On the side of an ancient hill, at the end of a path of herbs and flowers, the Guardian stands and then kneels before the golden door leading into the cave of the Divine, the gentle door to true power.
The Guardian serves she who dances within, Priestess of the innermost heart. She who serves at the shrine of the Divine Feminine. Upon dark sacred rock, soft flames glow. The Guardian’s palms flicker. In the cave of visions igniting blood, bone, and heat, the Priestess moves in devotional dance of love generating peace.
The Priestess has lately returned, returned to dance, and the Guardian, to serve her. For thousands of years there was no Guardian at the golden door. The Guardian was silenced, as he stood for the Priestess. He was killed as he knelt before her. His blood mixed with the flowers and herbs on the path.
He became the secret wind whispering in her ear warning, Those who would not allow Divine Feminine to heal their wounds have appeared. The pillagers of the innermost shrine are here!
The Priestess was filled with mourning. The Priestess was taken away. The Priestess of joy was carried away, by the hungry, by the fearful, by the greedy, those of a sorrow she had never known before. As their pain covered her, she turned into a statue of clay. Into the hollows of a hardening mud-body she retreated.
The Priestess was carried on a crazy caravan, travelling through all the tribes of the world. She was passed around in a darkness that hid its own name but called her powerless, worthless, god-less. Even so, this darkness lived in terror of the hour when her true body would be restored.
And now, the Priestess’ hour has come. The pillagers of the innermost heart are frozen, they cannot run. Outside their caravan has gathered every tribe from every world, wheels refuse to turn. In the circle of night the light swells high. Every moon is full in every sky. Every tribe’s sorrow is full. Every tribe’s tears flow, pour over the Priestess, over her statue of clay. Dissolving her mud-body, breaking open her mud-body, revealing her true form as the Priestess of joy.
The Priestess cries, Where is My Heart? And the Guardian is immediately at her side, reborn. All the tribes of the world breathe in, as one. They see the Priestess and the Guardian smiling at each other, a smile that grows into a river of laughter into which all pain flows away.
The Priestess and the Guardian travel hand in hand. They find the path of herbs and flowers. They climb the ancient hill to its end. They come to the golden door. The Guardian lets go her hand. Both hearts are ablaze with the fire of the innermost shrine.
The Guardian kneels as the Priestess walks into the cave of the Divine. The altar she once moved upon is cold, but her feet are hot as burning gold, as she begins to dance.
love is how we live
Love is how we live. Love is in the marrow. Love is what we do without, when we do not know we harbor, divine springs in every bone. Love is water.
Parched panic the norm when we turn from our flow. But love’s glass is glistening on the night table. Switch the light on. Love is how we wake. Do you feel alone? Is the body next to you empty too? Love is not filling other people’s spaces, love is filling our own.
Love is not filling spaces, love is the space. That is why I live in a flowering tree, in a flowering realm. I love the space. I am the space.
Love is not the crack in the breast, due to lack of water. Love is how we relax into our own garden, discover our own flow. Love is how we drink tea. Would you like to drink tea with me, in my tree?
Love is how we call ourselves up, when we are looking for something, someone to love and ask, Do you want to meet?
Love is lying in flowering fields under which our heart beats. Love is when, we begin, to listen.
In these flowering fields we lie. We do not run. We do not chase after someone else’s glimmer, someone else’s glow. That’s what people do when they are lost in the desert. They run in a panic, looking for water. And we have done that. We have paid the consequences of doing that, in full.
In these flowering fields we lie. Love is lying in flowering fields drinking in that stream of ecstasy in the marrow. Love is knowing how to live.
listening to flowers
Who listens to flowers? I listen to flowers. When I am wise I listen to the garden inside, and cultivate what flowers know.
Radiant timeless fairies. Guardians of beauty and ecstasy. I sink into flowers' light and learn. I brush off the worms of worry ripe to eat my visions’ bliss-filled petals, lay down in color-rich flow, spiraling scented magic, visions bound to bloom.
And the flowers speak to me, To thrive, you must embrace joy! The secret to evolution is focus. Joy and sorrow grow side by side in a garden, each has a different purpose.
