A Return to Self, Isis Speaks

If you’ve been reading my blog, you know that Isis (www.birthwithcare.com) is my best friend, and Spirit sister.  

We’ve journeyed together and apart since we were eleven and twelve.  She is an August born Virgo; a beautiful perfectionist who has battled her mind and championed Self-Worth in her search for balance and decadent pleasure, striving to Be -  fully in her body.  Isis is a grounding force in my life.  Her energy moves through the earth breathing life into women’s issues as a Labour Doula, Yoga teacher who holds a degree in Psychology, mother, daughter, sister and wife.  To me, she is Goddess personified.

Her wish for humanity is my wish, her words of Self-Worth are my words, so today, Isis speaks…

What is your heart’s longing – really?  When is the last time you felt at home in your body?

Like many young women, I spent most of adolescence obsessing over my body.  I carefully controlled my food intake and exercised always with the intention to lose weight (Oh, as an aside – I weighed 105 lbs!).  I felt fat every day and scrutinized every inch of my body to determine if the lunch I ate had instantly made me fat.  Yes, it hurt, and the more it hurt, the more I obsessed and controlled.

I slowly began to reclaim every woman’s right to experience pleasure in her body.  How many of us were told not to be provocative?  I was, and consequently, I had to dance, breathe and move my way through feelings of shame, self-hatred and anger.  I experimented with yoga, dancing, writing, singing, drumming and I realized that when I was expressing myself, I felt FREE!   For that time, I felt beautiful and alive and if I kept doing it, the feeling continued.

I soon dedicated my life to listening to cues in my body that most people treat as nuisances or even ignore.  I listened and my body became my teacher.  Now, I can honestly say that I love myself.  My body is what it is – larger, rounder, but a downright beautiful embodiment of what it means to be a woman.

I have always been a super-achiever, or at least I was constantly trying to be a super-achiever, which is basically the same thing.  As women, we live in a world that values results over relationships, outcomes over process, intellect over heart.  We have come a long way and we have made tremendous contributions to the planet, yet many of us feel that we are only as good as our most recent achievement or compliment.  Every day, I speak to women who yearn for balance.  We don’t need to give up feeling powerful and stop achieving things, but we do want to feel balanced and whole.

Consider your homecoming.  Mine was the birth of my children – especially my second child.  Her birth went opposite to everything I thought it should, but it forced me to dig deep and understand my worth outside of a ‘successful’ birth.  Babies become our teachers from the moment they prepare to be born.  We learn to surrender.  We learn who we really are; if we can be open to letting the experience change us and we have good non-judgemental support. 

Learn to listen to your children with new ears.

Understand how you really feel about your life, daily interactions and your desires.

Learn to listen to your inner voice...and feel free in your body.

Thank you for reading, listening and Being,

Isis

Continued on Thursday September 1^st, 2011

Until then, I remain yours,

Lesley

Hallelujah Heartist

Orbs

Randomly taking photos in my little apartment yesterday, I came across orbs.

What are orbs?  The general consensus is that they are Spirit energy.  Nature spirits, entities such as loved ones who have passed and possibly guides.  

My first encounter with orbs occurred this past May at the Feathers Retreat in Bayfield ON, during a little ghost hunt in a local home built in late 1800's, now a spa.  All three teams came across orbs in the garden.

I’ve included some apartment photos here.  Feel free to zoom in and study. 

If one agrees that these are Spirit orbs - energy, one might then ask bigger questions.  Questions like, does life go on after death?  Did Spirit exist before life?  What purpose does it have for existing?  Where did it come from?  Where do we come from?  What is out there, unseen, due to our dimension?  Yes, it’s about dimension.  We live in the third dimension and so we’re limited in many ways to this perspective.  With reference to Power, the idea is to use it in such a way that we move beyond this scope to see what is really out there. 

Take note of the orbs' colour, shape and pattern.  Many appear to have double rings as well as a nucleus.  Look to the carpet, the wall and the ceiling.  The area I focused on is the corner where our dog Daisy has her pen.  The orbs seem to like this area.  Moreover, I think they like Daisy.  

