poetry

I Find Living Moments of Prayer in Awareness. {poetry}

{Photo credit: Ange Sang}

How do my human words meet the feat of anchoring pure devotion to the Divine? All that I can humbly proclaim is that it is within this devotion that they find me.

In all fragility, through the tenderness of process — much like the writing process itself — I find living moments of prayer in awareness: the skin’s sensation, setting foot on earth, all such meetings of realization, of honoring, of seeing the world around us with wide eyes.

A poem can take shape over many years and stretches of time, birthed in an instant of connection, capturing a visual, emotional, visceral moment in time, in nature, photographically, phonetically, gratefully — the wisdom and grace moored within the soft bark of a giant Grandmama gum tree, the breaking point inside a wave that speaks to my heart in metaphor of the point of offering, the wish to hold space for you when the Divine itself is revealed, when you needn’t worry or fear, gifting the gift of knowing you are always held.

And so the words they grab me, they hit my heart, they find their way through the ether — audibly, on another’s lips, in a drifting song. They spring forth through life’s living snapshots and kernels of love, in every beginning and constant cycle.

They are the breathing tapestry of poetics and appear to have a life of their own, which I can only bow to, step aside from and observe as they turn into little prayers of their own right.  Holding, guiding hope, that their transmission is of this, divine devotion.

Ode to the Beloved

The forgotten foot
of prayers
that kiss the earth… 
Bare soles that bare the soul,
to reveal
a single seed of truth
My Beloved
here grows,
spills forth all my gifts —
His kiss,
hallowed wish
above desire, 
an alchemic fire 
that yearns 
to fill a room
intoxicate this space
a meeting place
where all polarities subside.
An awareness born of love
the emergence of being, 
Like hidden, scattered pennies
through all your homes…
The Beloved —
a chisel —
this rock shall split,
through all anointed thresholds, 
a forfeit
of fear
For He,
the healing metaphor,
opens endless doors near
my heart, my soul, 
my crumbling mind
dissolved and buried where the earth,
(She) shall find,
a beginning
an ode, 
a kernel of love,
a single heart legacy
born from above.

Love’s Caveat

Love’s caveat…
to be enlivened
with desire for the Greater Wisdom 
in ever-bloom,
light trails of return 
to the Essenes
to quench a thirsty soul
An unhindered response
to The Call, 
uncovered in hushed hermetic transmutation,
that sustains You 
through cyclic seasons 
and all impermanence,
opens the gates
to the spilling soul
of lineage, divine —
let me linger
and permeate 
and I shall labor within
the unknown —
yet known — 
a taste so familiar; 
initiate of a human heart
each enigmatic
beat to burst
in remembrance of
our way.
Meet me in the barrel 
of a wave
where I might find you 
in the moment 
it breaks
to crash your heart upon my rocks
laid out under moonlight blue
to bathe
and hide again
in the hollow of a shell
to coo and quell
rest your crown upon my chest,
with grace
for you shall save no face…
my eyes will hear, my ears shall see,
my arms will hold you precious, Dear
find you…
within a tender tomb
a gentle sway —
the Madré womb
as silver moon, bares all to sea
This soul-fulfilling prophecy.

{Photo credit: Ange Sang}

***

An ongoing journey with life and health has led Ange Sang back to her true creative therapy, through the written word and the lens of the camera. Ange is a devoted lover of all things nature, a tree-hugger, and has a heart that feels utterly compelled to shoot arrows of word and image, straight from her mystical experience of life to as many receivers as possible. On a unique path of physical illness, Ange began to share her written and visual arts as tools of thanks — a nod to an ever-rising theme of gratitude, in recognition of those around her. Her heart-vision continues to find its solace and drive in the grace of Mama Nature and the aim to recognize and articulate the grapple of the human condition.

***

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