Poem of the Day

ONE

alignment.

aligning.

ducks in a row.

consistency.

synchronicity.

flow.

pattern.

rhythm.

righting.

falling into place.

making sense.

coalesce.

union.

yoga.

ONE

~© Lana Maree

 

Woman with eight arms in ancient celestial illustration.
:::
“The Goddess holds the key to the most ancient forms of sacred dance; she is inextricably linked to dance. Dance was the principal form of worship of the Goddess. In some cases, in addition to her role as creator, giver, and protector of all life, the Goddess herself was a dancer, celebrating through dance the cycles of the seasons and the cycles of life.”
-Iris J. Stewart, Sacred Woman, Sacred Dance:
Awakening Spirituality Through Movement and Ritual

Sacred Gifts

Even after all this time
The sun never says to the earth,
“You owe Me.”

Look what happens
with a love like that,
It lights the Whole Sky.

—Hafiz

Mantra and Sound

Om Ram Ramaya Swaha (ohm rahma rah-my-yah, swah-ha)

“Rama has a two-fold meaning in Sanskrit. First, it is the seed sound for the manipura, or solar plexus chakra. Tremendous healing energy lies dormant at that chakra. Mantra can help you get at the energy. This mantra begins to awaken and activate the entire chakra. It specifically prepares the chakra to be ale to handle the inflow of kundalini energy that gives the chakra power.
The second application involves dividing Rama into the syllables Ra and Ma. Ra is associated with the solar current that runs down the right side of our bodies. Ma is associated with the lunar current that runs down the left side of our bodies. Although these tow currents crisscross and meet at the chakras, they are generally associated with the right and left sides of the body. By repeating Rama…Rama…Rama over and over again, you being balancing the two currents and their activity so that they can work with the higher stages of energy that will eventually come up the spine. This simple mantra, Rama, qualifies as a healing mantra in its own right.” (from Healing Mantras by Thomas Ashely-Farrand)

Private: Poems

My latest poem on Rebelle Society
The Very Near Death of a Holy Heart and The Solitude of Knowing

The Very Near Death of a Holy Heart and The Solitude of Knowing

Heartache01

Wrapping myself into the quiet night of my dreams,
and snuffing the raw brilliance of my oh-so-silent screaming,
I,
one day,
long ago,
left my star-filled night.

I pulled up the covers and turned down the lights.
I grew cold near winter’s edge,
realizing I’d never made myself
that holy pledge,
of crystal clear truth,
from heartbeat to Shakti-root.

Instead I left my most vital part under the hedge,
to die,
the very near death of a holy heart.
That is the sad and beautiful truth,
of how I left it.
Somewhere, in the middle of nowhere.

There, under that brambly, bushy hedge,
I lay myself down.
My ear pressed in on the cushy ground,
listening so clearly, so near to my abandoned treasure.
There, where it was cold and damp and withering,
I could hear its homing rhythm beating.
And in the stillest stillness,
I heard its secrets, whispering to me.

The burying wasn’t hard to do,
the ground was hummus-y and wet with dew.
And it wasn’t very big at all,
but condensed and compressed,
quite small.
I placed it in a box made of fabrics,
of tattered lace and scattered clouds,
amongst scribbled pages, notes and drawings,
so many long forgotten dreams.
All stuffed together,
without any visible edges or seams.

I left it alone,
but I didn’t forget it.
On rare occasions I’d remind myself to check it.
When I did, I’d be pleasantly shocked by its visceral quality,
its odd shape and grotesque coloring,
pulsing with a beat that was slowly,
slowing.

One day, not too long ago,
I had a sudden feeling like a letting go.
I still could sense my small chesty organ,
I still could feel it calling.

When I dug it up though,
I no longer felt that same fascination.
Instead, there were sharp pains, words and witnessing,
too much to feel again.
But unlike the child of nine or ten,
I felt more grown up now,
and more like a mother to my childlike heart.

In my hands,
dark purply-red,
bloodstained,
surely not dead —
but half-alive and glistening.
My tears were the weeping,
the bleeding, and the desperate needing.

At emotion’s crescendo,
it seemed to stop.
A last beat,
and a bugle’s horn,
droning out long and low from underneath.
I felt a deep sigh, a relief.
Actually it seemed like a most natural death,
beating the last beat like a last dying breath.
No more feelings, no more pain.
I hoped I could go on without it,
and not ever think of it again.

But I was wrong about death.
And I was wrong about neglect and ignorance,
innocence and breath.

Whatever was left there
was ripening —
ripening in moonlight, ripening under the ground,
ripening in the mouths of the ones
who don’t make a sound.
The ones who draw their ancient breath,
from some place we haven’t seen yet.

I learned that this is what happens with hearts that need to be buried,
and souls that have gotten too heavy and weary:

they sleep, they grieve, they weep and they weave.
They crack and they hurt wide open.
They nourish the ground,
moving and shifting,
they listen and grow.

They let what lies down,
lie down in the ground.
They let what takes knowing,
the time and space,
and the darkness —
the solitude of knowing.

I used to think I was so unique in my experiences. Yet I buried my heart and lived with a half-heart for most of my life. I think everyone must bury their heart at some point and walk around with their half-hearts — greeting each other and smiling, loving and living in the best way they can, while secretly hurting inside.

“That time I could not go any closer to grief, without dying. I went closer, and I did not die. Surely God had his hand in this.” ~ Mary Oliver

We all find ways to protect our hearts, our minds, and our souls. My intention is to find a way, any creative and sacred way, to see mine (and yours) whole (holy) again. Is that not the point? So, if your heart is breaking, let it. Let it do what hearts do. It is a human privilege.

And we haven’t allowed ourselves the space and time, the support and the solitude that we need for grieving.

So sit, listen, write, sing, cry, scream, dance, hide, run, gnash your teeth, reach out to a friend, visit someone who is lonelier than you, read books, soak in the sun, ask the river, ask the trees, ask the wind, beg for relief, bend on your knees, visit a temple, visit your body’s holy temple and ask for forgiveness and peace.

And let yourself really know, that something bigger is loving you and holding you always.

~Lana Maree

Events

 

Lana Maree & Friends

at Cafe Gratitude

Kansas City, Missouri

Tuesday, March 1st 6:30-7:30pm

420515_313159218744417_77939091_n

We’ll be playing songs of love and gratitude at Cafe Gratitude, the best place for vegan food!