Saturday, September 26, 2015

Half and Half



Half and Half
Lynda Allen

Half daylight, half darkness.
Upon this equinox even the moon offered only half of herself to reflect the light,
leaving half lost to sight in shadow.
Like her, my halves are not separate,
there is simply a portion that is turned toward the light,
and a portion that is temporarily in shadow.
It feels right to enter autumn this way.

There on the border between light and dark, I can pause, and like the trees,
allow to fall away what is no longer life giving,
what can no longer provide nourishment.
When there has been a shift in the balance of light and dark,
the tree releases the leaf and it simply falls away,
and even in falling away yet creates energy and nourishment in a new way
for the tree that was its home.

Quietly then, I surrender into the stillness of half and half
in preparation for the fall.



 Copyright 2015 Lynda Allen

Saturday, September 5, 2015

Wild Divinity

I was at Water Street Studio for writing time yesterday and only got as far as one sentence in the middle of Beauty: The Invisible Embrace by John O'Donohue, before his words sparked a journey within me. The words that launched the journey were "wild Divinity." He used them to describe the ocean, but they took me far and wide. I'm forever grateful to him for the constant source of inspiration his words provide. 

Mr. O'Donohue, I know whatever form you have taken now,  you are enjoying your own journey of wild Divinity! 

Wild Divinity 
Lynda Allen

I want to live with wild Divinity.

I want the secrets of the night
to glow on my moonlit lips.

I want the scent of lavender on a warm breeze
to be my companion for a picnic in the summer meadow.

I want to hold the hand of God,
feeling the beat of Her all-knowing heart in Her fingertips.

I want to immerse myself in the mighty ocean
and celebrate each drop of water within her.

I want to be the perch for the hummingbird,
as he catches his breath for a moment between jousts.

I want to melt with the rocks in the heat in the Earth’s belly,
quietly awaiting my chance to soar, flow and transform.

I want to live knowing each moment is one I’ve never seen before,
nor will ever see again, filled with sweetness and sorrow, light and dark.

I want to be the ray of the sun breaking through the clouds
taking my own breath away with hope, possibility, warmth and light.

I want to be love,
unfettered and free,
tumbling and cartwheeling through the stone gray sky,
like an acrobatic snowflake,
only to land gently upon your outstretched tongue,
and melt slowly into you.

Sunday, August 23, 2015

The Change

The Change 
Lynda Allen

Why do we not call it what it is?
Grief.
Is it a loss too deep, too fundamental to who we are,
to call it by name, to look directly at it?
Instead we try to mitigate it,
we try to medicate it,
we try to moderate it.
Why do we not simply mourn it?
Why do we not wail, and weep, and gnash our teeth?
They hid us in the red tent when first the process began.
We learned the hiding so well,
that we hide ourselves again as it comes to a close.
We speak of it only in whispers and with dread.
Let us instead honor the passing
and celebrate the gifts that came into being through us.
Let us mourn the loss of our ability to bring forth life,
deep, heartrending mourning,
for the loss is profound.

Let us also dance and rejoice in reflection upon the life we gave birth to,
the glorious miraculous movements of the Universe
that created a womb of life within our sacred vessels.
Let us celebrate the girl, who bloomed into woman,
who transforms now into elder.

Let us sing our ceremony of celebration and loss into the loving arms of the wind
that it may be carried like a prayer of gratitude to the heavens.

As I grieve and release, let my loss now create a new womb within.
Let the Universe continue its glorious dance within this vessel,
transforming my heart, my body, my Spirit,
until my very being becomes
the womb of wisdom,
the womb of compassion,
the womb of love,
the womb of joyful creation.
New life born again through me.

Tuesday, July 28, 2015

Epidermis



The problem I’m having with the debate (or truly, lack thereof) about racism is that no one is really talking about the underlying issue, the faulty logic behind the whole thing. At the core of racism is the idea that one person is superior to another person because of the color of their skin. Let’s really look at that.

Here’s some information about skin color from the Smithsonian Institute National Museum of Natural History.*

“Variations in human skin color are adaptive traits that correlate closely with geography and the sun’s ultraviolet (UV) radiation.

