Love is my power

I drummed rain and became the river (Paul)
I drummed rain and became the river (Paul)

I am dreaming.

I stand barefoot in a land of white mist. An Elder appears in front of me and offers me a drum.

I hold the drum in my hands. I know it brings power. Calls the lightning and thunder. On the skin of the drum sits Bear, sticking out his tongue at me and laughing. Power and joy and light.

I look up. The Elder is gone.

An Elder rises from the earth in front of me and hands me a drum.

The drum is small, barely six inches across. It moves in my hands, sings to me. This drum is heart and love. Hummingbird flies on the skin of this drum.

I look up. The Elder is gone.

I stand barefoot. Before me I see blue water, green hills, red earth, bright sun. The wind moves round me, playing, whispering.

I am standing in my heart, power and joy and light in one hand, heart and love in the other. Hearing the wind whisper to me–Love is your power, Your power is love.

I wake. The sun shines through my bedroom blinds. The palms of my hands and the soles of my feet are tingling. I feel the drums in my body. I feel Bear standing behind me, paws on my shoulders. Hummingbird by my right ear, weightless. The drums sing inside me.

Love is my power. My power is love.

On holidays (yayyyyyy!)

Magdalene
Magdalene

 

Yes I am on holidays.  Have been writing anyways.  Today’s post is short short.  I am sending love.

 

I dreamed I was water

cupped in your hands

running down your arms

pooled in your heart

flooded overwhelmed

tears washing your feet

returned to the earth

fulfilled.

 

We live in a world of love, if only we have the eyes to see it and the heart to feel it and the will to choose it.

Play, says Raven

7 Crows, a Secret Never To Be Told
7 Crows, a Secret Never To Be Told

 

Last Thursday night, I dream of Raven.

He arrives out of a red gash in the earth.  A hillside, the earth, cut open with an ax, a large square piece flying away like chips of wood from a chopped tree.

Out he flies.  He doesn’t look like Raven.  He looks like a red parrot.  In the dream I try to give him to my husband.  But no, Raven claims me instead, flips back his parrot disguise like a cape and looks me level in the eyes.

Tells me, Play.

Then he hops onto my shoulder.  He should feel heavy, sitting there, grinning and clacking and gurgling at me.  My body is prepared to feel weight tipping my balance sideways.

No.  No weight.  Play has no weight.  Play is feather and cloud and dance.  Play is all Raven.

I wake.

I am not playing enough.  I have been much too serious the last few weeks, and have forgotten play.  I have slipped back into my old pattern of duty and work.  A grim perfection of doing what needs doing before I allow myself time to do what I love–write and draw and imagine and read.

No wonder I have been waking each morning grouchy and out of sorts with the world and my life.  I choose and move myself out of this mood each morning.  I remind myself that happiness is a choice, and that I choose happiness, love, and joy in my life.

I have been forgetting to add that I also choose play, fun, and laughter.  I do get to these sometime during each of my days, but not enough.  Not soon enough and not for long enough.

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