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Posts Tagged ‘listen’

And so here you are led.  Serendipity.  If you are reading this I have a message for you.  The message was for myself as well, and so I share it with you.

 

“For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves. And even more I revere them when they stand alone. They are like lonely persons. Not like hermits who have stolen away out of some weakness, but like great, solitary men, like Beethoven and Nietzsche. In their highest boughs the world rustles, their roots rest in infinity; but they do not lose themselves there, they struggle with all the force of their lives for one thing only: to fulfil themselves according to their own laws, to build up their own form, to represent themselves. Nothing is holier, nothing is more exemplary than a beautiful, strong tree. When a tree is cut down and reveals its naked death-wound to the sun, one can read its whole history in the luminous, inscribed disk of its trunk: in the rings of its years, its scars, all the struggle, all the suffering, all the sickness, all the happiness and prosperity stand truly written, the narrow years and the luxurious years, the attacks withstood, the storms endured. And every young farmboy knows that the hardest and noblest wood has the narrowest rings, that high on the mountains and in continuing danger the most indestructible, the strongest, the ideal trees grow.

Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth. They do not preach learning and precepts, they preach, undeterred by particulars, the ancient law of life.

A tree says: A kernel is hidden in me, a spark, a thought, I am life from eternal life. The attempt and the risk that the eternal mother took with me is unique, unique the form and veins of my skin, unique the smallest play of leaves in my branches and the smallest scar on my bark. I was made to form and reveal the eternal in my smallest special detail.

A tree says: My strength is trust. I know nothing about my fathers, I know nothing about the thousand children that every year spring out of me. I live out the secret of my seed to the very end, and I care for nothing else. I trust that God is in me. I trust that my labor is holy. Out of this trust I live.

When we are stricken and cannot bear our lives any longer, then a tree has something to say to us: Be still! Be still! Look at me! Life is not easy, life is not difficult. Those are childish thoughts. Let God speak within you, and your thoughts will grow silent. You are anxious because your path leads away from mother and home. But every step and every day lead you back again to the mother. Home is neither here nor there. Home is within you, or home is nowhere at all.

A longing to wander tears my heart when I hear trees rustling in the wind at evening. If one listens to them silently for a long time, this longing reveals its kernel, its meaning. It is not so much a matter of escaping from one’s suffering, though it may seem to be so. It is a longing for home, for a memory of the mother, for new metaphors for life. It leads home. Every path leads homeward, every step is birth, every step is death, every grave is mother.

So the tree rustles in the evening, when we stand uneasy before our own childish thoughts: Trees have long thoughts, long-breathing and restful, just as they have longer lives than ours. They are wiser than we are, as long as we do not listen to them. But when we have learned how to listen to trees, then the brevity and the quickness and the childlike hastiness of our thoughts achieve an incomparable joy. Whoever has learned how to listen to trees no longer wants to be a tree. He wants to be nothing except what he is. That is home. That is happiness.”

Hermann Hesse, Bäume. Betrachtungen und Gedichte

 

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I want to take a moment to dedicate this post to all people who suffer namelessly.  I am not a doctor, but I have my own story and personal spiritual practice.  And part of my Call is to help those who suffer to Remember.

What are we suppose to Remember?

Creator loves us.

Everything is a cycle.

When we are feeling the highs of Joy and Creativity, our cup is full and we are pouring that out, manifesting it into the universe.

When we are feeling low and sometimes empty, there has come a time for us to practice deep rest, nurturing our spirit, reflection and observance upon what our body, mind, emotions and spirit are calling for.

Many of us are lost at times, confused.  In doubt.

Searching.

I urge you to pray.  To speak to someone.  To listen.

I urge your tears to wash away the old creative processes and make room for new adventures.  New paradyms.  New behaviours.

I have this beautiful image of a woman with a basket dipping into the waters of life, lifting and pouring over and over.  There are times when life is Still and I can see clearly into the water of healing.  I let it hold me.  Sometimes I flow through it like a lazy river but ever moving.

The hardest thing in the world is accepting oneself in this crazy existence. Things are so bizarre at times.  I cannot let go of how humbled I am when grace finds me.  When I finally have had enough temperance and struggle. When I finally have spent enough time on inner work and purifying, did I realize the cycle of myself as a vessel for Spirit.  Emptying, filling

You are a vessel.

