On The Eve…

15965979_10210041283460586_3407921011221966964_n.jpg

I like to walk at night in the dark so I can see the stars. They give me hope. Or, I walk in the morning well before the sun rises, before the creamsicle glow announces a new day.

In those hours I feel safe surrounded by that which I cannot see, but trust my dear beast will protect me if need arises. I want to feel the chill and be enveloped in the vast deepness and blazing silence where truth is hidden in the promise of hope. You know hope, those little twinkling lights I can only see when it’s dark.

Tonight on our walk I held a small stone to my chest, next to my heart where the energy of that swirling green chakra resides, the entry into Spirit, my Love. And I asked for all my fears deep within the darkness of my soul, all my hates that tighten my chest, all the hurts that have been hurled at me and captured – I asked that this simple stone be the chariot, the wagon, the wings to take this pain and hold it for a moment.

I walked with my mantram soothing my mind and giving time for those unwelcome guests to surround my tiny rock and attach themselves.

Under the skies sprinkled with hopes, I released the stone to Earth Mother. She will welcome that teeny piece of her back home again. She will do what she does best. Pachamama will take what no longer serves me, that which I have allowed to hold me in its grip, and she will cleanse it. Those hurts and pains and fears will become new soil in which to plant. Our sweet Mother will take them and bury them deep within her for transformation.

And in the promised spring, there will be richness to welcome new growth and life and beauty.

 
I pledge…

I will trust Spirit and give myself fully.

I will be a voice for beauty and song to fill the world with hope.

I will honor life and use my actions, everything I do, to uplift and offer more hope.

I will walk on Pachamama with grace and gentleness in gratitude for all I have been given.

I will live simply in work and play and all I do to keep my heart free and clear to receive more so I can be a watercourse for Spirit back into the world.

 

This day and everyday
may I speak impeccably.
May I work with honesty.
May I make art with a joyful heart.
May I forgive with ease and humility.
And may I love without exception.

This night and every night,
I bless you all and
all who pass this way
with peace and compassion
in great gratitude.

Munay,
Lexanne

Shards

Our writing group meets occasionally. It’s not nearly enough. Today we met to eat and catch up and laugh and revel in one another’s company surrounded by Christmas cheer. And we wrote. It was a joy. Thank you, Diane, Sandy, Dorothea, and Crystal. And always in our hearts, if not present – Niki, Sheila, and Annette.

Today we grabbed some chapter titles out of several books on the shelves surrounding us for our story starters. Five words trickled off the pages to be used as we wrote. You can see them following my story.

 

 

Shards

“Never keep the fork in the left hand while drinking water.”

“Excuse me?”

Looking down through her wing-tipped glasses, past her long pointed nose, and across the table, she bullseyed onto my left hand and repeated, “Never keep the fork in the left hand while drinking water.”

Then she returned to pick up her fork with a dainty bit of Christmas pudding placed every so politely at the tip and raised it up to her pursed lips, only to pause as they unlocked to allow the sweet to disappear.

I felt a sharp jab at my knee under the table as Connery whispered into my ear, “Stop staring.” The jab hit just right to cause enough pain to startle me. I dropped my fork and water glass onto the white dessert plate rimmed in gold and trimmed with playful green holly leaves and three teeny tiny pricks of red.

The quiet was deafening as everyone froze to stare at me. Again. Shards flew everywhere. There was a gasp out of the old lady’s locked lips, a sigh, a roll of the eyes ending with an excruciating “Humph!” while her boney long fingers settled not so delicately into her lap.

I stood. Short curtsied. And excused myself before the tears in my eyes sealed off my exit.

Instead of running upstairs and barricading myself into my room for the rest of Christmas Day, like I always do, because “God only knows what she will do next!” had become the expectation, I turned right instead of left. My quick step turned into a full out run as I made my way down the long hallway past the ornate mirrors and around the center table with lion’s claw feet balancing a Christmas tree that reached higher than my apartment ceiling. I continued across the Persian runners to the door hung heavy with evergreen boughs and chartreuse bows and gold and silver balls larger than my head. It was her kingdom. She ran it well.

