Journey of the Heart

  My Power      by Carolyn  Chilton  Casas           —after “To Change” by James Crews              Then came the foggy morning at summer’s sad departing in what is most likely  the last third of my life when I understood  that no matter how carefully  I orchestrate my living, a lot of what happens is not  in my power to control.   What  is  completely  within my power  is to meet each situation  with kindness, with compassion for others and, of course, for myself.  Sometimes the most difficult. To let it go, as they say, to stop  chewing the cud of wishing for a different action,  another outcome.   So instead, I look at my face  in the mirror and ask,  Did you show the world you care today; was your heart  an open reservoir of love? Carolyn Chilton Casas  is a Reiki Master and teache...

  You Ask Me What a Calling Feels Like by Laura Johnson  It's irritating. A calling sounds like the beep-beep beep-beep you faintly hear in your sleep-drowsied dreams. At first you will be dimly aware of its alarming persistence, until              slowly, slowly,        maybe then with a start you'll curse the break of day. That is to say, it's unpleasant, a calling; like a fly, buzzing around in reckless circles and you can't predict when it'll laze your blasted way again. It's wild like that: a calling. Unpredictable. Supremely swat-able. It keeps you on edge- flirting by your periphery, loitering under your nose, its whispers too close for comfort.  But, it will make itself comfortable. One day. Like a charming, mysterious friend. When it saunters by you'll pour it a drink, hoping to coax it into staying, at least long enough to spill where it's been    what it's doing     where you fit in "Why...

  Winter Sunrise by Jennifer Wenn Too early for me in summer, but now it’s there, waiting. Shadowed blackberry bushes deep in slumber, squirrels not yet scrounging stray bird seed, but cardinals will soon touch down and greet the orange and rose glow stealing in off to the south, just over the cedar hedge, behind the wildly growing evergreen on the downslope and the stately sleeping oak reaching over from back and left, dangling a few stubborn leaves, the spreading blush not reaching the patio sundial but caressing the top of the little arbour and awakening here and there from the largesse of yesterday’s squall a delicate opalescence, bestowing a hushed peace, a pause between breaths, the fragile promise of light to come shimmering on the chilled zephyr whispering through the pine needles. Jennifer Wenn  is a trans-identified writer and speaker from London, Ontario. Her first poetry chapbook,  A Song of Milestones , has been published by Harmonia Press (an imprint of Beli...

  Amor Fati by Hafsa Mumtaz In the library of my raconteur heart, I highlight the word, 'experience', and  Plunge into the pond of my past, Holding the cobblestones turning them And gazing at its unruffled face, at the Satiny carpet under the waves in flux Where brushwood lies vitiating the pond, But I like the mess on the sleek mat Of patina covering the soil, slippery like A slime coverture. The mirroring palm Of the pond - a panorama of clouds Scudding and melting into a fire rainbow Of the moments stored in the vault of time. I see my faults searching for a hideout In these colors fighting each other. I strew on them the scraps of acumen That calls these bits of past I learn  Plenty from, 'My mentor'. Hafsa Mumtaz,   aged 22, is an emerging Muslim poet from Pakistan, and a graduate of English Language and Literature. Her poetry has been published in  Visual Verse ,  The Rising Phoenix Review ,   Women’s Spiritual Poetry ,  The New Verse News ,...

  Autumn by Joy Sheridan I feel them all – my dreams Like Autumn leaves leaving September On a soft-scented drift A memory of summer. I feel them all – my dreams Where love has gone, it does not mean That an expelling has meant an ending, Merely a change. Love can never ever die – should that Heaven forbid the thought, be Then there would be no more, And no more would you hear these words As I pronounce them. I feel them all – my flames, my rosebuds, My daisies, my hyacinths, my tiger lilies, My gentle weeping snowdrops, my daffodils, My white lilies – I feel them all. My flames – lighting the high reaches On those other planes,  Where the light of Heaven is the light of day And in the night, when the stars are at play I feel them even deeper Through that blue-black cloak Of Perfect Love Like mists these fingertips  Will trace their forms. Their names, their lovely smiles Until we meet again . . . Until we meet again . . . (October 8th, 1985) Photography by Daniel Krakan ...

