by divine-design


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Walking Off A Cliff…

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Happy the moment when the cloud of divine grace comes in the air,

from that cloud you rain pearls of grace in the desert .
Rumi

TODAY: Mild, changeable, unsettled, grasping, moody clouds…

IN ONE WORD: Understanding

COLOUR OF THE DAY: Silver-grey

HOW I FEEL: Wistful, present – yet floating, focused, sensing a deeper awakening.

BODY: Recalibrating, rebalancing, tired, broken sleep…

INSIGHTS:

“Like lemmings humanity seems to be walking off a cliff

swimming to a faraway island that does not exist,

except in a genetic memory.
Time to wake up.”*

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Allow your inner wisdom to tell you what’s most out of balance within you.
Ask of your role in the imbalance, and what needs to change. Be honest with yourself. This information is for your own spiritual growth. Your empowerment and freedom can only come to you if you face situations honestly, are open to ‘seeing’ what is true, and then fearlessly take the much needed actions.

THE COLLECTIVE: Notice what happens as you align your life with the rhythms of nature. Balance is felt as a more peaceful existence. Being in the natural flow is adjusting your life to be in harmony with celestial and Earthly cycles and to respect all that is around you. It is Awareness of flows invites a new sense of time, priorities and existence.
Liara Covert

AFFIRMATION: “I speak my Truth, I walk my Truth…”

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“Would you like to save the world from the degradation and destruction it seems destined for?

Then step away from shallow mass movements and quietly go to work on your own self-awareness.

If you want to awaken all of humanity,

then awaken all of yourself.

If you want to eliminate the suffering in the world,

then eliminate all that is dark and negative in yourself.

Truly, the greatest gift you have to give is that of your own self-transformation.”

Lao Tzu

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*Gillian MacBeth Louthan


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I Have Spoken of Love…

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I have spoken of love,

And perhaps no one has heard.

Now I am silent and listening…

To the bloom of the rose,

To eternity in falling rain.

To the passion of fresh turned earth.

To the wisdom of the trees.

To the innocence of small children.

To the colors of wrinkled faces.


To the revolution of the ants,

And the grieving of stars.

To the rhythm of rivers and mountains.

To the sacred whisper of bodies.

To the hunger of flesh drawn angels.


To the symphony of unkept graves.

To the holiness of bruised hands.

To the joy wrapped inside solitude.

To the simple and madly human.

To the sound of paws bound by sleep.

To the falling leaf,

and the crackling of embers.

To freedom defined by the wind.
So weep not for me,

But for those that cannot hear!

Eric Cockrell