Charles was not there to open the doors for me. It didn’t matter. With all my might I pulled the double doors open and ran down the icy steps across the newly snow covered drive and into the woods that lined the road into my grandmother’s estate.

I wouldn’t be missed. Everyone could now relax without me there to cause more damage. Peace would quickly descend with my exit leaving only the whistling breathing of the grand dame rising above the stilted tea sipping and gazing out the window into the crystal white jungle where freedom called everyone, most too afraid to answer. Inheritances have power, even more than howl of the wolf or the glow of the full moon or the sea blown wind as they beckoned to the souls encased behind glass and bricks and wrapped in velvet. Some ignored it completely. Others wished. I answered.

Once hidden within the trees, I stopped to look back. I touched the necklace that hung around my neck to be sure it was safe. It was a habit I formed when I first received this lucky charm. Ignoring the cold and wet snow seeping into my required lace covered slippers, my first thought was to wonder how much it cost the old woman to pay the window washers to keep all those windows clean.

They were always spotless, clear and crystalline. One of my earliest memories of summer visits at the estate were of window washers arriving early morning as the sun rose after an evening storm. It didn’t matter that an afternoon squall would again throw its tears against those rectangular eyes hoping someone would notice. No, the window washers would just stop where they were to return the next day. Not to pick up from where they left off, but at the beginning, the windows the old woman used.

I enjoyed watching them. They would laugh and joke and sing. Something seldom heard in this house. I looked forward to the thunderstorms, not only because I liked to stand on the veranda and let the rain pour over me. But I knew I would soon be in the presence of joy.

Once a window broke accidentally as they were going about their regular post-rain duty and glass shattered into the library where the old lady and I were reading.

The window washers were immediately dismissed and told to never return. She had some cruel words for them. They had put up with so much from her for so long I wondered why they ever returned at all.

I stood back holding my breath as the old lady scolded them. One of them noticed and winked as if it was all in a days work. I think he was glad to be released from the prison.

I slipped away as they were packing up their tools. She would never miss me. I was never missed, only tolerated when I was noticed. So I needn’t worry about being caught talking to the freed criminals.

“I am sorry I won’t see you again.”

The one who winked at me smiled, and held out his hand. “Open your hand and promise me to always be yourself?”

His words confused me, but I obliged.

I extended my hand, palm open, “I promise.”

He dropped a small crystal into my hand.

“It’s a glass goose. I wash windows for my father. But at night I spin glass for me.”

“Hurry up!!!” called his partner now in the drivers seat gunning the engine. “Let’s get out of here. Good-by and good riddance.”

“Promise?” He winked again and I noticed that he had one green eye and one blue eye.

“Promise.” I smiled and closed my fingers around the goose and brought it to my heart. My other grandma always told me that when I got something I loved to place it next to my heart and breath in deeply so our heartbeats would become one.

As I looked through the boughs draped with snow into the lighted windows, I reached to my heart where the crystal goose hung on a silver chair around my neck.

 

 

Our prompts:
Opening line chosen at random:
1. Oysters and other shellfish
2. Your mustache attracts baby goats
3. Backbone pie
4. Her new perfume attracts circus folk
5. Never keep the fork in the left hand while drinking water
6. Don’t let your elbows stick out like buttresses
7. A Key to Good Digestion
Words to be incorporated:
kingdom     lucky charm   window washer   jungle   knees   chartreuse

Plume.jpg

Word Incarnate

 

WollyBear2.jpg

You are not words placed in books
secured by men.
We were afraid to lose you,
so they locked you on pages,
hid you from perception.
Only they with the key
to dole you out, reveal
you through our penance.

But You came to declare
we are enough,
our Light never abandons
if only we lift the veil,
remove the rock,
feed the flicker,
listen.

Our Elemental Story lives
through our rooted Bard,
your Word Incarnate
swelling within,
Divine Revelation
directly placed into
each of us.

On this day of Light
break open your heart,
see that you are enough,
listen deeply where
Truth attends.

.
.
.

Author Notes:

Happy Solstice! Merry Christmas! Joyous Yule!

May the Light of our direct Divine Revelation shine in you.
May the Light of our rooted Bard shine out from you.
May the Light of our Truth be.

