Intimate Truths by Kahlil Gibran

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.

~ Kahlil Gibran ~

Art by Janice Van Kronkhite

Crossroads: Second half of Life

“The second half of my life will be black to the white rind of the old and fading moon. The second half of my life will be water over the cracked floor of these desert years. I will land on my feet this time, knowing at least two languages and who my friends are. I will dress for the occasion, and my hair shall be whatever color I please.Everyone will go on celebrating the old birthday, counting the years as usual, but I will count myself new from this inception, this imprint of my own desire.
The second half of my life will be swift, past leaning fenceposts, a gravel shoulder, asphalt tickets, the beckon of open road. The second half of my life will be wide-eyed, fingers shifting through fine sands, arms loose at my sides, wandering feet. There will be new dreams every night, and the drapes will never be closed. I will toss my string of keys into a deep well and old letters into the grate.
The second half of my life will be icebreaking up on the river, rainsoaking the fields, a handheld out, a fire,and smoke goingupward, always up.”Joyce Sutphen – Crossroads.
Sandra Bierman

Oh Sweet Soul by Matt Kahn

Source: Matt KahnTo round out today’s day of poetry, I’m sharing one I wrote years’ ago as my open letter to the spiritual ego. Both the one I faced in myself and in others. Its incredible how relevant it is in today’s current landscape. May we all learn to lead with love. Connecting instead of correcting. Please enjoy:  

Oh Sweet Soul  Oh sweet soul, who’s learned so muchYour triggers ignited through the words you clutchRehearsals are done, your performance is setTo overemphasize what you’re meant to forgetHow much you’ve survived, you’ve come so farBut correcting others is not who you areYou’re desperate to feed a world with no bowlPlease open your eyes – oh sweet soul Oh sweet soul, who can’t see pastEach aha moment that cannot lastYou’re not in charge of what needs to be knownBut here to inspire throughout actions shownInsight was gathered, you’ve become well-equippedTo notice new patterns, while control still grippedYou’ll encounter so many throughout fate’s playAnd fight for the chance to have your sayIs projecting your ideas a part of the goal?Please think again – oh sweet soul Oh sweet soul, why do you suggestYour concepts to those who act as your testYou’ve looked within and found the DivineClarity kindled, but you’re calling it “Mine”And now you debate to correct who you seeNot seeing your shadow – a spiritual “me”It’s not liberation till you’re free of the thoughtThat forces you to speak just to see where you’re caughtYou say ‘all is one’ like a truth no one knewAnd if there’s only one – who are you speaking to?Intentions are so pure, while blinded by a roleCorrecting all your critics – oh sweet soul Oh sweet soul, it’s time to open upAnd bring forth the love that overflows your cupThere’s much to consider and many to embraceBut no one to correct – no matter who you faceI welcome every judgment, regardless how unclearTo see the one I’m facing and know that God is hereSilence makes one humble and humble helps you seeSince there’s only one, we’re free to disagreeI welcome each projection, as if you know my pathYou need it more than I do to validate your wrathYou’re free to misperceive me and have the final wordI thank you for the practice to let your voice be heardWhy hide from your freedom, just let it takes its tollAnd break apart your certainty – oh sweet soul Oh sweet soul, may you come to realizeYou need not affirm what another one deniesIn a world of so much wisdom, there’s no end to what is trueYou’re free to do your dance and watch what captures youRepeating every concept, as if it meant a thingPerformance never-ending for those who pull your stringAnd even as I say this, you’ll turn it back on meAs if the truth is hidden and only you can seeI love the light within you, thank God it can’t preventA chance to love you deeper despite the package sentPoint out every fragment and misperceive the wholeYour innocence respected – oh sweet soul  Matt Kahn