Enjoy...not all unseen is Goliath.

Continued on Tuesday August 30^th, 2011

Until then, I remain yours,

Lesley

Hallelujah Heartist

No Sound

I wish these words were mine

Instead they belong to me

Some quiet child inside

Fading, unseen

The cave is warm and small

The stars are painted here

Someday I’ll feel my worth

Someday near

Sit with me a while

I’ll even let you speak

You’ll want to say your piece

Soon

No warrior I know is weak

           

            Lay with me tonight

            The sky is painted here

            I love myself

I promise

            I’ve painted every tear

           

There is no sound

           

I remain yours,

Lesley

Hallelujah Heartist

What Else Is There?

When I first heard this song, it felt spacey to me - I felt I understood it.  The first thing I thought of was posting it here, sharing it with you.  I’ve listened to it over and over again.  It still feels embryonic to me.  Take the time to hear it, watch it.  As with all art, it’s meant to induce questions and illicit feelings, perhaps even satisfy a chord within you, as it has with me.

I've shared my pain, my love, exercised my demons and expressed some thoughts on concepts (though there are still a few to cover, I'm not sure if I'll touch on them or not - I'll play it by feel). 

I've hoped you've travelled with me, and I think you have; Thank You.  I was hoping this endeavour would be a bit more interactive, but you, like me, are likely selective and introverted by nature.  I can respect that.  I wish you'd use your voice now and then though - share it with me, it wouldn't feel so lonely.  I wouldn't feel so alone in this place.  I wish you were here singing me a song, reading a poem or just watching the stars with me.  All Warriors need rest, maybe we can watch the storm go by, together. 

Lyrics below.

What Else Is There? By Röyksopp (Röyksopp)

It was me on that road
But you couldn't see me
Too many lights out, but nowhere near here

It was me on that road
Still you couldn't see me
And then flashlights and explosions

Roads end getting nearer
We cover distance but not together

I am the storm I am the wonder
And the flashlights nightmares
And sudden explosions

I don't know what more to ask for
I was given just one wish

It's about you and the sun
A morning run
The story of my maker
What I have and what I ache for

I've got a golden ear
I cut and I spear
And what else is there

Roads and getting nearer
We cover distance still not together

If I am the storm if I am the wonder
Will I have a flashlights nightmares
And sudden explosions

There's no room where I can go and
You've got secrets too

I don't know what more to ask for
I was given just one wish

It was me on that road
But you couldn't see me
Too many lights out, but nowhere near here

It was me on that road
Still you couldn't see me
And then flashlights and explosions

Roads end getting nearer
We cover distance but not together

I am the storm I am the wonder
And the flashlights nightmares
And sudden explosions

I don't know what more to ask for
I was given just one wish

It's about you and the sun
A morning run
The story of my maker
What I have and what I ache for

I've got a golden ear
I cut and I spear
And what else is there

Roads and getting nearer
We cover distance still not together

If I am the storm if I am the wonder
Will I have a flashlights nightmares
And sudden explosions

There's no room where I can go and
You've got secrets too

I don't know what more to ask for
I was given just one wish

Continued on Friday August 26th, 2011

Until then, I remain yours,

Lesley

Hallelujah Heartist

Midnight in the Garden

Darkness has set; the moon has risen though barely visible through merging trees entangled in the sky.  The Garden is silent but for the calls of love.  I hear it, somewhere near, water flows…Life.

Not all rest this night, predators wakefully hunt, their prey peacefully asleep.  How different am I from those who would hurt you?  I keep my distance and watch. 

If I had my way, I would join you; let the night trance me just as you have, find a way to make you notice me.  But no, I’m unworthy.  Unworthy, but I can’t help my want.

If you weren’t so repulsed by me, I’d take you in my arms, hold you, dance you silently with the stars.  The cool night would be no match for my warm breath bathing your neck.  What would you do?  Would you pull away and leave me for good?  Tear off through the trees?  I’d never see you again.  You’d feel safe watching from afar, love would have no chance.

