Journey of the Heart

  Mirages by Carolyn Chilton Casas The years scroll by,  and I, not yet aware   of what I will become— only mirages at a distance,  like imagined water  in the desert,  of where I might go  and where I have been.   Continually startled  by unexpected beauty   and the sting of pain. Warm Santa Anas blow  the mist of cresting waves  away from shore, while vultures devour a seal carcass  on the shifting sand.    And still, there are days  I live as if death were not  on the nearing horizon. Carolyn Chilton Casas  is a Reiki Master and teacher. Her favorite themes to write about are awareness, healing, and the life journey. Carolyn's articles and poems have appeared in  Energy ,  Odyssey,   Reiki News Magazine, The Art of Healing, Touch,  and in other publications. You can read more of Carolyn’s work on Instagram at  mindfulpoet_  or in her first collection of poems titled  Our Shared Breath . *For submission guidelines,  click here

  What Do I Know of Holy?  by Jennifer Zechlin What do I know of Holy? I know that Holy Ground is found beneath the rocks used as pillows under the heads of desert dreamers. I know that Holy are ancient Infants born in menagerie filled stables and crumbling Kotel crevices filled with dust and prayers. Holy blinds atop mountain peaks and swirls in Jordan waters, this I know of Holy. But, I also know that Holy  is found in the bonfire's flames and the banshee's wailing cries. Holy are mantras and mandalas and thousands of tiny lamps floating down the Ganges. I know that Holy still speaks mystery through the silence of standing stones and breathes with the new bleats of lambs gambolling on Spring's verdant hills. Holy is Kashrut and Halal alike, but also in the pink-iced birthday cakes of every little girl. Holy is feasting and fasting, and standing in lines at soup kitchens and grocery stores. Holy is heard in scripture and poetry, liturgy and laments, rock ballads and drummi

Our Soul's Seeds Are Born From Divinity by Carolyn Riker If I could string each raindrop into a knitted sweater the colors would be the opals of a sunrise and the music of the sea. If I could touch each hurt and transform them into a talisman of safety the emotions would elicit the thunder of a mountain and the joy rendered in the flight of a hummer set free. If I could formulate soundwaves into a lullaby the leaves would play a melody of tiny bells and it would have the qualities of wind round and full, flowing through the trees. If I could paint with clouds, I would stand on tippy toes dipping my brush into the clever cumulous creations of course, with my imagination feeling the colors of hope and love wash over me. If I could, and I think sometimes we forget we are the magic in a raindrop’s opalescence where hurts can change into a talisman of safety and we can sing a heartfelt lullaby in any key. We can soar with our imagination bestowed from the clouds when we believe in our c