Mystic Journal

Journal Of Thought

Wednesday, March 17, 2004

Thoughts Of Love

Through out our journeys we have traveled into many different heights of our being. In search of unconditional love with in ones self, a greater existence of God. So it is we can truly celebrate life spiritually in the confines of physical embodiment.

April 1999

Saturday, March 13, 2004

The future is bright as it can be blinding, though if I keep my eyes in the present I will follow the light. Leaving behind in the shadows a past well learned and once indulged. I know my dreams; I embrace them tightly, dancing to the rhythm of reality. For it is the song of life to be celebrated in this joyous experience of embodiment.


Sunday, March 07, 2004

Seeds Of Inner Child

Spring has awaken the flower beds as Mother Earth warms the soil and preparing it for growth. As she does to all little seedlings that bury themselves under her skin.
My thoughts trickling through as I watered the moist soil, knowing If I do my part Mother Earth will take care of the rest. Then I caught my reflection staring back at me from the small pool of water swirling above ground.
I could see the child within calling out to me. “Release me”…”Release me”. “I am but your seedling, your beginning and all that you are today”. “If you let me free, I will teach you how to be free from all of conditionings of your past that no longer serve you”.
I sat kneeling and staring at the soil that once held the pool of water and my reflection. It was gone before I could even speak.
And when darkness fell into the night, I found my mind still replaying those words. Unable to sleep, I went into the bathroom and striped. Standing naked in
front of the mirror, searching for the child within. Hollering into the depths of my mind. “Where are You?...I am here to set you free”.
That was many years ago and as of today, I am finally beginning to let my child within free. For this is my Spring time for new beginnings.

April 2003

Friday, March 05, 2004

Who I am

Her cry’s can be heard in the evening or in the morning; it comes with out warning like a child scorn, a soul torn. Searching forth for a mends.
It howls the loudest in winters chill as if the cold air calling for cleanse. Blowing away what remains on the surface, so it can pierce the scars below to peal at the residue build up in ones life.
An in the quiet breeze and silent tears of her hot breath, carries sounds of woman mourning a child’s death. It is her burning away the layers of a forgotten past. So it can bring the healing in.
This my friend is Mothers Earth,
The Wind.


Thursday, March 04, 2004

Shadows Of Time

As I sit in the sun clouded mist staring out the window within the attic of my mind. Reflections of my true being seem to flutter like moths against the window pane, seeking the liquid light to fulfill their beings and transform them into butterfly’s and send them soaring into the glory of Gods infinite flower garden some where beyond sight.

This has become my own sacred place, storing away the many pages, the many chapters of this single life filled with lifetimes of an unconceivable journey. Now I was here staring out this window one last time, for soon I will have cleaned and cleared away all that once remained of woman I no longer no, for she no longer lives here anymore. Glancing over my shoulder I watch the stream of sun light glitter as it dances across the cobwebs lying amidst.

My thoughts reflecting on the building of memories and the tearing down of conditionings and sorting through the attic of my past within the scattered cob webs along the corridors of my mind, searching for that special trunk that expels the karma from our soul and sets our journey into a forgotten pathway, the journey we incarnated into human form and believed we would complete.
It is there in the corner with a small stream of light shining in upon it. As if too illuminate the trunk and pierce through the gray dimmed attic. Kneeling into the dusty floorboards of time, I slowly open the trunk to see what treasures or discoveries I may embark in. Yet find nothing more than ancient scrolls and human skins. Pulling one of the skins worn many life times before and shaking the dust off, as too shake memories of lessons learned of inhaling life and exhaling death.

So many skins, so many life times hoping this time I would inhale death and exhale life, life into the sleeping goddess the ancient soul living in a body only you have come to no. To awaken the Divine goddess would mean to awaken yourself into a reality that are only found out side this trunk by the scattered echo's of your dreams that call out to you in hopes you would follow the voice to where the goddess lay.