The Stagecoach Driver: A poem in perpetual motion

Nuance, at best, is difficult to parse out. Difficult, as in not impossible, but challenging.

Challenge notwithstanding, the driver of this poem expresses herself in solitary flights. She is known to flee.

At her very best, or is that the worst — the undisciplined — she charges into an unknown with little respect for the difficulty of the terrain until she is forced, by some creek too high to forge, to retreat.

Fear has a way of driving the stagecoach driver to return.

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The coach is held in place by four wheels and a team of horses — often two or more. There is form, language, and punctuation. She uses them all.

She is not the kind of driver to brake suddenly.

Rather, she rides the brake until the brake is worn by repeated wear.

The horses cannot understand, now that they have crossed the divide. Will the stagecoach driver forge ahead or return to the empty parlor where the sherry decanter has been stolen, or at the very least, smashed?

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She is the driver of a heedless coach. She is the quill, the wheel, the horse, the buckboard, and the calloused hands without gloves.

She is the running board. Dammit. She has words to deliver.

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Running is for cowards.

Creeks go high. Roads get pocked. Wheels buckle under the strain just as discarded cooking pots, feather beds, and grandfather clocks clutter the trail. Ink stains.

Battles are lost. The sun blazes.

The buck cannot help her. He died when she shot him.

She took.

He gave.

Together, they grieve the instability of their path.

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Nuance, a difficulty, and death, an inevitability. Poetry is a lost language.

Or should that read: Poetry is a language yet to be found.

If she travels to uncharted territories where her mind is free to wander — can the driver call herself a pilgrim in search of a destination with unlimited choice? Or is she simply a nomad, unsettled, yet undeterred?

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Nuance is the ground she trods upon. Sage. Brush. Her hair is tangled, but free.

This, she knows. And the parlor keeps.

Symmetry of Purpose: How to Make Something from Nothing

ALCHEMY IS THE ANCIENT PRACTICE OF SHIFTING PERSPECTIVE.

Long before Medieval forerunners adopted alchemy for personal exploration in their mystery schools, alchemy was once thought of as a philosophical branch of self-awareness, according to much of the guidance I receive in my personal meditations.

Alchemy is less to do with turning metal into gold, as we have come to think of this ancient art and more to do with the spiritual practice of shining light unto the soul-self. We are light bodies. We come from light and we live on light. Were it not for the sun we would not exist. And the ancients knew this. So to adopt a spiritual practice of blessing the light was in essence a way to bless the soul-self.

Light begets light. Metal begets metal. Turning metal into gold is symbolic of turning the body into light.

Turning the body into light is simply a way of returning the body back to its original essence or light form. A way of saying, “Use these light codes and you too will be transformed!”

Think of the body as light, as gold, as the ancients did and the body begins to realign with its soul-self. The key isn’t in the sun or in the gold but in the essence of what the light embodies. Source. We might turn to this light when we are in need. My Quaker family often says, “I will hold you in the light.” Meaning: I will hold you in love. I will hold you in prayer. We can turn to the light for inspiration and divine purpose.

I regard the light as love. But more than being a peaceful and calming embodiment of the divine, I love the idea of being held in light as both transformational and informative, as meditative energy often brings about interesting healing vibrations and a renewed sense of purpose.

I REFER TO THESE CODES OF TRANSFORMATION AS LIGHT LANGUAGE.

Gold, the manifestation of God’s light or sunlight, depending on what religious/spiritual preference you might have, was prophesied in every ancient culture as holding the spiritual equivalent of truth. Were it not for the ancients who worshipped their gold, we might not look at the artifacts they produced as anything but simple metal, but because gold was personified as something more important than Earth, gold became the standard bearer of truth.

BEHOLD THE GOLD!

In this morning's meditation, I was shown just how little we adhere to Earth. We dismiss Earth for the glory of what lies beyond us when what is in front of us, our soul-selves, exists to capture the energy of the spiritual soul. Earth is no longer used as a playground for spiritual exploration as many of our ancient cultures once esteemed her, but we can return to this idea of gold, an Earth treasure, and a language within the stars that will help steer us toward balance, equanimity, and a more heart-centered life.