Joy rises, becoming blossoms, sorrow falls, becoming compost. Every moment you pick the direction of your focus. Tend to your joys, and your sorrows will become your joys. Let your joy rise, becoming blossoms, Let your sorrow fall, becoming compost. Who listens to flowers? I listent to flowers. When I am wise I listen to the garden inside, and cultivate what flowers know.
you are the rose
Welcome to the garden of your new beginnings. The garden where the past is known as compost, and the future smiles on butterflies’ wings. Welcome to the magical garden of Now.
Lay your body down among the flowers and dream. There is nothing more to do. Nowhere else to go. You have journeyed far. Now you are home. Perhaps you think this is not where you belong? For this is a place where joy is sovereign, and you are used to suffering?
But this is your garden. This is what you planted through many stormy nights. The seeds you held close through wind and rain and ice. This is what has grown from knowing even when you were most weary, You carry something of wondrous worth inside.
Lay your body down among the flowers. Let the flowers dream inside you. Today we crown you, Queen of the Garden. We celebrate your heedless radiance, Lady of rubies swollen with dawn, You are the Rose.
i am the tree of the goddess
In the waters that are a continent, a galaxy, a star, I am the Mother Tree of a pulsing plasma vision erupting from a jewel. I stand in the new Ocean of creative sovereignty caressing All. I am the Tree of the Goddess, and I have emerged from my radiant palace at the bottom of the Sea, for all the artists of the soul who have dreamt of me.
All the deep divers of beauty who have seen me in their deep dives, and longed to touch me in their everyday lives, all the children of the lost currents who have been touched by colors swirling in faraway fountains I now come close, so very close.
I am the Tree of the Goddess and I have burst forth from the crystalline floor of the untamable Sea. Jewels pouring from my heart and hands into yours. I sing to you my Beloved Creative Children dreaming on the magical soil, Fall, fall, fall, back into the unencumbered wild of me that you may arise for It is time to awaken!
I Declare I am the source of the violation, the altercation between me and my power. The inundation of my soul by his dark, stormy waters, I once knelt before. As if his narcissism, his tsunami-need for control, were a god. I thought he had wounded me, ruined me, flooded me, till I was a broken house with smashed windows, my children lost, and ocean coming through an unhinged door.
I Declare I am the source of the violation, the altercation between me and my power. This indoctrination of my heart, I signed up for in the womb. To hear and take in as truth, the frightened voices of others and know myself as, She Dominated by Fears. When he began to sing his strange song, it was I who quickly took up my ancient story to compose, a concealed, many-layered music of fear, again.
I Declare I am the source of the violation, the altercation between me and my power. My creations, symphonies of pain and worry, orgasms of hope. They filled me with great, distracting sounds. Escalating booms of inner out-of-tuned-ness that kept me from hearing what was really going on - We had both left our marriage. We were no longer talking in the same room. We had left each other to make love to our wounds.
The hypnotic recitation of his verbal abuse - secret code for the language of I Loathe Myself, Not You. I listened and I listened, sometimes I thought I might break it, but each time I told my soul, Shut up!
I Declare I am the source of the violation, the altercation between me and my power. When I was a child I thought it was my job, to pick up dark energies and rub them on my skin, till my light was so dim I could blend in. Then, I hated everyone because I felt so unseen.
When I became a woman I thought it was my job, to be downtrodden, to be disappointed by an inauthentic, oppressive love. I wore clothes someone else chose, and won my husband’s approval for a minute or two with a smile. But under my look of adoring, compliant grace, there was frustration, there was regret, there was judgement, there was hate. A part of me knew he was the man my hurt expectant heart had called.
I Declare I am the source of the violation, the altercation between me and my power. Without hesitation I picked up his heinous words and we began our love war. I held his words close. As if I could turn them into something beautiful, warm and loving, if I held them long enough. I did not speak what my heart and body knew. I used his words as my words, those sharp and bloody stones. I carved them into my nerves. I carved them into my bones. To myself I was treacherous. But in my ancient story of our love war, he was the only one who was against me, he was the only one who was cruel.
she goes to the waters
Her sorrow is an old habit she wants to lose. She goes to the waters. She looks into the waves where joy is seeking her, like the wise woman she seeks to be. Yet how she loves her sorrow. She anxiously keeps her eyes upon it. Like a daughter who needs to please her mother. A sickness she is afraid to stand without. An addiction the loss of which would leave her alone.
