360° J O Y 💕 F U L L

by pass the easy low hanging impatient first fruits of spring instead, discern as an eternal joy quietly ripens in a sweeter higher hidden branch of the Self same tree of life

  "The image of the spiral and sense of an unfolding process occurring deep within the heart, circling the material of our lives in all its varied layers  is such a rich imaginative lens through which to navigate the unique journey we are on.   At times, it can be incredibly frustrating and repetitive as we spin around the same themes, without seeming like there is much movement.   At other times, we encounter some crack where the light breaks in; what seemed at first glance to be a mere repetition is somehow different, revealing a piece of the mystery that we couldn't quite see at an earlier time.   The alchemists called this spiral the circulatio or rotatio which was envisioned as a sacred process,  a touching and re-touching of the heart, of the material of our lives, where we circle or rotate around the essential themes that are unique for us, that form the prima materia of our own personal opus.   From an a...

  begin devour sweet light kali raw full moon howls as firey baby lilith lights but the One muse, the One who matters this moment's magic still, whole, in awe as her opal eyes not simply let light in they are in stead The Vibrant Well of Source

Be The Light House  “You do not have to be good. / You do not have to walk on your knees / for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. / You only have to let the soft animal of your body / love what it loves. / Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. / Meanwhile the world goes on. / Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain / are moving across the landscapes, / over the prairies and the deep trees, / the mountains and the rivers. / Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, / are heading home again. / Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, / the world offers itself to your imagination, / calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting— / over and over announcing your place / in the family of things.” To Mary’s beloved readers, we’re very sorry to share this sad news: Mary Oliver, beloved poet and bard of the natural world, died on January 17 at home in Hobe Sound, Florida. She was 83. Oliver published her first book, No...

  "come take me out of this dull world, For I would ride with you upon the wind, Run on the top of the dishevelled tide, And dance upon the mountains like a flame"   WB Yeats

YOUR TRUE HOME Each one of us is alone in the world. It takes great courage to meet the full force of your aloneness. Most of the activity in society is subcons ciously designed to quell the voice crying in the wilderness within you. The mystic Thomas a Kempis said that when you go out into the world, you return having lost some of yourself. Until you learn to inhabit your aloneness, the lonely distraction and noise of society will seduce you into false belonging, with which you will only become empty and weary. When you face your aloneness, something begins to happen. Gradually, the sense of bleakness changes into a sense of true belonging. This is a slow and open-ended transition but it is utterly vital in order to come into rhythm with your own individuality. In a sense this is the endless task of finding your true home within your life. It is not narcissistic, for as soon as you rest in the house of your own heart, doors and windows begin to open outwards to the w...

I May Love You (and I do, dearly) But remember (note to Self) "I Always Love My Self, More" ~ starts poem from "The Bridge" 2011

  Never stops rising, mystic river Comes, bares shared fluid mouths. The Weave of soft Napes, The Waft of Kissed Notes The Wilds of Volcanic Night Choirs.    The mystic One magic, The Eye of A Storm, The hint of a swollen damp valley, Come let These Roads and These Rivers, Big Bends Dear stoney King Lizard An unUttered Vastness, Light Us A Way.Home   You Can Have Mine Write Now, Dear Soul, Languid and Large tastes more sweet flowing lava This erupted still life saudades Touch Your Self , Touch The White Open Sky All join now and lament the death of my dark A forked tounge of knowledge once in a feathered night.   aLone Life, together, got crazy unsafe in my head and suffered I once nailed my heart on an altar of silence Some Times You Just Gotta Stop Caring, Not Because You Don't But Because You Can't Any More.   Did you ...

Sly sick O'infants The Toad of Toad hall A Creepy Crawler on The Doe Deer Fawns Flatterer, flunkey keeps On Truckler.   The Groveller turns as More Doormat wipes Lickspittle off the NYC kowtower. Minions abound Throwing, stoned, In DC Comics, White Houses as every hanger-on sucks leech like From The Puppet's Poor Tiny Cocked Up Lackey Spaniel.   Bootlicker, Dickens lowers his Uriah Heep as White Yes-men In Black Brown Nose, arse licking. Toupee Donald Ducks and Weaves, lackeys quack, and plays again with him Self, Covering Bald spots, feeding ego, and The Chicken Psycho Pants, offers offal like Trumping suckhole sycophants.