint you a foamy green sea with white cavorting gulls. And love the color of blood Dripping from the palette of my heart. ~ Our Lady of Starting Over by Shiloh Sophia McCloud Sarah Courtney Dean : I am a poet and my poetry is part and parcel of my spiritual tradition. I am a Druid and a seer and also a member of the Order of Bards, Ovates, and Druids. I...

Where women thrive, communities thrive… After seeing the ways in which women can be disenfranchised from their personal power and divinity in so many ways in many parts of the world, I devoted myself to using healing forms of dance to uplift women, heal their wounds, and reconnect them to their divine source.  I dance and I pray to empower women in body, heart, voice and spirit to become vessels of divine powerful expression. This is my prayer for all women: for myself, for my daughter, and for you. Pictured is Zola Dubnikova Return to The Temple This dance is a prayer A prayer for The Earth and therefore A prayer for women. This is a call for women To know and believe   in the holiness of their bodies The sacredness in their dance And the power of their voice. A prayer for all women who do not express themselves Who hold themselves back Who do not know   their own power As creators As healers, As...

This poem surfaced on a snow day… As I watched the snow fall I reflected back to the many years when I lived where it didn't snow. My life seemed, externally, perfect to others.  And now, as I hibernate on this snow day in January, unable to drive, to do much outside of the house because of the low temperatures, it's now that I am truly completely free, and deeply comforted by the gentle falling of snow.  'Snow' Photography by Krista Katrovas Comforting Snow I felt the waves used to laugh at me add depth to the pain when they pounded into the shoreline. It seemed the sun would chime in, too, as it blazed down, nudging my shoulders and the tip of my nose until they grew red. I was supposed to be happy. I had it all, the pool, designer bags, watches, expensive clothes, cars, I was living in Sunny San Diego where the weather is the most moderate of all places in the world. Now I live where it snows, where shade and cloud cover have ...

Winter gives me permission to slow down …  I hibernate and press an imaginary pause button. It tenderly courts my hermit side. I am delighted when my social schedule is at a lull. Each day is still complete. I step more readily into silence and enjoy the peace. Here, I give birds my full attention. I linger in the crunchy sounds of icy bliss. My lovely tattered bathrobe and I greet a brilliant sunrise. My nest of blankets blink gratitude through the deep dark cold nights. This particular poem swam to consciousness after a delicious wintery catnap. I opened my eyes to a gift of a water-colored sorbet sunset sky. I captured the moment, in a quiet appreciation with these words. Winter Warms my Weary Backlit trees in a sunset sky A chortle from a Thrush Crimson Tangerine Sweet golden nectar Knits through my veins Rest, renew, restore. Winter warms my weary Strokes, tends, creates A comforting quilt of warmth. Drowsy floral beds pause Seed...