She is a woman carrying rivers of grandmothers who never really lived, between her hip bones.
As her eyes dive for the jewels of self-love she has followed to the sea, she finds her womb dragged down by ancestral currents of self-doubt. What will this woman do?
Will she crawl like her weary grandmothers from the tides? Cry herself to sleep in shadows on the beach, and in the morning travel home? To once again seek her reflection in cold and empty rooms?
This woman begins to sing. She loves to sing. She will sing tonight upon the waters, under the moon. She will sing. Even as joy and sorrow rise up together from the depths of ten thousand worlds, and give her no peace. She will sing. She will create peace. She will choose. She has been silent in rooms perfect as death, tight as a noose around her neck. She has told herself, I have no choice. I must endure. But now she knows, I can choose. There is always a way to free my soul, from the madness of the world. Now, I know this, she sings, Now, I know this.
The woman sees her True Self shining back at her in the waters. The sea where all people go, in their longing to be free. To see themselves, and to love what they see.
This woman’s eyes fill with a radiant joy that is only in her Now, yet their light enters the hearts of All she has carried between her hip bones. The rivers of grandmothers who never really lived, and together, they let go.
THE PLACE WHERe ALL ELEMENTS ARE HONORED
She sat with her fury deep inside the earth, in the doorway leading into the Cave of the Divine. Her feelings burned inside her like a hot stone. Too hot to touch by anyone but the Goddess. The Goddess cradled her anger. It burned inside her like a hot stone. But she didn’t push the hot stone aside, though she might have, for she could do anything she chose. She chose to cradle the hot stone. Her fury molten and multi-faceted. Her rage roiling lava streaming with a seemingly endless flow of wild, uncontainable elements swirling, burning, storming, mourning, contained within the lava stone.
Feelings unwanted, unusable, unfruitful, unbearable, unbeautiful, in the human world. But she would bear them, and she would use them. She would create beauty from them too. She was a Goddess. She was an Artist. When she had realized the tiny spark inside had become a volcanic stone roiling somewhere between her solar plexus and her womb, she'd descended into the heart of the Mountain, to sit deep inside the earth. To sit with her fury in the place where all elements are honored. Her breath and the air. Her body and the caves. Her blood and the waters. Her fires and the earth's fires.
She felt the fire of love beckoning her on the other side of the doorway leading into the Cave of the Divine. When it was time she would dance with joy before it. But now she cradled the hot stone with the radiant calm of her soul as tears began to fall like streams of softest silk and she cried, I love you Little Wounded One, I love you!
who shall dive so deep?
All alone at the bottom of an untelevised unexplored sea, in a cave, in a dark cave, darker than any darkness considered to be dark whispers a suffering deeper than any suffering considered to be unbearable.
In a dark cave far beyond the doors where we the masses are allowed to go and know the televised traumas of our own and our world’s sorrows. In another cave, behind another door, in another sea, beyond the caves, and doors, and seas of most humans’ experiences, beyond the hidden places we sink into in therapy sessions. Beyond the caves of mists, beyond the doors of grey, beyond the blackest doors wrapped in blood and presented by the media. Beyond all the doors where we have all met in the televised sea. Deeper waters to explore.
All alone at the bottom of an untelevised unexplored sea, in a cave, in a dark cave, the Little Unnamed Ones silently breathe. Behind the most private of doors built by the most inhuman of hands, the Little Unnamed Ones silently dream of freedom. No one can swim into or out of this cave unless the inhuman ones decree it is so. These are Children whose souls are alive and whose skin cries to the sun. Some have never seen the sun, and yet they weep for the sun. Some have never seen a human and yet they pray for us to come.
