Skip to main content

STRETCHED CANVASS by Pranada Comtois

I was slowly walking short distances on the Atlantic's shore during the period I wrote this poem…

I was nearly dead inside, and hadn't yet faced that my 28-year relationship with my life partner needed to come to a close—should have come to a close some years earlier. The shifting shells on the shore created pale, dripping-like patterns that reflected my melancholic heart. My toes wanted to touch the nourishing water as I remembered the Bhakti analogy that the soul's nature is similar to the demarcation between the ocean and the sand. 

The line between water and sand—spirit and matter respectively—is sometimes wet; sometimes dry. The self chooses where she wants to invest herself and thereby is nourished from that nature.

Desperately wanting to be held by the divine, I saw my steps leading me, slowly, painfully, indistinctly—like the colors of the shifting sands—yet somehow surely, too, like each step I was taking. I had a faint sense of trust in the intelligence of how life; I just couldn't sense how it would look like as it unfolded.
"The Riviera Maya Sands" by Gabriel Bulla

Stretched Canvas
by Pranada Comtois

White sand extends wide

the shore like shells flutes

in settlings of crunchy cockles

of soft sienna-amber

near low-tide water.

Tilted canvas pours wet, paints

flow in wrong direction:
fawn green, pale sandstone, tans, whites

drip down by little rushes
the picture gives way
to unlimited scenes.

There’s something about

walking on the wet part.

It’s as if walking past

many seasons, many births,

one slid atop another

and the world

a thousand destinies

shift and transpose
forming one distinct

with the next step
set down.

Pranada Comtois is an author and spiritual teacher of Bhakti's Wise-Love: the spiritual evolution of love in our daily lives. She illuminates this practice in her new book Wise-Love: Bhakti and the Search for the Soul of Consciousness (Inword Publishers, 2016) Pranada lived for 20 years as a contemplative-ascetic in the ancient Bhakti wisdom tradition. She spent the following 20 years raising a family and running two multi-million dollar businesses to exemplify practical spirituality in the world. Her teachings draw from both experiences, and she has published them in Integral Yoga, Rebelle Society, Elephant Journal, Tattooed Buddha, Journey of the Heart: An Anthology of Spiritual Poetry for Women and other journals. She is featured in the film Women of Bhakti as she was one of the first to speak up for gender harmony in the Bhakti tradition in the mid 80's and 90s, successfully organizing the first steps against gender injustice while publishing Priti-laksanam, a quarterly journal advocating women's rights. She served as managing editor for the Bacopa Literary Review for six years. Her passion to inspire women continues to fuel her work to this day. Connect with her on her website here or facebook here. 



~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