Journey of the Heart

I've found that grief is not permanent and pain never lasts... There is always light at the end of a dark tunnel-as surely as day follows a dark night. I wrote this poem in a moment of despair. When I felt aggrieved and totally drained out. I struggled with my broken heart and found the strength to see beyond that grief. These sad moments had also taught me an invaluable lesson and brought me even more close to God. Rain to Rainbow by Latika Teotia I was lonely and I was in pain, I sat quietly and watched the rain. With each single drop, my pain did decrease, I waited with hope for it to cease. I picked up the broken pieces of my heart, Even grief, though brief, had played a part. Lo behold I spotted a rainbow at the end, In my life, mercifully, it was only a bend. Thank you, O Lord, for this beautiful life, And the invaluable lessons I learnt from this strife. In the absence of pain, grief, problems and strife, We for...

This poem is a search of the physical body, as my mind seeks to discover the location of the spirit, which dwells in the body… In the Bhagavad-Gita chapter thirteen there is a dialogue between Krishna and Arjuna which discuses this inquiry. Krishna speaks to Arjuna of the nature of the body, the mind, the intelligence and the location of the soul and the supreme soul who accompanies every living being remaining always in the space of the heart. Negotiations (Body & Soul) by Janavi Held Skin lifts essence shows talking stops in veins they keep, tenderly,  on. Spiraling fascia  winds longing, over well-kept muscles as the negotiator of breath stands in judgment researching wasteful directions for a well-bred aristocrat. Shy skin, oblique, yet puzzled animates purpose hidden in self-hood while hidden shame  depreciates relative value, severing shadows loitering in the plunge. Redundant reflection...

This poem is a gift of gratitude to my dear sis-from-another-miss, Monica Giron... This woman has been instrumental to my personal healing journey.   The ways that she owns her power, carries herself, generously asks for what she needs, and gives what she desires to offer, have taught me a lot about freedom.    As I have geographically transitioned out of my community, it has been a powerful practice to offer gratitude to many of the women that graced my life, by witnessing them through my visionary gifts, and painting their portraits with my pen.   I have received so much through the “writing down” of my experience of the gifts of these women, and the mythical archetypes they live out in the world.   This process has helped me hone my voice, mark a huge rite of passage in my journey, and reflect some of the world’s magic back to it. My friend Monica and I  both come from New Mexico, and built a beautiful community together on the US-Mexico border,...

My beloved mother, Sara O. Held, passed away five years ago this month… She left me with so many gifts, which, since her death, I have gathered into my heart hoping these treasures will continue to unfold as I continue on my life’s journey without her. Pictured is Sara O. Held as photographed by her daughter Janavi She taught me how live close to the earth, to love the light and embrace the shadows when necessary. She taught me how to cook without recipes, to dance without choreography, and how to body surf. She was a master gardener and I wasn’t, but I loved to follow her around as she mused over her plants and vegetables She told me once that when suffering comes don’t live within it all the time, but step out of it and take a look around.  She read to me as a child, and instilled in me a profound love of the written and spoken word. She was a brilliant editor and made certain her daughters’ pronunciation of all those precious words were correct! She had a wicked...

I gather for Satsang with a group of women on certain Thursday evenings... (Satsang is a group of students who come to sit in the company of truth with a teacher.) Once a member brought her singing bowl from India. Woman-by-woman, she stretched us out on the sofa and placed the bowl on our hearts. When my turn came, the reverberations of sound transported me elsewhere. Away from the surface place where my body resides. Deep into the temple of Self where the Divine is found. This poem was born from that experience. Written upon my return home. Small words attempting to capture a vast experience. I am a Singing Bowl by  Shannon Crossman Like a beautiful bowl, I sing with the slightest provocation from the Divine. Ringing peals off my skin leaving me naked and glorified until I am no thing but sound. Inside that holy echoing the Beloved and I are one magnficient, infinite, unraveling dance. Some notes leave us full rolling on the floor round-bellied with laughter. Some notes l...

Today I was thinking of some of the precious possessions I have in my life, my mother being on the very top of my list... Not only for me, but Mothers are most valued, next to God, for all the creations on this earth. Without my own mother, I cannot even imagine how I would have survived a single day! Her unconditional love and care is unparalleled with any other relation I have in my whole life, no matter which new relations I make. Therefore, I bow my head to my own mother and all mothers, who sacrifice much happiness only to see the smiling faces of their children. I wish that the kids who grow up to ignore their mothers realize their mothers' value and give their mothers due gratitude and importance by taking special care of them in their old age. For mothers have big hearts that only know how to love. At least, mine did.  Mothers: Goddesses in Disguise! by Vidya Chetan I can't remember much of my childhood, as I grow those days are forgotten, ...