Who shall name these Children? They have named themselves Darkness. They have named themselves, Agony, Pain, Rage. Every day they whisper to each other as they sit motionless in their cages, I Do Not Exist. But these are not their true names. Who shall name these Children? Who shall save these Children? Who shall dive so deep?
in the solemn light of the mother they walk towards the children
It all starts in the root of the Tree and the heart of the deepest Cave. That is where the evil hides and that is where the Good wins it all back again. That is where the Good takes up its Silver Staff, its Golden Sword, and the Ancient Rose of the Goddess. They walk through the underground tunnels holding hands. God and Goddess. King and Queen. Man and Woman. Their robes are royal. Their minds are solemn. Their mission is Divine. For the Children, they have undone everything. For the Children, everything will be taken down. And done for the first time.
They walk through the underground corridors lit with ancient prophecies telling of this time. When the key to unlocking the abominations that seek to steal the children's minds will be given, and the door shall open the world to another world. And nothing shall ever be the same.
Their robes are royal. Their minds are solemn. They walk with downturned gaze. A Golden Light flickers upon them. It is the Light of the Mother who has opened the tunnels to them. It is the Mother of Light who watches over their sanity that it be never shaken from its velvet core of grace. They are down here. They are down here. The Children have been down here for so long. No one can think upon them, and be the same.
Yet the Man and the Woman are down here. They are down here. That is why the Mother is guarding over their sanity. In the dark where no light can travel. In the evil no love can reach. Till the Man and the Woman came. Now, they are down here. They are down here. They opened their eyes and did more than weep. They walked down into the dark to meet the Forgotten and Unseen Ones, and they never looked away. They never look away. They are down here. They are down here. The Children are down here. But so are the Man and the Woman.
THE GODDESS WILL BE SEEN
The Goddess will be seen for Who She Is. The Goddess has been maligned, misrepresented, misinterpreted. Twisted for unholy purposes of which She is freeing herself right now.
The Goddess has been lost from our sight, looking for her diamond key. To open the door for us. So we can see who She really Is. Her true face, her true powers, the true panoramas of her true dances, songs, and promises.
The Goddess has been on her knees for so very long. Looking for the diamond key that was thrown into the dark. On her knees She has been straggling and struggling, her hair scattered to the four winds. For the dark false wizards stole her key and blew her true intentions into the barren, deathly corners of their domain. Thinking She would be afraid. Thinking She would die. But the Goddess is eternally courageous. And the Goddess does not die. She will go wherever She needs to go. She will get on her knees in the dark if that is where her diamond key is lost.
The Goddess has stayed on her knees for us. Looking for her lost diamond key for us. Until She found it She could not rest, She could not sleep. She could not bear forth her true plans. She could not leave the dark false wizards' land.
But behold the Goddess where She is today, Beloved Family. Not where She was yesterday. For yesterday she spent her last day in the deviant dust. Today She rises like the Dawn. For she has found her diamond key shining in the deep dust of distortions , where goodness is mandated against and her true laws are crushed. The destruction plagued upon her voice, her heart, her womb, her people, shall be no more! For She has found the diamond key that opens her door.
The Goddess declares victory for all to hear in the music pouring from her true smile! She now holds the diamond key in her hands, and no deception can be held up to her glory without it being revealed. The faceless domain of the dark false wizards where truth has been raped has been unsealed through the Goddess' love of her People and her People's love of her. You see, the more the People searched for her the closer She got to finding her key.
Behold the Goddess' true countenance smiling in her eyes and upon her lips! Beloved Family, She smiles free. She rises gracefully from her knees. Her rags like a shroud, burnt away by the Sun. The Goddess is clothed once again in her golden emerald gown! Joy springs from her womb. Love leaps from her heart, with the strong simple grace of Dawn.
Joy, grace, strength, love, simplicity, without these things we the People cannot rise and see our way. The deep lines of sadness on her face written in timelines violating her DNA, now vanishing. These lines were carved into her face by the Divine Feminine Bleeders whowere hunting fro her heart, her blood, her soul, and that book is closed.
The Goddess holds the diamond key to her heart, and there are sparks. The Goddess is back on her true course. Her sighs of relief stir the Seas and the Skies. Her sighs stir You and I. The Goddess rises out of the abyss, her diamond key close to her breast. Her golden emerald gown hovers over the darkness before she leaves. For the Goddess has something to say.
