Light
Yesterday I was introduced to the work of Sharon McErlane and Net of Light by my lovely Sas, it resonated with me so powerfully and the timing! I am working with Meghan circled with women Returning to the Fire, and it was one of the moments when you just have absolute faith that you are exactly where you are supposed to be. A moment that I could feel through every cell my connection to the Divine, my oneness with that energy. Purest magic.
This morning, out there under my trees, I was thinking about how we shine our lights.... or not. Wondering how we find the beacons among the tides of sleepwalkers. Thinking that if we shy away from showing our true selves we are short changing ourselves and the world. I believe one of the gifts of navigating through darkness is that you can see the closest light to move towards. No matter how small. So here I am being that little light, writing on a blog that not even my Mum reads any more :) .
It would be so easy not to post this, to just feel like writing something here is shining about as bright as a failing bulb in a cheap torch. Yet, what harm can I do? I release the pressure of reaching anyone but me and bring levity to this gentle little action. I am a light bearer in any way that I feel able and empowered to be. Who am I not to be? It is a strange kind of arrogance, living ego led, to not allow the Divine to shine through me. In the darkness even a tiny, flickering, light is so welcome. Even if I am the only person who reads this I have helped myself by a tiny act of courage and have a light here to come back to when it is feeling dark again. If not, then I hope that whoever you are reading this, you can find a similar tiny way to bring a little more light and love to the world. No-one can deny how much it is needed, and I am committed to not letting the enormity of that feeling overwhelm simple, tiny, joyful things.
I am sharing a poem I read for the first time this morning, shared by a wonderful woman in the Returning to the Fire circle. It feels like an essential part of everything that I am feeling right now.
This morning, out there under my trees, I was thinking about how we shine our lights.... or not. Wondering how we find the beacons among the tides of sleepwalkers. Thinking that if we shy away from showing our true selves we are short changing ourselves and the world. I believe one of the gifts of navigating through darkness is that you can see the closest light to move towards. No matter how small. So here I am being that little light, writing on a blog that not even my Mum reads any more :) .
It would be so easy not to post this, to just feel like writing something here is shining about as bright as a failing bulb in a cheap torch. Yet, what harm can I do? I release the pressure of reaching anyone but me and bring levity to this gentle little action. I am a light bearer in any way that I feel able and empowered to be. Who am I not to be? It is a strange kind of arrogance, living ego led, to not allow the Divine to shine through me. In the darkness even a tiny, flickering, light is so welcome. Even if I am the only person who reads this I have helped myself by a tiny act of courage and have a light here to come back to when it is feeling dark again. If not, then I hope that whoever you are reading this, you can find a similar tiny way to bring a little more light and love to the world. No-one can deny how much it is needed, and I am committed to not letting the enormity of that feeling overwhelm simple, tiny, joyful things.
I am sharing a poem I read for the first time this morning, shared by a wonderful woman in the Returning to the Fire circle. It feels like an essential part of everything that I am feeling right now.
The Laughter Of Women
by Lisel Mueller
The laughter of women sets fire
to the Halls of Injustice
and the false evidence burns
to a beautiful white lightness
to the Halls of Injustice
and the false evidence burns
to a beautiful white lightness
It rattles the Chambers of Congress
and forces the windows wide open
so the fatuous speeches can fly out
and forces the windows wide open
so the fatuous speeches can fly out
The laughter of women wipes the mist
from the spectacles of the old;
it infects them with a happy flu
and they laugh as if they were young again
from the spectacles of the old;
it infects them with a happy flu
and they laugh as if they were young again
Prisoners held in underground cells
imagine that they see daylight
when they remember the laughter of women
imagine that they see daylight
when they remember the laughter of women
It runs across water that divides,
and reconciles two unfriendly shores
like flares that signal the news to each other
and reconciles two unfriendly shores
like flares that signal the news to each other
What a language it is, the laughter of women,
high-flying and subversive.
Long before law and scripture
we heard the laughter, we understood freedom.
high-flying and subversive.
Long before law and scripture
we heard the laughter, we understood freedom.
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