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
leave us empty
heart blown open
and aching
with surrender.
Yet we care not
for it is all
we can do
to catch the next wave
and ride.
Shannon Crossman learned the hard way that untapped creative energy casts a helluva shadow, so she crafts her sanity with her hands daily. Nothing excites (or frustrates) her more than a blank page, fresh ball of yarn, or pile of foodstuffs - all waiting to be transformed into bits of deliciousness. Words are, and have always been, her way home. She is a writer, artist, technical wizard, public speaker, witch, priestess, gluten free baker, time-bender, and COO who happens to possess a degree in Transpersonal & Somatic Psychology. She's a mama and grandma to a gaggle of wild girls who make her heart happy. Shannon still believes in magic, craves the ocean like a land-locked mermaid, and dreams of a life without shoes.
~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!~
(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
leave us empty
heart blown open
and aching
with surrender.
Yet we care not
for it is all
we can do
to catch the next wave
and ride.
~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!~
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