Amnesia

“We locked up our wisdom into our bones
And swallowed the keys
They sank in our rivers of blood
And we forgot the maps
Because we had to forget the mysteries
To keep them safe.
We wove our hair into brooms
And swept over our paths
And then burned the earth with our rage
We didn’t teach our children
It was the only way to protect them,
we thought
But in them we planted seeds, seeds and keys
And told them stories and riddles and songs
With no roots, just tangled threads
That would take years to unwind
Just enough time
For the rains to fall again
and put out the fires
For the dams to break
For the rivers to flood
For the paths
to be walked again
For the soil to breathe
And as the old bones crumble
Deep beneath the rubble
We find we’ve always had the keys
Our stories and our maps
Our paths are revealed to some
And the seeds grow again
The threads are unspun
And woven again”
~ Amara Bronwyn Hollow Bones

Shaman Spider Woman by Susan Seddon Boulet

Release & Rise

Stop blaming yourself for what happened
It wasn’t your fault
Sometimes bad things just happen
To good hearts
To good people
For reasons we can’t explain
And maybe we will never understand

I won’t insult you by calling it God’s will
Or saying it’s part of the divine plan
It’s not my place
But here’s what I know
You were never meant to carry this pain in your heart
And wear it on your beautiful face

Sometimes hearts get broken
Dreams get stolen
But babe, you are so far from broken

It isn’t your fault
Take a deep breath
Release the guilt
The blame
The shame

You’re more than what happened – what you’ve been through
This pain you’re clinging onto
and taking everywhere with you
It’s eating away at your soul
You deserve so much more than this my dear

You’ve survived
And now it’s time for you to thrive
This isn’t your whole story
It was just a painful chapter
It’s time to move on to the next one

So let it all go
It’s so heavy my love
Lay it down
Release every tear

A brighter future is on the horizon
You’re not alone
The angels are always near
And if you need me, I’ll be here

✒️ Sara Joon

Resurrection of Goddess Mother

”I have come to resurrect
the Goddess.

She wasn’t crucified
but she was torn apart.
Forced to bleed and breed against her will,
I can hear her heart beating
even still.

I have come to resurrect
the Queen,
whose throne was thrown
into the sea.
Deep below the blue green,
those waves of triumph gone unseen.

I have come to resurrect
the Girl,
told to hide the light in her eyes
And fire in her soul.
Bought and sold for gold,
though her voice remains,
untamed and bold.

I have come to resurrect
the Mother.

Wise lines around her eyes
from all the smiles and cries,
wondering if her newborn daughter
would ever look upon her father.

I have come to resurrect
the Goddess.
She wasn’t crucified
but she was torn apart.
She will rise from beneath
the great stones,
skin and bones,
with light in her eyes and a flaming heart.

Jewels Ahl

Painting by Elisabeth Slettnes

Ode to Kali Ma , Goddess Oceana

Ode to Kali Ma of the Feminine Rising on Earth

Into the swamp goes the chaos of emotional pain as old patterns unwind and blow up.

Into the swamp pours the decades devoured by the ferocious beast of dysfunctional relating, dating back generations that spilled out into my beautiful new lifetime and ate it up alive while I watched in horror.

Into the swamp I heave feminine oppression and submission.

Into the swamp goes the apologetic, guilt ridden psychological habit of women, myself included.

Into the swamp I leave an entire lifetime of wasted genius, multiplied across the entire earth as women were swallowed up in the patriarchal sewage that is our recent and current humanity.

I claim this purging for myself, I claim this for all women, I claim this for all children, I claim this for all men…

I release into the swamp this inherited abscess that seemingly knows no end and yet I will end it.

Into the swamp I grieve the beauty that might have been, now tattered in muddy shreds at the bottom of the stench.

Into the swamp I rage the holy hellfire of infinitely endless labor it takes for a single woman to stand the fuck up in the face of this outrageous beating down.

I rage at the machine of pain, the magnitude of the monster, the mother-fucking genius of a contrived concentration camp we live in located on earth.

I rage at the way it outwits us from the inside out.

I am building an army of leaders out of this glorious rage fire, as I count the severed wits of women worldwide and tally up this fucking scorecard.

Into the swamp I rage that this is the final purging.

Right here.

Right now.

With every breath from this moment until I breathe my dying exhale, I stand with sword flashing in the air for every single drop of the Feminine Rising.

SO BE IT.

~ Goddess Oceana