Prayers & Prose For Peace

Trees Dancing

You Whose Hands Hold Captive the Stars

Hidden power stirring in the heart of matter,
glowing centre in which the unnumbered strands
of the manifold are knit together; strength inexorable
as the world and warm as life; you whose brow is of snow,
whose eyes are of fire, whose feet are more dazzling
than gold poured from the furnace; you whose hands
hold captive the stars; you, the first and the last,
the living, the dead, the re-born; you who gather up
in your superabundant oneness every delight,
every taste, every energy, every phase of existence,
to you my being cries out with a longing
as vast as the universe.

From The Divine Milieu by Pierre Teilhard de Chardin
thanks to Ted Welch

Girl Dancing 575 277px

In Deepened Dance

We are a collective
A well woven tapestry of loves light
Each of us a living, breathing, thread
Born of mystery and magic
To make the whole of everything sing
Through living our sheer beauty way

What is this INDEPENDENCE thing?
As we “deepen our dance” we cultivate it
As we deepen our path, waking our true colors
We gift our radiant light to the fabric of all that is

Our independence is our very gift
Our independence is our blossoming into our undeniable us-ness
To be independent is to have courage,
To take to heart that we effect the whole

We dance as our gift
To the place we hold in the family of things

“In Deepened Dance” day is here
An opportunity to honor our radiant path
We give over to our dance with creation
In service of all that is
May we step onto the dance floor
lucid and blooming
Knowing that we make a difference

Loving us all,
courtesy Malama ManyGifts

Schooner 566 239px


Each day
I lay out life in front of me,
Making a map with no continents,
No oceans, nothing known.

There lie uncharted realms
Where I land
On foreign shores
I did not set out for,
Have no knowledge of.

Still, they look familiar:
Shadows pass,
Evoking greater good.
Such lands live
In hearts alone, where hope
Forms coves;
Tides whispering.

And I wish I could hold
The good hopes of all those worlds
In both hands, lovingly
And shape them true, to make them real
In every kingdom —
On maps I cannot see,
With nothing on them.

—Lee van Laer

Dress Child Dancer Painting 566 239px

Solitude, Solitary, Lone, Alone, Apart

Solitude, Solitary, Lone, Alone, Apart
Many words, the same thing.

Do not confuse or assume Loneliness.

The Calling mandates these things:
Solitude to do the work, solitary because no one else can. Lone because each is unique.
Alone, because no other can understand.
And Apart because no other feels “comfortable” with this.

Apart, Alone, Lone, Solitary, Solitude.
Left to find solace in the Work
And What Moves—Moves.

Still Standing. In the Light.

The Woman I Am

The Woman I Am

The woman I am becoming
Is here, whether I am ready or not.

Like a tree,
These things continue to grow
Whether we are present to witness, or not.
Here, now, I can see where this limb has grown
Unchecked and wild.
And this other, here, no longer bears fruit
But in spite of the boring worms and blackened bark
Continues to live.

The woman that I am becoming is here.
She sneaks a scarf of blue sky
Around my neck on the way out the door.
A sprig of Cedar somehow made its way
Into my hair
The song of wrens adorns my ears
And suddenly I want to wear
My red dress
For no reason at all.

The woman I am becoming is here
I stretch back my shoulders
And find an ache
From where she has been trying
To open my ribs.

She put eggs in my bed
So that I unwittingly
Warm the plans
That she is hatching

She reads the unopened books
That sit on my bedside table
She makes note
Of the new spring nettles
That would feed my blood

My afternoon, slotted for work,
Is suddenly taken up
with repotting all my plants
In the sunshine.

The woman I am becoming
Took me out into the meadow
To stare at the moon.
I didn’t even notice
That my feet had gotten soaking wet

— Jennifer Hawke

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