Would you respond with the heavy heave of your chest, as you strove to catch breath?  Mine, already taken by you.  Would you let me then, brush my lips against your ear?  Crush you gently - draw you near, my want easily becoming a need.  Would your body concede?  Would you allow…my ache to enter you?

If you wanted me, I’d glide my lips across yours, satisfy my yearning.  I’d express my plea and kiss you with the realization of a prayer answered, held steadfast in my grasp.  Emotions set free in that one moment, would you, my earth, welcome me?

Kissing you, I guide our bodies against a tree, large, wide, and strong.  I pull away to see your face in the dark.  This won’t do.  I take your hand, navigate to the river’s edge, the moon is bright here.  Yes, I can see you now.  The rush of the water, it mimics my desire.

I gaze at you.  Your eyes held me from the beginning.  I don’t fully understand their meaning but I feel them, is this enough?  ‘You’re beautiful’ my voice is low, quiet.  You look petrified.  Have I hurt you?  I can’t tell.  I wish you’d say something.  I lean in, my lips find yours and we kiss.  It’s deep, slow, telling.  My lips move down your neck.  My predatory nature surfaces, I grind my mouth against your veins.  Suck, press my mouth into you, away from you, into you.  It’s the life that runs through you that excites me; the sensation, the thought of consuming you, the deepest part of you.  I feel you relax in my arms.  You moan.  ‘Stay with me’ I whisper, you remain close as I guide you down to ground.

You take my face in your hands and kiss me voraciously.  I respond.  Slip a hand up your shirt, find my way up your soft back and undo your bra.  You take off your shirt, toss both items aside.  Your breasts respond to the cool river air.  I cover them with my hands, melt at their feel.  I bend down, devour them gently…how I need you.

I reach for your shirt, set it neatly beneath you before laying you down.  You can watch the stars while I unzip your jeans, slowly pull them off.  I look back to you.  ‘May I?’   You nod and I remove the thin cloth separating us.  I kiss the inside of your thighs, massage your legs and trail back to your breasts. 

I look into your eyes, I still can’t tell anything. ‘What?’ You ask, I shake my head, nothing.  Will you forget me in the morning?  I push away the thought and kiss you.

I remove my clothing, lay bare atop your warm form.  Our breasts touch, I ignite, moisten.  I rub my body against you.  Pulling away, I find rest near your legs at the centre between your thighs.  I tuck my hands beneath you, you’re wet, dripping.  I move in, lap lightly your taste, you're sweet.  I lovingly nip, tug, worship.  Flattening my tongue, I lick up, stroke after stroke, before sliding it inside in search of your centre.  My centre is here, within you. 

You moan, I pull away, suck your body on my way up to your lips. Slipping an arm beneath your back, I cradle you.  You move into me, my hips grind gently between your legs.  I guide your thigh on my leg, you open, I slip a finger in.  ’Ahh...'  I exhale your name slowly.  I love your name…Iove... I throw my thought away, tonight is likely all I’ll have.  My finger moves in deeper, my hand firm against your wetness.  I find your ecstasy…finger you there.  My body tightens against you; I want you to cum for me.  Moving your body demandingly, you moan.  Yes, moan loudly, I need to hear you.  My lips seek your tongue, suckle it lightly.  My body moves against yours.  Surrendering my primal Self, I cling to you - desperately kiss you before I shatter in the ecstasy of your love.  You grip me, tremble, did you shatter in mine?  I don’t want to leave you but I slip my hand out, move down to replace it with my mouth.  I drink you, all of you.

I move back up to rest by you.  I search your face.  I still don’t know what you think of me.  I lean up, grab our clothes and cover you with them.  The moon has moved, its glow is directly above. You look even more beautiful in its full light. Stillness, you say nothing.  I break the silence, ‘sleep?’  You nod.  I lift my head, kiss your neck, your breasts and your lips.  You move in, I whisper ‘goodnight.’  I feel your breath on my neck, the stars witness this dream, it is you and I in this place.  If I die this night, this will be all I remember and it'll be enough. 

