Sacred Songs

Selling amulets in the crowded marketplace, few find their way to your gracious table.
Your sweet call drowned by the harsh sounds of commerce and disbelief.

Welcome, dear healer.
In this circle let us be the jewels you fashion into sacred song!

Our voices will be your offering to the Beloved.
As beautiful as those overlooked so long ago.

The Astrologer

The astrologer dances under the night sky.
You listen with esoteric eyes to the rhythms of starlight.

Hungry to capture this divine chorus, you spent years building ever-stronger telescopes.

Now, putting away the lenses and polishing cloths, you teach us the cosmic turns.
Awakening in our hearts the star songs you heard on that distant cloudless night.

Tashbi beads

Sweet creator of divine circles.
Our eyes are drawn to your radiant necklace.
Each bead holding a fragment of the one great prayer.

Connecting them all is the hidden cord of your forgiveness.
Transforming at each knot the tight place of remembered violation.

Passing through our fingers, this tashbi stitches the mothers' tattered shawls into the Beloved's wedding chuppa once again.

for Suria

Small flame resting on the altar.
Your light a pool of presence around the holy of holies.

The portal flies open. What a roar! Books scatter at your feet.

The flame, not candle-bound, spills from your eyes.
Rising and falling at each breath.
Guiding us back to the stillness again.

Small stones

Small stones. Gathered on this journey.

Carefully, you place them on the altar.

Knowing that each reaches back to one you have loved.

Through your act, the Beloved welcomes them all.

Rhea

Tonight the rain sings your name. The pool overflows with appreciations.
The inward spiral has unlocked the ancient treasure chest.

Rituals Interrupted

Old rituals interrupted. You burn, hungry to return to the healing waters.

But this is a different time. Your work is to wait in fullness.

The Goddess will come to you.

The Caravan Waits

You fell. Face down in the dust.
But rise, dear friend!
The caravan did not leave you behind.
Invisible, it waits in silence and respect, for you to lead us once again.

Bettina

Heavy stones, lifted by astral geometries under your wise gaze.
Unfinished foundations in the desert sand.

Another octave this time. Floods of angel dreams pass on to the canvas.
Reminding us of the Beloved's "Hu." The container growing stronger as each image is shared.

Robyn

Take off that old dusty robe! And, the ragged ones underneath.

Cleaning the temple floor is for the novices now. This is a safe place to don the star garments hanging in the entry for so long.



Helen Klebesadel
"Freedom Quilt"
Image approximately 20”h x 16”w.
Click here for link to artist's website

John

Curled against the "dark friend," you fled the body.
Absent the King, the Lover did only what he knew.

With great courage, you faced this outsider, unwinding centuries of rotting "protection."
Finding, not the damaged priest, but the loving monk: your true guide.

for Bill

The artist stands frozen in his studio, held by the cords of unworthiness. "So much beauty to capture, how dare I put brush to canvas," he asks.

His heart answers: "Turn, turn dear friend. In the spinning comes the Beloved through your eyes, painting the world in each breath."

Soul fire

Your soul fire cannot be contained by past promises.

Throat, skin, fingers, burn with trapped intention.

Dip those hands in the healing stream.
All that you touch is eager to bloom.


Helen Klebesadel, "Poppy Field"

for Ann

Dear friend, once you made that loving sacrifice as the cannons shook the trenches, diving through the dust to shield your comrades.

No need today to jump once more on those sharp shards: in-drawing to the birthing place so much sadness.

Hold your light. Now that spirit can grow wise, stepping into that power cut short long ago.

for Wade

A young man walks the land. His gaze unwraps the colors, moves the wind, dissolves the clouds.

Freely gathering blessings, he manifests beauty and confidence in young and old.

for Matt

Your intensity is like a hawk's vision -- finding the crystal of light even in the darkest night.

Swooping and rising. Turning and riding the wind -- what do you seek with such focus?

Know dear friend that your wings dwarf any sky creature's. They are the sun and moon and stars we shall dance under!

Vivian #2

Sitting at the Center, guardian of the subtle realms. Tuning the harmonics. Watching the formation of galaxies, concepts and thought. Resonance through the traditions of the rabbis and scholar-priests.
But the lover calls!

Rushing into embodiment: mother, pirate, slave and master; African rhythms. The old knowledge made alive in song, revealing itself in the painter’s touch, the passions of the city’s streets.
But the scholar calls!

Translator, reclaim your library. Pick up the old texts scattered on the floor. Your heart is woven of many texts, and in your center the harmony forms.
The musician always calls!

It is your container that holds all that arises.
In your peace, the Beloved calls.

Raqiba

Tight-fitting clerical garb.
Your blessing force channeled through ordained ritual.

Now, dancing free. Your field a mirror of the clear night sky.
Yet, anchored in the core. We all gather in the depth of your gaze.

Pamela - Fazl

Walking across the red coals, you turn and smile at the gathered crowd.
All eyes on your feet, few see your furrowed brow.

You hold the karmic lattice steady, allowing blessing to flow forward, down the generations.

In this world, dissonance yields its place as your breath reforms that ancient structure, and those calloused feet dance this time on the soft grass.

for Vivian

Sitting at the cave's mouth, the stream emerges at your feet in mists of sweet harmonies.
Old elementals dance in the reflected sunlight, blessing us from water, earth, fire and air.

Deep pool. The "hu" from which all manifests.
This too is your crowning.
Your breath grounding us in the Now, before all the forms.

I know that your light is already turning the sailor-adventurer, sculptor-poet, back to port once again.

for Jamila

So many lives as a candle -- your light warming the fearful in the quiet intimacy of family life.

This time so bright – a fire, a plume of purple rays, whose sparks move us to dance.


And, under your gentle guidance, our circle too finds its harmony in the universal “hu” flowing through your fingers and loving glance.

Matreia/Jon

Painter, sculptor, potter, carpenter –- the form dances incomplete, awaiting your gaze.

Dancing, your music draws us to the gate.
Turning, all is the Beloved.
Trusting, we will cross into that still shimmering vision!

A temple, not of men or women, gods or religion, is your yet-unopened gift.

Marjorie-Karima

Deeper, the root filament bores its way to the moist place whose sweet song echoes through the hard clay.

Unwinding, the leaves lap the sun, swaying with the wind. Casting shimmering shadows, cooling the dancers gathered below.

That dance, yet to be, draws us closer.

Our hearts, knowing no future or past, bless root and leaf as one.

Raffia

Sitting in rags, silently you watched the crowds at the temple door.
Each received a mazoub's true blessing.
Unaware and ungrateful, as they rushed by...

Now, in clean and sweet-smelling robes, every doorway bows and opens to your light.
No structure can hold your heart's desire.
Your worship has no roof or walls.
The holy of holies resting safely in the truth of your gaze.

Darakshan

You walked the old battlefields, watched the transport trains arrive, smelled the burning flesh.

And now, the fire once again!

This time, you are the kiln, without whose flames, the potter's vessel is but decorated dust.