Church is poetry. Poetry is life. A life well lived.
I haven’t given up gathering resolutions. I have relinquished a resounding voice; moving on to disturb the mystery, in hopes the Spirit rises to meet us half way.
Silence is a remedy. A modern day deserted course that digs deep to uproot bitter taste and indulge in honeyed foreplay. Patience chooses to swim in the sweet aroma of (inner) peace, contentment and fortitude than muck around the endless anger of politics.
Rumi says my thoughts eloquently.
If you could get rid of yourself just once, the secret of secrets would open to you. The face of the unknown, hidden beyond the universe would appear on the mirror of your perception.
Make peace with the universe. Take joy in it. It will turn to gold. Resurrection will be now. Every moment, a new beauty.
This post probably belongs on my new blog Soul Signs. But in my inner mixings and until the picture becomes clearer, there will most likely be double postings or a runaway thought posted here on occasion.
I am not new to spiritual things. As a child I was highly in tune with the unknown and invisible world. I am a spirit being, as we all are or can become. I am slowly working my way back into hearing the quiet cricket hour. Knowing I am practicing these universal truths, to not rush to and fro like a disobedient wind is a step. To be a calming breeze on a stormy day, a leap of faith.
A new experience presented itself within a community to celebrate positive energy. This was most of the group’s first time being together. The hour started with rhythmic drum beats mimicking the heart’s life force.
There were 15 of us, each with a drum and another percussion instrument. This video is the third of four sets, each naturally lasting between 12-13 minutes. The group leaders did little to manipulate each interval of creative expression. They flowed as swiftly and gently, or vigorously and bountifully, as the Nashua River, deep in the Valley of Oxbow.
As the hour progressed, a golden hue encompassed us. We said farewell to the sun. Then to each other. Look forward to another drum circle September 12.
This is my final post in response to A Guy Called Bloke and if you follow the above link, you will receive double motivation. 😉✌🏼
Ok. So, I am sitting at Hash Imports, waiting for my Jag. The garage door bit off a chunk of the trunk (aka boot for Englanders) and the damaged plith is being put back on the car’s booty!!! Hurrah 😄! They tell me it should take an hour. (Long story how this happened which i am not going to explain.)
Since i will be walking, biking or taking public transport in Boston, what will happen to my Jag? Hurt feelings much? But that’s what the country side is for… motoring in my Jag to the ocean and mountain vistas!!! Cannot wait. 😝 ⛰ 🌊
Oh! to find relaxation. Get lost amidst the Monhegan sea air.
I once honored the rapt attention of the island’s evening. Witnessed the homeward gulls, floating above. Shhhh! i warned them. I desired the whispered stories unfolding below the ocean waves.
I witnessed their goodbyes descend upon my eyes. Their limelight emitted farewell and invited the lesser stars to partake in the feast. Satisfied, i bid farewell, in hopes my soul would once again return.