Poetry
Over pewter sands sudsy tentacles slip –
a soft surf rolls ashore and lolls before
conspiring with the demure daylight moon
to ease back languidly, exhaling a slow hush.
(more…)-
-
Dream journal: 5 minute read
All I remember of my appointed task is that it involves finding parts for things and piecing them together. A sense of mild urgency pervades, a feeling that my job is important both for me and for the collective with which I find myself associated. At one point, the urgency reaches a pinnacle. Something happens and I fall.
(more…) -
Dream/meditation journal: 2 minute read
6/7/24
The Daymare
(more…)
It takes awhile to calm my racing thoughts. Aware that this is only a 15-minute meditation, I let myself off the hook for anything monumental. “Just take whatever impressions come. Accept them for what they are,” I remind myself. -
Poetry
For Leah. For years, she kept a kosher kitchen amid visions from another life.
The West and day’s last light.The jungle, vibrant, still resounds
with piercing shrieks of rainbow birds.
Glinting low on the horizon,
His Majesty of Fire turns adobe into gold.
Lest we forget Him in the night.
(more…) -
Dream journal: 2 minute read
What will become of thesemy many lives,
abandoned each morning abruptly to their own fates?
— Jane Hirshfield
(more…) -
Quote/Poetry
“We will, indeed, have quite different visions and versions of God, All That Is, Ultimate Reality or whatever other term we may use to describe our unknown source, as we each interpret reality through our unique experiences and abilities. Such diversity should be taken for granted. But we should allow no one such vision to be accepted as absolute, or as carrying the indelible stamp of Divine approval.”
– Jane Roberts, The God of Jane: A Psychic Manifesto
(more…) -
Dream journal/memoir: 5 minute read
Take these broken wings and learn to fly.
– Paul McCartney/John Lennon
2/1/11 — The Raven and the Roots of Ygdrassil
(more…)
The invaders do not look like us. They are tall and deathly pale. Their hair, worn long and often braided, is a nearly gray ash-blonde. They have facial hair, uncommon among our own men. The clothing they wear is equally strange. In leather pants and Norwegian sweaters they are plotting genocide. -
Poetry/Re-Blog
No spiral but the sacred Spiral. – Only Fragments
Once you’re in free-fall it’s too late.Traffic whizzes by in miniature
below, oblivious to my predicament
as I catch myself out
on a ledge of my own making.
Beneath my feet ancient concrete crumbles,
cascading into invisibility.
(more…) -
Poetry/Dream journal: 1 minute read
4/21/22Listen
You have to listen to what the land is saying to you, a dream tells me over and over, all night long. Later in the day I sit with pen and paper to meditate and my Crowd come through with an answer to my unspoken question:
(more…)
CAMILLA WELLS PAYNTER 