Continued on Wednesday August 24th, 2011

Until then, I remain yours,

Lesley

Hallelujah Heartist

you are forgiven

READER DISCRETION ADVISED:  This entry contains cussing, anger and strong opinions.  If you choose to stop reading, I thank you for dropping in.         

On Twitter, Anne Rice, excellent American Author famous for her Vampire Chronicles, tweeted a link of an article from a CNN belief blog. 

The story is about Pope Benedict XVI extending authority to Madrid Priests allowing them to absolve the sin of abortion in women who wish it, thereby lifting their current status of excommunication for this sin.  The title made me angry.  I simmered through the entire article.  This obviously struck a chord in me.

Isis, my best friend whom I’ve known more than half my life, is a Labour Doula.  The topic of abortion has never been one we’ve discussed for very long.  It’s not that our personal views are opposing per say, but her primary role as a Doula is as a witness of Life.  We're best friends with contradicting roles on our journey; Isis is a witness of Life, while I am a witness of Death (more on this another time).  Because I love and support Isis, her passion is also my passion.  Consequently, I know a few things about birth and am aware of women’s issues from a Doula’s perspective. 

The reason I mention Isis, is so you know that while my temperament can be a little hot, the air blowing in this entry, isn’t.  It is of course, still, only my opinion.

As I read the article, certain phrases came to me instantly.  The first to echo in my head was, fuck you if you think I need absolving for having an abortion.  The second was, who the fuck are you to judge me, that you would absolve me?  The third being, why the fuck do these women care?

Regarding my first and second reactions: It’s about control and Power.

The church seems to think it’s about Life, it’s not.  It's about me.  If I decide to have an abortion, I will.  If I decide to have a baby, I will.  If I want to tattoo myself, get piercings – anything, it’s my choice to do so.  What makes you think you can decide anything for me, including having a baby?  Is it that you’re a priest who owns a cock and you therefore can only fuck and so this makes it okay?  You don’t have to worry about excommunication for the rape of children, women and fuck – man, because luckily you’re not a woman who can get pregnant, or the simple sinner who needs absolving.  This makes you naturally superior?   Hey, I just remembered something...Mary was the one who gave birth to Jesus, right?  Hmm, let’s extend this thought for a moment…if all birth is through woman, and Adam was the first man, doesn't that make God a woman?  So you, a man, offer me absolution?  Yeah, I don’t think so.

If my father impregnated me, the first fucking thing I would do is abort it.  Would I be happy about it?  No.  I’d be angry I was put in that position to begin with.  Would that stop me?  No.  In spiritual circles the general consensus is that the Spirit enters the body at the moment of the baby’s first breath, not conception.  The Spirit does occupy the growing foetus, merging its energetic code with the baby’s physical DNA.  Spirit moves in and out (on rare occasions, inhabits the foetus indefinitely).  This is theorectical of course.  Still, do you think I’d allow a child into the world that might eventually have to live with the knowledge that they are a rape-baby?  No. 

Zealots are out of their minds if they think they have any right to my body.  I’ve been sexually molested, don’t tell me what’s right or wrong because you holier-than-thou attitudes don’t know shit. 

Forgiveness has to do with Self-Love not self-hate, so don't try to guilt me.

Lastly, why do these women care?  I don’t think any right-minded individual enjoys taking life or participating in its subtle cruelty.  Do the words, ‘you are forgiven’ truly hold power even while uttered by man?  I rather a woman hear these words and heal herself of hate than let it eat away at her very Being.  Some people need to hear it.  I respect that.  

Do I wish these women felt whole in and of themselves despite their decision, whether regretful or not?  Yes.  I’d prefer these women realize how strong they are instead of how weak they feel, but I understand.  None of us are exempt; none of us have been strong every moment of our lives.  We all need someone to lean on, to tell us it'll be okay.  ‘You are forgiven’ can be just as strong as ‘I’m sorry’ even if we don’t agree with the reasons why.  If all this facilitates healing, then arrogance has achieved a useful purpose.

Continued on Monday August 22nd, 2011

Until then, I remain yours,

Lesley

Hallelujah Heartist

At least...

