If you ever lose heart and the earth seems as distant as stars fading into the noise of your busy mind, know this. That a tiny island exists in the blue hands of the ocean. That a tree grows upright into the salted clouds. That two eagles love each other enough to spend their lives greeting the morning sun together. That two eaglets stand in their nest, gazing at the heavens. Looking down to the forever ground. They eat and sleep and flap their wings. And one day in July, one by one, they will jump into the air. They will know the difference between existing and what is beyond. They will hold onto nothing. The hurricane will come, courage catching their pinions on fire, as they mount the wind, climbing ladders into realms of the invisible.

--T.L. Stokes

Sunday, September 11, 2011

Dancing Raven

Being the mud meteors fall into
and light catchers dancing with strangers
we align ourselves to Spirit.

What pulls us apart reintroducing
the voice we have forgotten
is the pleading of others.

The woman tells of the body scan
tomorrow of the book of her lungs,
wide hands stretching open and closed.

The clock of her life keeps perfect moments.
Yet it creates a kind of mud she can't rise from.
The small flood of water where the air
should be.

She reminds us of the answers she seeks
we hold for her and ourselves. The beauty
of our perfection. Vulnerability. If
something can work this effortlessly
or stop, then we can stop. There is
a beginning and an ending.

If the glorious dark raven of her body
should fold its wings, then we all
may line the branches in grief.

If raven mounts the muscle of wind,
she carries ceremonial energy to its destination.
Healing comes with the magic of change.

Come, in raven's journey, all things are possible.
Behind the dark door of everything,
comes the calling of the Ancients.

for healing to Wings

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