How did I get to the picture of the feathers, the earthenware pot, the stones, shells, and candles — and more not pictured? An evolutionary journey happened to me. Of course, it happens to all. Because of a social media discussion yesterday, I am not writing the post I had planned about these tools.
I was asked an insightful question about voice: how do I know if the voice I listen to as Heart, that which I call eternal Spirit within me, my highest Self, is actually Heart and not Ego?
I have published a book about my discovery of this, but in that book I did not put that which I will share here today. Why? I wrote a personal expression the evening I discovered I could create my own purpose. Poems may be powerful snapshots of the soul. The one I share illustrates the conversational voice of and with my own Heart on that particular evening in August of 2012, a magical evening, truly, for me.
I refer to my awakening as an oxymoron because to me and many others it appears to be an epiphany; however, the oxymoron occurs because I call it a gradual epiphany, and epiphanies aren’t normally thought of as gradual. By definition, they are instantaneous.
My Heart, as anyone else’s, spoke throughout my life. Those times, even as a young person, when I questioned who I was and why I was here were my Heart speaking to me. Those times I felt Nature spoke to me, moved me towards something, some idea, some purpose were Heart being receptive and responsive to the energies of the Universe, those I had not entered into for various reasons.
Yet, I felt Heart saying, in essence, “Wake up! Look at this magnificence for more than the beauty. Listen to the messages here.” I almost did. I played at it. I attempted some strategies — religion, especially — that weren’t Heart responses, although throughout all of my experiences my Heart kept presenting me with those two burning questions faced by each of us at various times, many times, throughout life: Who am I? Why am I here?
Inspiration to listen came at me and to me many times. Finally, one summer almost nine years ago, things changed — but this is not the post, either, for that. The epiphany, my epiphany, arrived when all of the evidence and experiences of my many years gazed at me from a mirror, an actual mirror.
I heard that voice that had softly urged, whispered, and gently prodded all those years as my own eyes bore into my soul and mind, passed through and pierced Ego, and said, basically, “Here you are. The real you. Me, your Heart.”
I wasn’t broken, but I was relieved, inspired, blessed as I conversed and heard, with spiritual ears, my Heart, an energy within, accepting of Ego and all those shadow selves and all my past. And I knew it was Heart because there was no condemnation — only acceptance, love, and enthusiasm for what more was to come.
Now, this is long, so here is what was to come that same evening:
The Bird Bath Moon
“What is this moon called?” the Poet asked, to no one in particular.
“But a better question,” his Heart said, “would have been,
‘What power and what magic does this moon possess?’”
“It is a mystery,” the Poet said, “an enigma, unknown and unproven.”
“It is magic!” the heart of the Poet said
And continued, “Magic that you know, that you can prove, that exists.”
The Poet said, “This August full moon is the Sturgeon Moon or the Corn Moon
Or Grain Moon. The Peoples first here called it that.”
His heart asked, “Do you catch sturgeon? Do you grow corn?”
“That’s silly!” said the Poet. “You know
I do not do those things living here in the suburbs!”
“Then why call it that? I told you it is magic!” Heart whispered earnestly. “Magic You need,” Heart scarcely breathed.
“What magic do I need?” mulled Poet.
As he gazed upon the full-glowing silver orb, he thought,
“I have researched, and I know the moon
Helps Earth in many ways, so I know
Moon helps, no, she is crucial to
The ebb and flow of our oceans’ tides,
Maintaining this globe’s axial tilt — all
Life would be different, maybe non-existent for us humans…
These are magic, I suppose,” mused Poet.
Heart breathed, “What do we want?”
Poet and Heart — that core self --
Dreamed, would almost whisper those dreams,
But Poet would reconsider.
“What if I wish wrong?” he wondered, slightly tormented.
“It’s not a birthday cake!” Heart goaded and added,
“I told you: it’s the Magic of the Universe.”
“How do I realize that magic?” Poet asked.
“You are creator! Create your fate!” Heart urged silkily, in hushed tones.
Poet and his Heart wondered.
Then, Heart spoke once again,
“Moon gives more than science knows,
More of those things hearts require,
And although impalpable, are very
Real — things of Magic;
Of loves engendered and rekindled,
Of sacred rites and spiritual directions,
Of sound decisions and lost sanity,
Of hopes with feet and dreams with wings,
Of…You, Poet, Us, Discovery.
We can choose,” ending in a drawn out, sibilant whisper.
Then, Poet’s contemplative gaze
Fell upon that silver orb’s
Reflection held within the puddle of
The simple, shallow birdbath.
“What does it mean to you?” invited Heart.
Poet thought silently, “Power of life-giving
Sun, captured on full-reflecting Moon,
Moon of magic, inspiration
Moon of hope, and
Moon of dreams…
Sun captured on Moon
Moon captured in my birdbath,
Both now seen by my own eyes --
Celts of old said now is the time to wish on
The bright, intense, silver, magic, active Moon.”
Heart urgently and emphatically whispered,
“What are you? What do you want?”
Poet softly declared, “I am a writer!
That is my magic. This is my wish.”
And something, some Magic
On a still, breezeless night
In shallow water of my sheltered birdbath
Sent ripples of approval across the surface
All the power of gaseous, hissing Sun
Now tamed, now harnessed, now offered
In the full, shimmering face of the
(August 31, 2012 — a blue moon)
To the Celts, this moon was known as the Dispute moon, a time for reconciliations, such as reconciling my past, letting go of the ego “impossibilities,” and stating my dream, my desire, my purpose. This was the first time I ever had a full, conscious, internally audible conversation with my own Heart. As quickly as I could capture them, I recorded the words.
Questions to consider:
How many times have you asked yourself or simply thought about the following questions?
Who am I, really?
What is my truth?
How do my actions reveal what I really feel and believe?
What would I do with my life if I could do anything?
What is my passion?
Why am I here?
How can I discover answers to any of these questions?
If you have considered any of these questions, I hope that my experiences and writing will give you some guidance. Please read my blog and comment and share your thoughts. I would love to hear from you!