These past few months have been filled with change for me. After a long struggle with his health, I lost my dear husband, my best friend of 40 years. He was a strong and spiritual man, and even on his worse day saw the glass as half full. Knowing that inspires me each and every day to do the same. He told me once that I had an angel “sitting on my shoulder.” If I didn’t feel it then, I do more than ever now. For the past 10 years I have worked in a healthcare and rehab setting with amazing people who support me and lift me every day, and did the same for my husband the many times he was in their care. But recently, without even realizing I was even searching for a change, I had an offer come to me that I could not refuse. I will still be in healthcare, in a different setting closer to home. In my heart I felt both urgency and need to accept this offer. I’m sure it is the “angel on my shoulder” that led me here. This will be a big change for me, but I carry the memories and friendships ...

  How to be in Love with the World By Carolyn Chilton Casas                Breathe in, knowing we are made of all this… , “Eagle Poem” by Joy Harjo       It helps to start with a curious mind. Then, lace up your hiking shoes and take to the temple of the hills. Gaze anew at the landscape as if  you had just flown in from Uzbekistan.  You know, the way new arrivals  see everything beautiful  for the first time.   Breathe in the wafting scent  of sage, flora’s hallmark fragrance. Pause to bow down to  tiny yellow flowers at your feet. Tilt your head back to scan  for hawk nests in the open palms        of lofty eucalyptus branches. Soften your ears to a songbird  answering his love’s call  from the opposite ridge.   See how you are a perfect piece of it all. See how you can say yes to being the lens through which a f...

  Even the Ocean by Yina Rojas No one said  they were sorry  for the things that happened to me,  They guilted me for how I reacted.  I pushed it all down, with a gulp of water, with years of tears. But even the ocean caves-in and allows the storm to pass.  It waits for the tide to settle with grace and patience.  I bite my salty lips,  get up and keep going, waiting for the chaos to settle, hoping for patience and grace  to liberate me.  Yina Rojas:    Life and love enthusiastic, Yina  uses life experiences to share with the world through her writings. Her writings are anywhere from traditional poetry to free verses with a punch, right where you need it. She has been writing for as long as she remembers and continues to do so because ‘when you appreciate what life has to offer every day, one can find inspiration in the small things.’ Connect with her via   Threaded by Rojas   on Facebook,  Instagram ,...

  A Leaf by Ana Lisa de Jong In the universe there is a small leaf floating. It might seem alone amongst the myriad of stars, the dark expanse, the circling solar winds. But on the leaf's surface is a small world floating. Minuscule and intricate,  a little universe in a nutshell. And in this minute universe there are countless forests leading back,  path upon path into eternity. And many more leaves than there are trees.  And each leaf afloat  upon the autumn gusts, a singular world enclosed,  and encircled too by solar winds  and planets,  and stars bright as pin pricks,  luminous  in the darkness. Yes, in this universe within a universe,  within a revolving eternity, there is a small leaf floating, and not as alone as it seems,  the dark night  a deep bassinet,  the solar winds its gentle rocking.  As the Holy One  moving across waters, and carrying us each,  light as we are,  feathers upon God...

  Our Aunt Grace, Grace Lillian MacKenzie Callan (1916-2004), began to write poetry and musings, and to paint, as a young girl… As a young woman, she was quarantined in a hospital for an extended stay due to having contracted tuberculosis while a nursing student.  Grace found beauty in her solitude, and her art began to emerge in the form of lonely seascapes and poignant love poems. She continued to write well into her eighties. When our beloved Aunt grace passed away, cousins Valerie and Garnet found her poems and writings scattered over the three floors of her home in Victoria, British Columbia, in every nook and cranny, on paper, shopping lists, napkins—everywhere! Aunt Grace wrote that she wanted her poems published, and that her hope was: "…to help others to enjoy, or to aid in their efforts to write to others in the name of sympathy or encouragement."  This is a poem Aunt Grace wrote in the fall of 1946. She would have been delighted to know that it has been include...