Love can fill you.

Spirit can fill you.

Creativity can fill you.

And then you empty out, washing away all that was and returning humbled from the cycle to fill oneself again.

This is a reminder to nurture your spirit right now.

This week.

Today.

Practicing loving yourself and loving others, no matter what their hearts or minds appear like to you.  Simply observe, and allow things to release.

 

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I have been so excited.  You haven’t seen me much, unless you are on Pinterest or Instagram.  I took a break from Facebook to rest my brain a bit and answer a Call from Creator.  I kept loosely connected to the grid with the other forms of media to continue my research, but share a little.  Immersion.  Listening.  Integration.  Those are definitely three words I would say describe where I have been and I cannot believe it has taken this long to reach a place of reflection and writing combined.  Something I am willing to share.

Easter time called for the ressurection of a new year.  A time for planting new seeds, for learning, for deciding truly where we needed to be this year.  All the planning of the winter months and dreaming was making itself manifest.  And in many respects we were wrapping up an old cycle, such as W’s drama class.  I was proud to witness my son in a muscial with many hard working homeschoolers from elementary and high school.  Now W has entered into Third grade, hence Language Arts and the Old Testament.   And I am excited to begin a new cycle with my second son who began First Grade with Grimm’s Fairy Tales.  And in my arms I continue to nurture sweet baby as he rounds out at 8 months strong.

So within my immersion has been The fascinating story unfolding.  The Old Testament.  I feel like I am 9 again.  The 9 year change and the battle that goes on within, the separation, the setting apart.  The consciousness.  I have felt like a new lens has come into place in front of my eyes and my perception is clearer.  The Old Covenant.  Hebrews.  Jewish Festivals.  Moses.  Abraham.  Noah.  Babylon.  This time I am using different resources than when I was actually nine, but I have also found my self treading the old stones that have led me and now my boys back to my old home church.    The church of my childhood.  I am seeing this great story with new eyes.  Receiving.

G-d called me to Listen.  Over and over that is what I have heard.  In doing so, G-d has led me back through a couple thousand centuries.  I taste the dirt in my mouth.  I feel work of The People in my bones.  I long to hear the tale, the struggle and the redemption.  I feel truly blessed to be guided by The Guide through this time period, so that I better Know myself.  And most importantly so that I may take what I have learned and apply it consciously to my life.  To live in Grace.  To walk in prayer.  To sin, but to have compassion for myself and a new understanding.

Waldorf has truly been a blessing in my life.  A healing education.  A healing agent.  I am the bridge for myself, and my children are a new generation within the new paradym.  I am finding information far and wide, with no stone unturned.  Gnostics, Mystics, the story bible itself, documentaries, movies, curriculum, inner wisdom, combined with an unveiling by Creator Mother Father G-d.  I am facing my own evolution.  My own shadow and light.  I am praying harder than ever, clearer, and more vigorous.  I am engaging my will and my body more.  I feel an equillibrium that drives the feminine and masculine aspects of myself flowing back and forth.  My vehicle is optimal.

The stories are there and they are great.  Creation.  The Garden of Eden.  Archangel Michael and Lucifer.  The Tree of Knowledge.  Consciousness.  Noah and his children and their expansion out to people the different distant lands.  Moses.  The Old Covenant. The Israelites.  Passover.  Abraham.  The Kings.  The Prophets.  It is amazing and symbolic.  I feel different.  I am different.  This journey, which I am only in the middle of is still unfolding.  I am learning the relation of this story, the times and the different cultures…the cosmic language of our soul.  And I take no offense.  In fact, the Sacred Feminine invites me to be a healing agent to myself with the waters of forgiveness.

I have read passages to my children.  Drawn and colored pictures.  We have also taken these stories into our body by singing more.  In doing all of this, and in those secret hidden places, much like the depths of the ocean we do not see…bubbles appear and rise containing old behaviors, karma, actions and thinking that I in no way agreed to in the first place.  I agree to purification.  I agree to love.  I agree to breathing in the immense connection of my sacred union and family.  I am home.

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