Author Photo: Kiawah, SC

Use the energy of the light (the gold) in your meditation to recapture the essence you seek. We’re all seekers, and what we seek is either material or it is spiritual. Often it is both because we can’t live on this planet without seeking shelter or sustenance for our form, but should you desire a little less material and a little more spiritual, absorbing the golden light will help balance your body and help attain a synergy of purpose.

The body needs direction and we often listen and absorb various opinions from others about how to find what is best for ourselves. Going within and channeling the golden light will help raise the awareness of your soul-self, your truth, your star code, and your relationship to what you seek. It’s not hard to take care of ourselves, but we don’t like it. We want someone else to fix us. We want someone else to redeem us. We want someone else to pat us on the back for a job well done. But when we can begin to acquire self-love, self-awareness, and the glory of our unique selves, energies of need and want begin to dissipate.

We’re hungry for love and going to God helps. But if going to God doesn’t suit your vocabulary style, try adapting this idea of sitting in Pure Source Energy for ease of the mind/body/spirit.

Blessings,

Alicia

Creating Pathways to Love

I AM NOT AN EXPERT ON LOVE.

I am a student of love, and I will learn as much, on any given day, as the next person. Therefore, what I am about to chat about has nothing to do with experience. It has everything to do with my meditative discoveries.

I am a Reiki Master, teacher, and writer. I have taught myself through my meditative journey how to communicate, through writing, about healing with energy.

My journey is mine, it is not yours, but because most of us are aware that we are part of a Collective, perhaps it is safe to say that these journeys are universal. What I receive in meditation is not just for me. It is for us all.

Today’s meditation (actually it was a walking meditation in a gorgeous field) was to remind me about the subtle implications of how we give and receive love.

Blandy, Boyce, VA

NOT TO OVERSIMPLIFY THIS, BUT WE’RE TANGLED, BROKEN, AND STRUGGLING.

Love is an idea. An ideal. In our minds, love is never enough. We’re never enough. We expect, and we design love to be what we think love should be based on a guiding principle of give and take.

Love is less about the I’ll rub your back if you rub mine kind of mentality and more about just being.

But we expect our friends, partners, parents, children, and lovers to bend to our design of love. And they, in turn, expect us to bend to their design. Who designs these designs, by the way? I’ve always wanted to know that. Well, in my meditation today I received the answer. We do. We design love.

Love can not be designed, because no two designs are ever the same. Rather, Love is. Without definition. Without expectation. Without design.

Now, this is a head trip until we can begin to wrap our minds around the notion that Love is. The mind creates, right? But the mind tears things apart. We are tearing apart Divine Love because we’re no longer judging ourselves against a god who loves.

In the United States, this god separates us into us against them. (I’ll speak to the issue from the perspective of a US citizen, although this problem appears across the globe). This god is not universally divine, because...well…we create the version of the god we want.

And when we do this we divvy up our ideas about love across the landscape. One universal god could solve the problem, but well, that’s another kettle of fish. Maybe that’s for another story.

We have many versions of god. Many versions of love. And not one answer.

Blandy, Boyce, VA

I’D LIKE TO PROPOSE A TIME-OUT.

The adults in the room are fighting over which version of love is best. But isn’t Divine Love supposed to be the answer? And isn't Divine Love supposed to be universal? And isn’t it supposed to be from God?

Do you see the problem?

Divine Love has never been universal, thereby creating a multi-nuanced god of individuality. And these individuals create separation. The god is broken. The heart is broken. The individual weeps, “Where is my love?”

But in today’s meditation I heard the following words while walking:

Divine Love is simple. It is the love of the individual without expectation. It is love without fences. Without borders. Without need.

I am learning to love without needing this love to be returned to me in the way I think it should be returned. I am learning not to corral love or define it. I’m simply appreciating the nuance of love. It is about unburdening myself from need and opening myself up to exploration. I don’t reach far for my god. He/she/them is within. Me. I am honoring God because I love myself and when I love myself I simply love. Period.

It is difficult not to think of this idea of loving ourselves as selfish and narcissistic. We’re designed to give give give so that we feel the altruistic love of duty. But honestly, it's ok to give to ourselves. Feed the heart. Put the oxygen mask on first. Then we can give our best self to others without depending on love to be outside of ourselves. Tear up the script. Make discoveries. Love is. We are Divine.

Straight Out Of Nowhere

NO ONE SAID THIS PUBLISHING JOURNEY WOULD BE EASY.