As a child I was arrogant, self-righteous at times, privileged to have God as my father.  I had disowned my parents around the age of five when I came to my own realization that I was smarter than them.  I suppose all children go through this phase, but I’m unsure, I can only speak for myself in this respect. 

Where did it come from?  Gemini was so respectful, obedient.  I was routinely hit or ‘put in my place’ but it didn’t change my attitude.  My parents often vocalized their frustration; wondered why I was belligerent, unruly, and uncompromising with them.  It’s true - I completely ignored everything they said or expected of me.

Let’s go back to the age of five...

One sunny day standing outside our church, my parents instructed me and Gemini to wait for them after catechism, ‘right here.’   They reinforced, ‘stay here - don’t leave.’  Catechism ended, the gate to the church basement locked, as did the remaining entrance to the church.  Facing the main street, we waited as we were told.  There in plain view we were curiously eyed by passing adults, two children clearly unattended, alone.  After a while I got tired of waiting.  I told Gemini to follow me.  Gemini regurgitated our mandate. I told her I wasn’t going to wait for someone to take me.  I walked to the street light and waited for it to turn.  Gemini followed as we crossed the intersection to the other side of the street.  We walked a few paces and stood at the bus stop and continued to wait.  Shortly after, my parents pulled up beside us and told us to get in.  They were annoyed but mostly they were amused.  They supposed that we were going to take the bus and kept asking us where we going.  They thought it was cute.  I sat there, angry.  I was livid that they left us alone, out in the open for so long.  I hotly replied in my head, ‘we weren’t going to take the bus!’  I felt disgusted at their stupidity.  It should’ve been obvious why we were waiting there.  Standing at the bus stop meant we were expected by someone, in some manner.  If we disappeared, someone would notice.  It made us complicated prey. 

That’s when I decided I was smarter than them, that my parents were mere care-takers for my real Father in heaven.  At the age of three I had the feeling I wasn’t theirs but was attached, too young to notice their human frailties, wanting to be loved and held by these people.

Let’s move a little forward…

At the age of eight I managed to get my father to sign a contract saying he'd buy us twins each a bike.  He’d been promising but nothing ever happened.  One day while he sat at the kitchen table, I presented a small piece of paper consisting of a sentence, complete with a line for his signature.  I dated it while he laughed.  Charmed, he signed it.  I folded that piece of paper and tucked it beneath a teacup in the buffet where my mother kept her good china.  Periodically I’d confirm its placement, sometimes changing its location.  A year later, to the day, I pulled out the paper and showed my father the promissory note.  He tried to negate the deal but my mother insisted he keep his promise.  Clearly defeated, he drove us to nearest Canadian Tire where he purchased two red bikes, each costing eighty-nine dollars.  There’s a commemorative photo (insert smile) floating around somewhere of me and Gemini proudly displaying our bikes while wearing our favourite Michael Jackson T-Shirt. This was a great day.  Battle won.

Growing up in my family wasn't easy, but it wasn't entirely unpleasant.  Since I couldn’t please my parents by being like Gemini (my father was a drunk, I was his child-target, I was hit no matter what) I went ahead and did as I pleased.  My father wasn’t a situation I could control, I understood that.  There’s no way they could take of me, they couldn’t take care of themselves.  I could take care of me – that’s what I did.  Whatever Lesley wanted, Lesley obtained.  If it meant getting beat, so be it, I was getting beat anyway.  If I needed money, I would steal it from my mother.  I felt they owed me, the very least, money to buy an ice-cream – a simple pleasure, since they offered me little more than shelter and food, as I saw it. 

Yes, my parents loved me as best they could.  A mother’s heart is just that, it’s pure, deep, and fierce.  But my mother was herself physically petite, emotionally fragile; needing to be needed in a way that wasn’t empowering but diminishing.  Any woman who decides to marry into a family where her future in-laws boldly state right in-front of her, ‘If she gets out of line, smack her a few, that’ll straighten her out’ is not someone who is likely to exact her own will.  Did she think they were kidding?     

