Journey of the Heart

I wrote this when thinking of several things that impact my life (and I am sure many others) in positive ways... My faith rests on a principal that there is an interdepent web of all existence of which each of us is a part. I also notice daily how the spider webs outside my door preservere through winds and rain, and yet are so insignificant as to be almost invisible. Invincible, invisible connection is all around us, some connections as fine as spider silk but oh so strong. Connection by Julia W. Prentice Connection tenuous, a silver thread Strand of gossamer, barely seen, but Firmly anchored in our soul Scintillating, shimmering When we reach out The trembling cord vibrating With the hum of our life We touch other threads As they in turn vibrate Our frequencies align To double the life-force Nay, increase it exponentially Two become three Three, five, as the  Web of life pulses our Spider-silken strands We reel in our ...

This poem belongs to the Wild Woman, and to all the wild women that are waking up to their true nature... This poem belongs to the raw feminine force that is rising all over the planet, setting things on fire and creating chaos. This poems belongs to the sisters, to the women, to the wolves. This is to, and for, all of us that are reclaiming our inner wilderness and have started the brave journey back to our souls.  "Rewildered"/The Song if the Soul by  Sara Åsberg There is this thing going on; I think have found a melody that was long lost and gone. There is this strange but yet somehow familiar feeling, that has been bumping around within my veins for a while now, soothing and healing. There is this old but newfound tune, that slowly is rising up, towards the moon. It is steaming up from the depths of my inner sea, splashing around in my blood. An enchanting sound that spreads from cell to cell to cell to all around; sweeping across the connectivce tissue, ...

If I could step back in time to the day that my young husband was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer, what would I tell myself? What would I tell the busy, ambitious, independent, achievement focused, young woman who was trying to balance starting a family with career and settling into a new community?  My younger self who knew as soon as she heard the diagnosis – that the structure of her life and all her dreams were no longer. What would I say as she ran her hand over her pregnant belly and cuddled her husband and 12 month old son? I would say: Love Will Sustain You Through the Darkness by Clare Smart   Love will show up and support you.   In so many forms. Open all of your doors and windows. Welcome love in. Make space for all the colours and shades of love. The love of friends, the love of strangers, the love of your parents, your love for each other, the love of and for your children, your love of the natural world and the de...

I wrote this poem in an attempt to put the ineffable, the world of feeling, emotion and heart, into words... ...because when I have a powerful experience, it is often my great desire to find a way to translate what I can from the “wordless realms” into a language that can be shared. I very recently had this experience during an intensive, month-long yoga course, a profound and moving reconnection with my grandmother, who passed away a few years ago and whom I miss very much. To find her presence within my spirit through embodied action – to feel her quite literally in my blood, bones and cells – awakened me to a world of possibility made entirely of love. I Walk With You  by  Tammy Takahashi I remember, as a little girl, How you led us in our weekly prayers On Friday nights, the holy Sabbath, With the white head covering You crocheted with your brilliantly nurturing, strong hands That I see so much of in Your son’s my father’s, And so...

I wrote the poem, "Second Sight",  as a way of trying to put into words something that happened to me  automatically... In it, I attempt to describe the feeling of submerging myself in my own instinctive inner place of healing. The theme of motherhood ran easy adjacent to this as it became the most instinctive thing I experienced.  Second Sight by Alison Banks Let soft flesh blankets fall on sight, Withdraw from survival. Wean from physical knowing. Light pulls near to nurture.  Suckle. Swaddled in blissful protection, Curious energy chaperones while visions commence, Appreciated instinctively as tongue to teat. Illimitable sensing absorbed to the soul, Unlatch absolute. Blankets unfurl, existence awakes. Alison Banks: I am a mother of three. I studied performance after leaving school, but at nineteen I started work supporting the homeless in my local area and have continued to do this for the past fifteen yea...

Editor's Note: “Hoping to blossom into a flower,                             e very bud sits, holding its soul in its fist.”   Mahlaqa Bai Chanda (1767-1824) The ancient Bhakti traditions overflow with poetic flower metaphors that depict the relationships souls have to the Divine. They speak of the core-essence within each of us all composed of the same substance, held in a tight bud, just waiting to us to give it the nourishment it needs for its petals to unfurl. Life wants us to bloom!  But what does it mean to feel oneself blossoming? In the ancient text, the  Bhagavat Purana , a community of women called the Gopis describe this sensation of "blossoming" in beautiful Sanskrit poetry. Their verses unveil a most intimate look into this experience, which has been celebrated and revered for ages. The examples of these women are still central to the Bhakti traditions ...

This is my version of the Beatles song "All You Need is Love"...  I was also thinking about what Mother Teresa had said, that the greatest need she saw in the people she cared for was the need for love. "Heart with a View" Photographic art by the author, Janavi Held Luxuries by Janavi Held I am not speaking of disposable incomes nor of gold shaped luxuries nor the inheritance of idle time. I speak of need. Of being lost in the desert one moment from death and suddenly there is water. I speak of a child on city streets whose lonely bones protrude through sagging skin. I speak of feeding her. Because I am that animal desert lost and that girl-child with street slackened skin and longing bones I can no longer conceal by day or night. The luxury of love cannot be measured by the libertine nor by the stop-gap remedies of this incarceration. Time measures our activities and this death-l...