We can read just about everyone’s publishing story and find the common denominator: It takes a lot of work to become a published author.

My story is the same, yet different. Yes, it has taken years of pushing through some serious distractions to stay in the writer’s life. I was once a very hands-on mother to two daughters. As they grew, and I continued to work at home to become a writer, I worked alongside them at the kitchen table.

We studied together and formed a bond. As their mother, I felt it was vital that they see me working on my dream. I feel certain this has helped them find the passion for their own dreams. They do not share the same dreams I have but have dreams of their own. Grasping this was, and is, important to us all as I learned how to give them room to explore.

THE WRITER IN ME NEVER WANTED TO GIVE UP.

She was determined to find a way to “succeed” and prove to my loved ones that I was a serious writer with serious goals. For me to be taken seriously, first I had to begin to take myself seriously. This was hard to do. I kept waiting for others to perceive me as serious, but without me first instigating this seriousness, the seriousness, well, it fell on deaf ears. Maintaining seriousness became important. After all, I was out to prove myself.

Can you guess what happened after I began to take myself seriously? And find all the ways I could to prove it? I forgot to play. It was a terrible time. I was so hellbent on succeeding that I forgot to play. The push forward took me away from an important part of myself and I forgot to rummage around in my creative filing cabinet and try new things, explore, and learn. I succeeded in only exhausting myself in the push.

THIS IS WHERE I AM NOW.

On the open road to nowhere. To everywhere. To somewhere. Honestly, I don’t know. I managed to get some of my earlier work published. My first goal. Yay! I reached a mile marker I was determined to get to, but now that I am here I see the road in front of me, and boy, it is wide. It is long. It doesn’t end. Now, what is a writer to do?

Do I tick off the mile markers as I go along on this writer's journey one after the other, or do I ignore the mile markers and look out across the vast expansiveness and forget the road? Forget that I am tired? Forget the plans? The road map?

There are too many stops along the way that look promising. I may be at the beginning of my writer’s journey but I know, having achieved this first publishing marker, that it does not mean I should put my head down and keep driving.

I think I’ll get off the road, park the next writing project in the parking lot, sit back, and look around awhile. There might be a much different highway calling. It might not be the one I am on. I need time to rummage through the weeds a bit and see what lies hidden.

This is the kind of writer I am becoming.

Option. Control. Command.

Option. Control. Command. We instinctively know where these three words appear on the keyboard and we use them repeatedly without pausing to discern. We know what purpose they serve and the ways they will help, yet we look unwillingly at what greater meaning these words bring.

As a writer, I look for inspiration outside myself just as I look for it within. I look to landscape because it inspires me to think about myself in relationship to Earth. Landscape is me. It is me in relationship to my surroundings within this vast biosphere, a deep molecular/spiritual/energetic kinship to something larger than myself. I am but a small thread, nothing without others. Perhaps I should say, “landscape is we,” as the whole of landscape encompasses more than myself.

WE ARE BIO-MOLECULAR INHABITANTS GROPING ABOUT UNEASILY IN SOME SEARCH OF IT ALL.

Rather than stop searching, because there is this inner pull within me to explore alchemy, transformation, and old stories desperately in need of re-writing, all in the name of living, I continue to explore what life means. I don’t do this uneasily, but playfully, lightly, and with a sense of childish wonder. Who are we really? Are we just some random species, having formed from a rudimentary molecular structure to become one of the fortunate ones now able to sustain and continue life? I’d like to think there is an advanced understanding we have with this planet that needs exploring.

Are we in balance with this Earth that supports our magnificent molecular journey? No. We’re gorging ourselves on her bounty. And we know this. Anyone reading this right now knows this. You might have been drawn to the title, the tags, or the photograph, but this is because you and I are probably like-minded individuals, and something about me resonates with you. So what I have to say isn’t new to you. You’re writing/teaching/communicating the same thing hoping people will listen.

LIKE-MINDED SOULS HAVE ONE ANOTHER.

But then how do we reach beyond those who are listening to the planet’s woes to those who are not responding? And what is it we want to say to those not understanding/respecting our symbiotic relationship to the planet?

