Wisteria

how to blossom along the beauty way

sometimes we are called away to semi (or not so semi) distant lands right as the cascade of wisteria blooms in the window as if to say “are you sure, it’s so beautiful right here”.

and we might consider for a moment the wisdom of the temple- that it is either here, now, or it is nowhere. sigh. we know there is nowhere else to be as we are yanked by a golden thread tied to some mysterious hand buried in the ancient pockets of our heart.

because the blooming that stirs our senses into an elixir that eases the old pain happens within the listening to the whisper on the tail of that thread, and following it into the unknown. moment to moment, breath by breath.

here we might meet singing strangers in a small town grocery store parking lot who see us adjusting a body part in a certain way and are moved to ask us if we believe in prayer, and we throw are heads back in laughter and look around to see if there is a cosmic video camera watching as they lay their hands on us in Jesus’ name. and we might walk different after and contemplate “belief” and breathe into everywhere we forgot His gospel.

and cry, and cry and cry and so-

there might be fresh rivers, streams and vibrantly fed blue ponds bustling with all the watery wonders that will keep a child occupied for an entire day of play, (eye of newt anyone?), and we remember a joy that was never meant to be forsaken and our tears are taken downstream with ease.

and there might be so much quiet that the stars, now dancing with satellites blinding our soul’s sight, envy us as we sleep a slumber we’ve been seeking for years as the vine maple sings outside the window like she did when we were a child

and,

the fire might find us and engulf our old stories as we grasp at the Earth in pain and huddle in a corner of smokey moss wondering if we made a mistake to venture so far, and once again “alone”, from the Wisteria blooming back home

only to wake up as the fire itself and reclaim the ancient art of how to take the heat and not get burned

and remember how we sweat when we heard what that wise woman said long ago when she revealed what she saw in the contents of our soul

where that golden thread has woven itself into a great spectacle of shimmering light

where all that darkness can no longer hide

and the full moon tells us it is now time to return wide eyed to the Wisteria in the window with a basketful of humble truths to share simply by the quiet stare of Peace blossoming from where it has always been within us.

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~BEAUTIFUL SOUL, REMEMBER…

You are on a winding journey. You are not a fixed position. You are a shapeshifting masterpiece of incomprehensible greatness. Listen to the storms in your heart. As loud and raucous as it all may seem inside at times, it is that uncomfortable stirring that teaches you how to steer your mighty ship through the endless waves of Life’s tides, always turning, always churning you into a smooth operator of Love.

You are tied to something more powerful than the non-stop noise of news that anchors you to fear. Let it pull you on your great adventure where hands are waiting to hold you in ways that help you remember that there are eyes on you at all times, witnessing you with adoration and celebration for the great leap of faith it takes to be here dancing upon our Mother’s skin that blooms with all we need to be fed, mystified and wisened into a trust with, and in, Life.

Just one wobbly step toward what sparks your heart alive is enough to open the way your soul seeks. Because your journey is not about you alone. And you will discover what you are made of, which helps you make new choices, brave choices, the choices you want to make in your deepest, most wisest, most lovingest parts but are afraid to because you’ve been told the wind doesn’t have hands -and so your family of support has shrunk into a circle of limiting beliefs. And if your choices and prayers for a new day don’t include the aliveness and mastery of the wind, then they really don’t include you.

You will be held, you are held, even when, and especially when, it hurts and the old noise haunts. Mother guarantees this. And so it is.

Blessed be,

Shira Starfire

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