An immense psychospiritual drought withers all of the land. The world outside may be (at least in part) a reflection of within. Just now as I write, I remember a quote that was psychically-implanted long ago: “Think as if your every thought were etched in fire upon the sky for all and everything to see. For so, in truth, it is.” Do I dare to bring to consciousness the tyrants, insurrectionists, enablers, entitled ones, perpetual victims, indoctrinated conformists, know-it-alls, or heartless ones that are hidden (or maybe not so hidden) in my manner of presence, in my psychic habits, in my way of being in the world?
Over here. I found them. Here they are.
Of course it’s not enough to shudder with recognition when we encounter the deplorable in ourselves; of course it’s not sufficient to only Om for the world. But perhaps when we find the top-secret chambers where the tyrants, victims, conformists and others hide, we might hear and feel the tremendous grief cry that we share with all of those who are broken, lost, betrayed, oppressed, repressed, and trying to survive in worn-out systems that depend on pitting human beings against each other. From that recognition, we might find a way toward common ground.
~Geneen Marie Haugen
you called yourself home. again.
inquiry for today~ what are the gifts under winter’s haze?
Someone leans near
And sees the salt your eyes have shed.
You wait, longing to hear
Words of reason, love or play
To lash or lull you toward the hollow day.
Silence kneads your fear
Of crumbled star-ash sifting down
Clouding the rooms here, here.
You shore up your heart to run. To stay.
But no sign or design marks the narrow way.
Then on your skin a breath caresses
The salt your eyes have shed.
And you remember a call clear, so clear
“You will never die again.”
Once more you know
You will never die again.