Mitákuye Oyás’iŋ ,
Lexanne

Winter Geese, the Solstice

Winter Geese.jpg

 

If I hadn’t lifted up to see,
taken my eyes from my path,
you would have passed from sight
without a hint of your glory.

I was breaking new ground,
a new snow, new for me,
my feet to hold me firm,
but you startled me.

A path was there, other
imprints to follow, guide,
iced but sure, not my size but
there to lead.

I stepped abreast,
aside the clough and rents,
into fresh snow
where no road could be discerned,
and then your call.

I understand, fear no more to
stay me within rimy fissures. I feel
your soft earth beneath powdered
snow, my eyes above to see your sun.

.
.
.
Author’s Note:

We finally had a good snowfall. Good for how snow now comes. Not as much as it use to. Dryer winters. Less cold. Weather has changed.

Yet, there is much that doesn’t change. Winter Solstice comes again and new Light re-enters. But if I am too connected to the path, the path is all I see.

I must remember to look up, especially when I am called.

My doggie, Benny, gets me outside, a lot. He now has a coat and boots and we walk in all but the coldest weather. It’s good for me, not only physically but for my soul.

I look up more. I’m less afraid to step off the beaten path. I hear our Holy One’s voice that I once ignored, or maybe, couldn’t hear…

 

May you find Light within, and release yourself to allow it to shine out.
May you give Compassion as your gift in this holy season and beyond.
May you walk the new year softly upon this Earth honoring All…
creatures, plants, rocks and stars…
for we truly are One.

Happy Solstice.

Amen. Munay. Aho.
Lexanne

Undercurrent

undercurrentphoto

Even as early winter ice petrifies,
glazing what is open to outlying sovereignty,
an undercurrent flows unceasingly.

When moon is dark, geese yet adhere to flight,
their path laid out by pricks of light,
an endless artery towards journey’s end.

As my head is cradled in night’s dream
I feel your eternal breathsound within,
your whispered comfort that I am Love.

.
.
.

Author’s Note:

In this Advent season as we move towards Winter Solstice and new birth of Light…
In this time of political uncertainty and fear…
In these days of lengthening darkness…

May you flow through your days, not fighting against,
but moving to the song of our Truth.

May you fly through the depths trusting
our Light will lead us on our journey.

May you be held up in the breath of our Holy One
and fill your lungs with the certainty of compassion.

Munay,
Lex

Gratitude…

15135926_10209538148322522_7735768375548726989_n.jpg

Dear friends,

This year has brought much sorrow, release, and loss. When one enters darkness, there, too is gift. One must let go and trust that Spirit is there. In darkness one can rest setting fear aside and settle in to listen. One learns much, if one simply allows the ego to sleep. This has been my year.

As I emerge into Light, I find myself standing on what is an open field. I see crumbled at my feet that box that has surrounded me most of my life. It was a protection, a safe place, a home where I didn’t have to do anything but follow the rules. As I stand here with the clouds, ocean, plaines, forests, mountains and sky as my box, I now understand that this is our gift, everyone’s. It is not just for those who follow one path. There are so many paths here, the abundance is staggering. I stand with all seeing how much our Beloved truly loves us.

Our centerpiece this year for our meal of thankfulness is an altar of gratitude. All the elements are represented.
A candle for fire.
Seashells for water.
Feather for air.
Seven rocks in the chakra colors for pachamama – the earth  – and our connection to her.
Flowers for the sweetness that bloom in the gardens we tend.
A dried leaf for death that even though our end day here will arrive, we will leave behind beauty as we lived our life to the fullest.
A sprig from olive trees in the open space brining peace to our table.
Beans in the candle holder for the abundance we are caretakers of here on earth. Hazelnuts to remind us, in the words of Julian of Norwich,
“All will be well,
and all manner of thing shall be well.
And the communal herb bundle into which our global and universal intentions will be blown into to be burned in our fire ceremony and sent heavenward.

May you all ring in peace today. Whether you are sitting around a table or standing on a field protecting our water. I give thanks to you all, for my life is better because of your love.

❤️❤️❤️
Munay,
Lex