SEISMIC PULSE
Change is the seismic pulse of our biological flux.
Holding within it both voluntary and involuntary motion.
The great dance between chaos and order
that bends us into grace so our old skin can fall like dusk,
and the new light can find its contours without resistance.
When the familiar dissolves
the heart can listen,
for the soul speaks loudest in the language of undoing.
let this moment be bold, soft, & holy.
So that when the world asks you, who are you now,
you may answer, I am the one who woke up.
To change is to alter, to barter, to bend, to curve.
It is a mutual dynamic process, where identity & position
transform through contrast and contact.
A radical acceptance of mutation as growth.
Change is the sacred rupture.
a deep turning of the soul as an inner alchemy,
awakening dormant faculties of perception.
It is an unfolding koan that dissolves illusion
and erodes the ego.
A foray from consensus reality,
a surfacing of something hidden.
It is the place where I dissolves into We.
and We do not change alone, awakening
is relational. We change through friction,
love, bliss, loss, & through all the ways we are
impacted by otherness.
To change is to become the very signature of awakening,
It is the tuning of the mind beyond mind,
Do not resist the unraveling.
Be guided into the whisper before breath,
into the hush before memory,
and into the wisdom in the marrow.
Look through the clear light of an edified spine,
so much more than structure,
it is myth in motion,
a shrine in the body.
Deep into the unfathomable force of flow
that moves through breath, galaxies,
and thought itself.
No edge, No end, No name.
It cannot be damned,
It cannot be mapped,
a current older that stars,
that carries you into yourself.
MASTER POINTINGS OF SOPHIA
I was there before the vault was stretched,
before the morning stars rehearsed their light.
Before the breath of man,
I was a whisper in the silence,
a pulse in the dark deep.
I am the first-born of discernment,
the flame in the lamp of understanding.
I danced beside the architect,
delighted in the curve of the river,
the laughter of lion cubs,
the stillness between thunder.
My words are honey for the seeking,
fire for the proud,
balm for the brokenhearted.
I do not dwell where arrogance treads,
but enter through the doors of reverence.
I cry aloud at the crossroads, in the marketplace,
in the hidden room.
To the simple I offer insight.
To the weary, rest.
To the lover of truth,
I give myself like rain to root.
Silver is not my equal.
Gold does not know my name.
I give the map of the eternal
and the counsel of the stars.
She is the mobility of all movement
The transparent nothing that pervades all things.
She is the breath of the universe,
a clear emanation of glory.
No impurity stains her.
She is the goddess's spotless mirror
Reflecting eternal light.
She does all things without leaving herself.
She renews all things.
Generation after generation
she slips into holy souls.
Making them friends of gods and prophets.
BOTANICAL MEANDER
May the language of color
and fragrance call you forward,
A hush of green unfolding
in the meander of morning light,
Where air is laced with
cedar & petals,
Opening a door unseen
yet deeply known.
May you step as an initiate
into the botanical realms,
Where the ferns curled tongue whispers forgotten names,
& the elder trees,
wise with resin and time,
Anoint your breath with the perfume of loam & root.
May the spirit of a line
guide your hand,
curve of a river, arc of a bloom,
The delicate script
of moss on stone,
Tracing the story
of where you have been
& where you will go.
An Imaginal sanctuary,
A quiet clearing
where the wind shapes silence,
A garden walled only by mist,
A place that has been waiting
for you Since before
you could name your longing.
Here, relationship to transience becomes kinship,
Growth and decay
woven into the same
golden thread,
The falling leaf
no less beautiful
than the unfurling bud.
You have come from the root
and will return to it again,
Changed, but belonging.
May you hold something
you cannot name,
A feather of light,
a shadow of scent,
The tender ache of something half-remembered,
Like a blessing
that entered your heart in a dream
And left you waking
with open hands.
A Poem Written in Air
Breathwork, a gentle tide
shifting the seas within.
The nervous system whispers,
balancing between
fight and flight,
rest and release
calm waves soothing
the jagged edges of fear.
Heart rhythms dance,
their cadence aligned
a silent song of coherence,
a measure of resilience
woven into the body’s pulse,
a signal of well-being,
a testament to grace.
Breath, the alchemist,
shaping the elements,
exchanging gases
oxygen, carbon
pH shifting, alkaline seas
where cellular tides rise and fall.
Tissues awaken,
life is renewed.
Neurochemical whispers
endorphins spilling light,
serotonin softening sorrow,
GABA calming the storm.
The brain, once clenched,
unfolds to waves
of alpha and theta
quiescence for the restless mind.
Deep diaphragmatic pulse,
lymphatic rivers flow,
immune cells mobilize,
inflammation tamed,
resilience honed.
The body, a symphony
tuned to healing
a universe at rest.
Cortisol ebbs,
stress dissolves.
The vagus nerve hums
a lullaby of safety.
Hormones align
in quiet rhythm.
Cells are nourished,
mitochondria sparked
by the breath’s caress.
The amygdala sighs,
fear loosens its grip.
The prefrontal cortex
seat of wisdom
engages with clarity.
A garden blooms
with mindfulness,
where self-awareness
flowers gently.
Consciousness unfurls
breath as portal,
a threshold to altered realms.
Here, unity waits,
a silent echo of belonging,
a brush with the divine.
Pain dissolves.
Resilience awakens
a poem
written in air.
Come, beloveds
Step out of the noise
and into the quiet tide
that lives beneath your ribs.
Let breath be your compass,
your companion,
your prayer.
Inhale the ancient rhythm
of waves shaping stone.
Exhale the burdens
you were never meant to hold.
This is not performance
this is remembrance.
Of your pulse.
Of your peace.
Of your place
in the great unfolding.
Join us
as we soften,
as we listen,
as we breathe
a new poem
into being.
Demon Hand, Buddha Heart
Let your hand be fire
precise as the blade that parts shadow from truth,
unyielding where falsehood would root.
Let it strike, if it must,
but never from rage.
Let your heart be still
a bowl of clear water
reflecting the moon,
even as the storm rises.
Hold the silence that knows when to roar.
Strike not to harm, but to protect the unseen flower.
Carry the sword that cuts illusion
but sheath it in mercy.
The true warrior wounds only to heal.
The true healer burns only to cleanse.
Thus, move with the demon’s hand
and love with the Buddha’s heart.
SPEAK BEAUTY REPEATEDLY 