For My Sons and Daughters

May we raise our sons and daughters to only speak words that they feel within. Too often life is perceived as a series of actions in a drama and so people ignore the fact that those around them are human, not paid actors. May my daughter grow up in a world where she feels free to speak or write her truths without fear of being perceived as less than. May all around her recognize her awareness of life and respect her humanity. May my son learn the importance of listening in a society where all men do is speak. Where too many men speak incalculable volumes at decibels loud enough for rock concerts, may my son grow to also listen and speak when he finds something truly worth saying. May our children reflect upon their actions and lead lives of consideration for those surrounding them so that perhaps one day hearts will mend, and souls will fill to the brim with happiness.

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Instruments of Love

It isn’t an easy world when it comes to the manifestation of love. You are right to open yourself to the pleasant vibrations made by the strings of Cupid’s bow, but take heed and be careful… not all doors are ready to open. Not all shells house perfect pearls. So manifest your love and dreams, all the while treading carefully through the thorny brambles of forests recently burned. Not all who want to love are ready for a never ending ecstasy blessed by the great Aphrodite. Listen to your goddesses and let patience and clarity guide you through the burning forest and into wildflower meadows by the sea. All that you seek is already there ready, waiting for you.

Willing

Did they ever deserve what you gave or did they just receive because you did not know the value of your own worth? Had they known, like you, would things have stayed the same or would something else have been brought forth? To trade or to gift, did you know the best techniques? Or had you worked hard to, in their minds, being forth a shift?

Were you ever able to show what they truly meant for you? Did they know of the places to touch that would, in your core, strike true? Perhaps they could prove to you that all you’d love for you they’d do.

Dark Gray

Your true color is dark gray, muddy, half devoid of substance as if it couldn’t be enough. Your halo is gray and tilted to one side and I saw cracks in your demeanor. For a while I looked at myself and saw some of you reflected as I slowly turned light gray from a pure white. Your color is dark gray, beautiful, but grimy and it brings me down and I wonder what it must feel like to carry that weight with you of pouring out uncontrollably as you hold on to fragments from when you fell to the floor and shattered. I am an act of self-love, in constant motion, and ever so willing to give the little pieces of light that I hold in my hands, but I can’t share that light if all you’ll do is obscure my path.