Who is she, you ask? You are asking, aren't you? She is the universal, primal Om, she is shanti, shanti, shanti, she is the sound of life revealing, a mountain, a tree unfurling, an eagle soaring, an elephant roaring, as falseness crumbles at her feet.
On this Imbolc night, the flames of all the Candlemas altars are dim in comparison to the bonfire tearing through my so-tired heart. I pray now not to Mother Brighid but to you, Woman, as you lie breathless beside me in your own recovery. Do not fall asleep.
We are literally a perpetual prayer. We’re continually sending requests, in all sorts of directions, consciously, unconsciously, through verbal expressions, energies and vibrations. We ask. We receive. And in receiving, we see who we believe ourselves to be.
I started to feel connected to everything that surrounded me. I could feel not only my own existence but the community of the trees, the moss, the deer, the sun, the air, the ground. I wasn’t trying! The natural phenomenon was clearly introducing itself to me, because for once in a long time, I ...