Maturity, Grace, and Life have taught me humility, thankfully.  I don’t know everything and I don’t want to.  Getting paid to change office garbage bins filled with cigarette ash and coffee cups at four different companies, three times a week for several years as a teen, has contributed to this lesson. 

Ultimately I learned to do what I needed to do because those watching wouldn’t or couldn’t do it for me.  This mentality sometimes sufaces negatively as a lack of trust in others.

As a child, I observed, navigated, watched for patterns, this was how I survived. 

There are others whose lives were living nightmares.  There are still children who cry, unseen, unheard, caged in dark wet basements, unprotected by society or a kindly soul.  What do their lives mean, when no one knows they exist?  At least I screamed, at least I yelled, at least I did what I wanted.  Who will be their Voice? Who will be their Freedom?  See?  I know -  I’ve got nothing to complain about.

Continued on Saturday August 20^th, 2011

Until then, I remain yours,

Lesley

Hallelujah Heartist

The Archetypal Wheel, Know Thyself

Before I go on, I’d like to explain the previous entry. 

The painting, Open Woman, was my expression of feelings I couldn’t quite name.  The general emotion, now muddied, still lingers.

The painting is of a woman.  She is literally open at the solar plexus – Solor plexus est patefacio; her heart is there - Pectus pectoris est illic, at the opposite end.  A sacred heart is aflame.  The colours at the heart, green and pink, represent the heart chakra.  Green, the colour of healing energy, is also found at the base of the solar plexus.  Her torso is distorted; abstract, she is slightly twisted, complete with asymmetrical breasts (one much larger than the other).  The painting is not only my expression of what I couldn’t name, but also of the unseen.  Viewed upside down, you’ll discover ulterior meaning to  my emotional angst.

Sitting in my little spare room lit by a tea light and another small candle, I started with the solar plexus first.  Lately, my paintings begin as flames, this one was no different.  I had purchased a new brush that day and decided to use it.  I was half way through the painting when I understood the message.  I hope this clarifies the meaning in the event you were wondering.  Mostly, I hope that you, my consistent readers, understood the painting without explanation, because you've understood me. 

We’re going to move into the idea of spiritual psychology, stick with me okay? 

There is a great book called Sacred Contracts by Caroline Myss.  While I wish I could say I’ve read it completely, I have not.  Working with Indigo for fifteen months straight allowed me to fast track much of what is discussed in the book, bringing me directly to the experience of the Archetypal Wheel. 

What is a Sacred Contract?  Caroline Myss explains: Our words, thoughts, deeds, and visions influence our individual health just as they affect the health of everyone around us.  As vital parts of a larger, universal Spirit, we each have been put here on earth to fulfill a Sacred Contract that enhances our personal spiritual growth while contributing to the evolution of the entire global soul…A Contract is your overall relationship to your personal power and your spiritual power.  It is how you work with your energy and whom you give it to.  It is also how much you are willing to surrender to divine guidance.

The psychology part - much of this relates to Carl Jung’s theory that archetypes live in the collective unconscious, connecting us all.  It’s my belief also.  These archetypes are energies found in myths, legends and other stories.  Goliath could be out there watching but he’s definitely not part of this wheel.

The purpose of the book is to teach us how these archetypes relate to our purpose, and how to cast our own archetypal wheel, allowing us the knowledge of our strengths and challenges.  Know thyself.  The zodiac wheel is the module used.  In astrology, these archetypes are expressed through asteroids such as Lilith and Eros. 

Although the book uses supporting examples from myth, legends, religious story or documentation, I’ve found the wheel, cast as chance or divine guidance, to be extremely accurate and telling.  I’ve included my own chart here.  It was cast with Indigo, issued before this blog, before the resurgence of my art, and before any realizations made during the last year and a half. Years may pass before the complete wheel is understood.