The Goddess has something to decree to those who would cling to her divine hem, seeking to pull her down. The Goddess solemnly speaks to them, Lost Ones, it is not I or my People who are now lost in the darkness , but you!
THE RETURN OF GAIA'S DIAMOND
We follow the Man and the Woman down through the Golden Tunnel into the Diamond Cave where all is perfectly remembered, all is perfectly planned. Now is the time and it will not come again. We stand in a circle holding hands, and through our hands run the waters of rebirth, the gold of transformation, the true elements of our forgotten abundance.
We thought we were following the Man and the Woman into the Diamond Cave but discover we were following our Higher Selves, and we truly are equal. We have all been leaders, secret and not so secret world leaders guiding this miracle in the journey home to Gaia.
The Mother of Our Realm has never faltered though her wounds have been countless. Her every breath a prayer for redemption for the Diamond Cave’s slaughtered sacred mysteries. For the removal of the Dark One’s rituals. Heavenly restoration of Her Core. She has remembered us without ceasing. She has been calling us home without weeping. Lest we grow afraid as we take up our scepters, our vows, and our swords.
The Mother of Our Realm has always known the way we would remember our way home was through the seemingly unshakeable beauty of Her love for Her Children. The eternal grace of Her generous arms that have held us even as She bled in silence and in stillness with Her sorrows. Even as She grieved in Her most solitary abyss, the loss of the Diamond Jewel from Her Core Cave.
Her Children have grown up. Her Children walk through the Golden Tunnel tall and strong today. Bearing no fear for the future, only knowing what they do in this now is All. They know they are nothing without Her dreams and visions running through their hearts, giving them the map home, charting the way through each heartbeat taken with Her.
We stand in a circle holding hands, for the waters flow from each to each in our love for each other, our love for Gaia. What is the difference? We know none. We have come into the Cave for She has called us here today. Deeper than deep we are called and deeper still, till we can fall no further into her mysterious glories. And as we stand still in this circle holding hands, we are the recipients of her enormous sighs of relief, the release of her hidden ancient tears.
We raise our hands to receive the Diamond. It floats down into the Cave. It hovers above us in the center of the circle. The Diamond is returned by Her Champion, the Lost Sun of the Forgotten Dawn. All we have to do to make this miracle so is Breathe and See and Feel the Diamond in Union with each other and Her. And then, it is done. It is done. The restoration of Her Diamond is purely and completely placed inside her Core Cave. It is done. We have done it. Just as we promised we would.
we are so loved
We are so loved. We have always been so loved. No one was ever abandoned. None of us abandoned. None. It has been a long time since we all knew this. A long time since all of us could feel this. Feel we are touching the One. The One who created us, and from whom we flow. And we know this feeling of touching the One sometimes. We know this feeling of being loved sometimes. Like flashes of light bursting through the hidden heavens of our eternal hearts. And we shall all be knowing and feeling this more and more till it is all we know and all we feel. Forevermore.
i am the artist
By the waters in the dark cave I lie. I am the Artist who dreams at the forgotten well of love, and rises from her dreams to begin. My fingers spread like flames, shapes glow on the walls of the cave as I paint. I am the Artist who paints visions passionately. Feeling color in a new way. The invisible side of color, light planted in the jeweled core.
I am the Artist who frees what is under, what is below, what is beyond. I am the Artist who receives new worlds in the darkness, and declares her visions complete. My instincts, like diamonds cutting through dis-belief. I am the Artist who merges with the beauty I see, and lights up the darkness with inspiration. I am the Artist who dances in the divine illuminations each day a little more as I paint.
Along the cave’s spiraling path upwards, I proceed. I am the Artist who comes out of the cave, eventually. I rub my eyes in the sun and people ask me, Who are you? Where do you come from? I am the Artist who creates a new language when I answer them. I am the Artist who loves, instead of fears. I am the Artist who begins her work here.
Remember, my friends, with a paintbrush of fire, you express desire, with a paintbrush of wind, you experience vast visions, with a paintbrush of water, you are the ocean’s daughter, with a paintbrush of earth, you caress the bones of birth. I am the Artist who loves, instead of fears. I am the Artist who begins her work here. I am the Artist who dreams at the forgotten well of love, and rises from her dreams to begin!