SILENT FLUTTERING by Rhea Ruth Aitken

As an empath there are days when all your senses are open so wide and run so deep...

On such days you can almost feel the running rivers of discontent claiming the serenity of those beautiful women you know and even those you never will. It is as though you can hear them on the wind, a chorus of feminine souls who are silently fluttering their now abandoned wings. You can feel them tentatively flexing, readying to find the courage to fly once more and feel with each precious flutter a reclaiming of wildness, authenticity and power, to find again their gypsy heart.

Silent Flutterings

Rhea-Ruth Aitken

In the still and the noise of every day and night

Under the sun and in the shadows of the moon

We hear that feint yet fervent familiar sound -

The silent fluttering of women's wings.

And in the air our senses catch

The subtle fragrance of feminine discontent,

Cries so loud they are silenced

Pain so raw it is unseen,

The agony of a tethered soul,

A gypsy heart hardly beating

In a grown up strapped down world.

Almost inaudible the wings beat

Sending out on the wise and carrying winds

The whispered screams

Of a wild woman's needs.

And the silence she keeps

Paints sad pictures on the canvas of her eyes,

Steals the joy from the song of her voice

And erases the truth from her future self.

We hear them,

Those sisterly flutterings

Of wild women stuck

Unfulfilled in once promised dreams.

We feel them

Seeking to unfurl and un-silence

Their glorious goddess wings,

To cut the chains of choices once made

And fly noisily and heart beating-ly fast

Back to their wild and wonderful selves.

And so we reach out and unite.

With hearts entwined and wings feathered

We will soar together as sisters,

Lusciously loud and freedom bound,

Rewilding, reawakening, reclaiming

Our open hearts and unfettered wings.

Rhea-Ruth Aitken: Spiritual Medium, Writer, Daughter of the Goddess and all round Creatress, I am a woman who loves to weave stories, songs and poetry, commune with the Spirit World and walk with the cycles of Mother Nature and the Moon. Having embraced the wisdom of Cronehood I now am allowing time in my life to collate and birth some of my work into the world. Spirituality and creativity are ever present passions and being a channel I use writing as a spiritual practice as well as a natural focus for healing, expression and creativity, a way of being mindful of myself as a woman, of knowing and communing with the truth of my soul. Whether for reading, writing, or ritual, words are my constant companion as I walk with the Goddess daily and follow my magical pathway. Words are magical, they can transform, promote understanding, inspire and heal. Words can paint a picture in the mind and sometimes I paint that picture onto canvas too. I love to hold sacred space for women to enjoy sisterhood, sharing and self-expression. I write for women, those beautiful sisters with whom I share my life journey. If I can touch one heart, share one word of healing or allow one woman to know herself through my work then I have accomplished my promise to Goddess to share and inspire. Find me on my website or Facebook.

~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!~

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

Journey of the Heart

Search This Blog