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Posts Tagged ‘spirituality’

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Crystal rings

under my soapy finger

like the singing bowls,

and the ribbon

of the flute.

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I follow to the Bodhi tree,

to the circles of Dante,

to Mary Magdalene

and her Lover,

to a footprint in the desert,

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and there, the chalice of Socrates,

Blake’s grain of sand,

a whirling Dervish,

the hem of a robe.

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It is all there —

even Gaia herself

is not tethered.

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Master, Master,

there are no words

on this journey,

no words at all –

hush, my Beloved,

hush.

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© 2019  Betty Hayes Albright 

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You are the beloved.

Light pumps through your veins,

breathes around your bones

in great gulps

of daring.

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You are the sacred numen,

the burning bush,

the insatiable flame

forever consummated,

but never consumed.

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(c) 2012, 2019  Betty Hayes Albright

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The time arrives

when the walls come alive

and we see

between the molecules,

the shimmer and the might –

and every barricade

becomes a door.

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(c) 2002, 2019  Betty Hayes Albright

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(Image from a copyright free site, in 2011.)

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After a little time off, I’m hoping to catch up with everyone soon!

My thoughts are with everyone who is affected by the U.S. government shutdown (directly or indirectly, as we all shall be soon).  I’m very saddened by the direction our country has taken the last two years.  This too shall pass – hopefully.

 

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We chose to climb this mountain

through old brambles, over ice

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cursing barbs that scratched our ankles

damning thorns that tore our veils,

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splitting stones that skinned our reason

as the thunder rolled our tongues.

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Now we reach the sacred fire

and our hair turns scarlet

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as we catch the embers, naked

and the circle dream awakens

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to paint balm across the valley,

bleeding light into our wounds.

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(c)  1993, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

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(An old poem, revised and dedicated to H.D. Rhoads, my mentor years ago.)

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At your center

lives a piece

of the sun

waiting since always

for stillness,

for a spark of desire

to fly inward,

to focus on a Self

larger than worlds.

Dwell there awhile

and the light

will follow you home.

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(c)  1982, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

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Photo taken in 2013

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He says she’s over the hill,

that she’s dancing

with entropy

toward the valley below

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but she hears the call

of flickers, and the chitter

of squirrels,

and she sees ahead

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lush meadows, tall trees,

and moss-covered stones

on the path

by a sapphire river.

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There, she’ll follow the scent

of her own deep roots

to a range of mountains,

their tops hidden

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in the subtleties he missed

between the lines

on her face

when e’er she smiled.

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(c)  2018  Betty Hayes Albright

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The day comes

when his totem

tumbles to the ground

and he commands silence.

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He empties his pouch

of tooth and claw,

spreads his eagle wings

and flies to the top

of the mountain,

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and with one last glance

at the ashes

and the shattering,

he sighs, and

disappears

into his own truth.

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(c)  1996, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

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