I want to say this: It isn’t an option not to listen to Earth if we want to continue sustaining human life. Earth will be here longer than we will and it’s on us to respect this. We’re bio-molecular beings, a string of biomes, plasma, bones, and blood systematically strung out because we can’t control Earth or her evolution. Get over trying to control. We can’t. We can inhabit and respect, but we can’t control. We have options. We can respect the way we’re in a relationship with Earth or we can ignore this. I suggest we treat our planet in the same way we take care of ourself.

Can you see where I’m going with this? Unless we take care of ourself we won’t have the mindset to take care of the planet. So what’s a girl to do? Start helping by getting down into the muck to teach self-care, self-awareness, and self-love. Help heal old wounds. Love. Support process, transformation, exploration, and sustainability. I can’t feed the homeless. There are others who do that. I want to help those opening their eyes to the problem and give them a little understanding of alchemy. There are ways to transform ourself by taking better care of our molecular/spiritual/energetic relationship to the planet. By doing so we’ll grow deeper roots and respect who we are and where we belong. We’re alchemists if we choose to be. Let’s transform.

What is Truth?

YOUR TRUTH IS NOT MINE

My Truth is not yours. We’re living at a time when this is becoming more and more apparent. Individualism is pulling us into ourselves at such a sharp clip. It’s frightening how we’re pulling ourselves deeper into only our own people, only our own ideas, only our own needs without addressing the vast Collective. We’re becoming our own limitation.

I’d like to offer you this: as we explore individualism, unpack our self Truth, and make discoveries about ourselves, let us remember that we can be doing this for the betterment of not only ourselves, but others.

We need clarity and a strong alignment with our Truth because when we are clear we can help others discern. Individualism is a fraction of All That Is. We are a fraction of All. Our fractions make up the whole. Without the whole there would be little use for the fraction. Let’s stop tearing apart our threads of humanity just because we can. Individualism might light a fire in us as we get to know ourselves more clearly, but remember this: individualism disrupts the Collective.

There is nuance here, yet this is very hard to unpack. Nuance is difficult to understand, but in The Intrepid Meditator I hope to convey this idea that as much as we are learning about our soul/self (should you be so inclined), we are also learning how this soul/self falls into alignment with All That Is. To destroy for the sake of destroying something such as an institution, a concept, a philosophy, a law will ultimately destroy the Collective. And when the Collective, that which binds us together, falls, we will fall. Without the fraction there will be nothing left of the whole. Without the whole our individual threads become meaningless.

Sharing My Writer's Journey

I never wanted to become a writer.

I never really aspired to it. I wanted to become a nurse. Or a healer of some kind. Possibly a Hospice nurse. I thought about that a lot. I am a mother. I am a nurse and a healer. I take care of. I actually thought I might become a broadcast journalist. I wanted to share the news. I learned to think and type simultaneously when my father, a broadcaster, told me that this was the only way to write effectively. I would write compositions, term papers, and stories long hand and ask him to type them for me. He quickly gave me my own typewriter and told me I was doing it all wrong, that to think and type simultaneously was the only way I would become a journalist. I changed my mind. I didn’t want to become a journalist. Thinking and typing at the same time was difficult and my muscle memory and my brain reacted against it. But look at me now. I think and type. All the time. It’s my career. My father was right. I am a nurse and a writer. A mother and a healer. I write what intuitively comes to me…words of encouragement and healing. 

Although I didn’t realize it at the time, my journey to becoming a writer began when I started typing…

…playing “writer” on my new electronic typewriter. I would pretend to write words, long sentences, even paragraphs that were a jumbled mess because thinking and writing at the same time was difficult. But pretending was fun. I was an effervescent child, not quite here. Off in the clouds somewhere. I played writer and became a writer. I’m not sure many people approach their life choice this way, but I typed my way into it and now I can only think and type at the same time. I guess you could say I became what I pretended to be.

There’s mysticism in creating oneself.

We all do it. We think and become. I want to become the healer and help others understand that their journey is the journey of creating, manifesting, and becoming. 

Writing is a tool to teaching. I never thought about being a teacher, but I played at that too as a child. We set up “school” and took turns playacting. My friends and I loved playing school. I loved the teacher/student way. Looking back, I guess I’m somewhat stymied by it all struggling to understand the writer’s journey. How did I get here and why can’t I shake this complicated existence? I am a nurse, healer, student, teacher. A seeker. And I write to share. There’s no other way.