You will see, for example, My Relationship to the World is The Warrior archetype (besides fighting Goliath, the pull to join the army after high school was extremely strong for me, I fought that also).  Coincidentally, it’s ruled by Aquarius, which is the cycle I am currently entering in my natal chart.  It makes sense to me that The Sabateur is placed in My Highest Potential, ruled by Capricorn Saturn is the planet of Life Lessons, the Teacher in the Zodiac. 

Could my androgynous feelings on sexuality be that I was born with no earth signs anchoring me one way or the other, allowing me to simply be The Shape Shifter, as indicated below? Is it not also expressed in the fluid strokes of my art? 

Archetypes are the architects of our lives.  They are the energy companions through whom we can learn to understand ourselves.  These psychological, emotional patterns – how we live and whom we love – can lead us to a profound understanding of our purpose.

Sacred Contracts by Caroline Myss

Continued on Thursday August 18^th, 2011

Until then, I remain yours,

Lesley

Hallelujah Heartist

Open Woman

Open woman

Ex profundus intus

I see it  

Solor plexus est patefacio

Pectus pectoris est illic

Want, desire

                 It is unknowing

Raw, red, bloody

It frightens me at times

                 I remove my breastplate

                 survey, review

Taste the feel

It all passes through

                 

I painted this last night (Saturday).  This is what I meant to say Friday.



Continued on Tuesday August 16^th, 2011

Until then, I remain yours,

Lesley

Hallelujah Heartist

?

I feel empty today.  You’d think something would just flow through me and I’d write, but no, it’s not happening that way.  There is no story here.

I wrote another entry prior to this but it didn’t feel right so I abandoned it.  I don’t plan my entries.  I write whatever needs expression and go from there.  Something else needs to come out, but what?

I have a few more stories to tell yet their time hasn’t yet come.

Instead I’m writing this, who knows if I’ll be satisfied with it when I’m done.  Could this be failure, defeat?  I don’t understand what’s going on here.  I’m sorry.

This entry should’ve been a photo of some artwork; something abstract and maybe black.  Gutted emotions recorded on a large piece of wood, new and unrevealed.  It’s been on my mind for the last two weeks, to just paint. To get it out, whatever it is.  I’ve been tired and so it’s been lingering in me, unexpressed.

I might get poetic.  See?  I’m even unsure of this.  Perhaps there is nothing left to say.  Perhaps the untold stories will remain as such.  I don’t know.

I remind myself, close your eyes Lesley; feel.  I keep going back to a poem I wrote many years ago for Mary.  I don’t understand its meaning in relation to this entry but I’m going to write it out here and see what happens.  I hope you like it, I’ll never know.

My world, my home, it ceases to be,

My stars have descended, swallowed by the sea

My sky, once blue, has been betrayed to red

The wind, my Guardian, has turned up dead

The Spirits of the Trees have turned away

Unable to protect those gone astray

So deep, so true, is this space within

That its very presence has been born to sin

It reaches out, extending its domain

Unreceptive to words, repressing pain

Freedom it secures by the vortex of its being

Shrinking

Demeaning

Freedom’s Power of Seeing

Cries became lost, swept by the empty

Unheard went Love, taken by the angry

And here I am left to ponder alone

How all were swallowed, blood and stone

How I had beaten, this blackness of sea

And shamed to truth – this blackness was me

With tears my head fell limp to my hands

It was then that I heard above the sands

A sound that hummed so gentle and free

I wept at its song, for it was loving me

The courage I needed, though did not deserve

Was given to me by this loving reserve

Slowly I lifted my eyes to see

What colouring my blackened me

There above was an angel of kings

Drawing me near to its outstretched wings

There I lay, embraced by peace

My world left blackness within its fleece

It cradled me safe, gently stroked my pain

Whispering a promise to visit again

It was then that my eyes, opened by grace

Laid their soul upon your face

Could this be sadness I’m feeling?  Yes, I think it is.  It feels clearer now, it is sadness.

I’m sad.  About Eden, I think.  I’m not entirely clear.  Perhaps I’m giving up, I hate doing that.  Is this resignation?    

I have to sit with this to know more.  I won’t waste your time with my deliberations.  Thank you for reading my blog today anyway.

Lesley

Hallelujah Heartist