As early humans moved into hot, open environments in search of food and water, one big challenge was keeping cool. The adaptation that was favored involved an increase in the number of sweat glands on the skin while at the same time reducing the amount of body hair. With less hair, perspiration could evaporate more easily and cool the body more efficiently. But this less-hairy skin was a problem because it was exposed to a very strong sun, especially in lands near the equator. Since strong sun exposure damages the body, the solution was to evolve skin that was permanently dark so as to protect against the sun’s more damaging rays.

Melanin, the skin's brown pigment, is a natural sunscreen that protects tropical peoples from the many harmful effects of ultraviolet (UV) rays. UV rays can, for example, strip away folic acid, a nutrient essential to the development of healthy fetuses. Yet when a certain amount of UV rays penetrates the skin, it helps the human body use vitamin D to absorb the calcium necessary for strong bones. This delicate balancing act explains why the peoples that migrated to colder geographic zones with less sunlight developed lighter skin color…

There is also a third factor which affects skin color: coastal peoples who eat diets rich in seafood enjoy this alternate source of vitamin D. That means that some Arctic peoples, such as native peoples of Alaska and Canada, can afford to remain dark-skinned even in low UV areas. In the summer they get high levels of UV rays reflected from the surface of snow and ice, and their dark skin protects them from this reflected light.”

So human beings evolved different skin colors based on where they lived on the surface of the earth. Period.  

But you know what human beings have in common? We all have the same stuff under our skin. We have the same internal organs (of course there are some obvious differences between the sexes), the same miraculous systems that somehow keep us alive, allow us to feel joy, and to think, and to learn, and grow, and grieve, and love.  We all have a heart whose beat enlivens us and whose feelings can be hurt by harsh words, judgements, and actions. All these wonderful, miraculous things are held together by our beautiful, multicolored epidermis.

Within we are the same; heart, soul, emotions, mind, and spirit, on the surface we are different colors. Let’s celebrate both our similarities and our differences. 


Saturday, April 25, 2015

Grace Endures



Grace Endures.

That’s what the band around my wrist says. It is in honor of Grace Rebecca Mann, a young woman from our community who was murdered last week. She was a student at the University of Mary Washington, where I work. I did not have the privilege to know her, and a privilege it would have been indeed. The impact she had on those around her was brilliantly clear yesterday at a celebration of her life held on campus.

I attended the celebration not because I knew her, but in support of those I know who were touched by her life and her passing. It is safe to say that even though I didn’t know her, Grace has now touched my life as well.

A portion of the celebration was left open for those who knew her to share stories of Grace. It was breathtaking. The things said of her again and again from each speaker were that it was impossible for her not to be completely herself, she was passionate, she always spoke out for what she knew was right (despite any fears she might have had), she saw the best in people, she was caring and she was loud! The one quality underlying all these aspects of Grace was love. She was love personified. That love lifted up all those around her as it radiated through her smile, through her words of support and encouragement, and most of all through her actions.

That is one of the things that struck me the most, her actions. At one point in my life I spent a lot of time pondering the idea of grace and what it means. The definition that I came to for myself was that grace is love in action, love in motion. So as I sit looking at the words Grace Endures wrapped around my wrist, I am struck by the clear demonstration of that definition through Grace Mann’s life. She was aptly named. She did not ponder the idea of grace, she lived it.

She was with us for only 20 years, which I feel is a great loss to our present and our future, but her life in those years is now an inspiration to me, as it is to countless others. I will be forever grateful to her for the beauty, love, and grace she brought to so many in our community, and now into my own life as well.

Truly, Grace Endures.

Saturday, March 21, 2015

The Shadow Journey



Inspired by yesterday's vernal equinox, total solar eclipse by the new, super moon and by contemplation of the recent events in our world.  May we continue upon our arc.

The Shadow Journey
Lynda Allen

The moon’s journey through shadow,
little by little, step by step
eclipsing the light.
How can a moon so new, dim a star so bright?
They warn that the moon will blot out the sun.
Yet my eyes see darkness
surrounded by radiant light.
A light so intense
that it cannot be looked upon with the naked eye.
A halo of light
crowning an emerging spring,
and embracing the darkness.

The light reemerges as the shadow journey passes.

Perhaps we are merely in the shadow part of our journey.
Passing between ourselves and the light
and so casting the Earth into temporary darkness.
Yet at that singular moment
when the light seems completely eclipsed,
emerges a light, blindingly bright,
too brilliant for our gaze,
too luminous
to see the work of the light.

If we will but continue on our arc,
the shadow will pass
moment by moment, step by step,
and the light reemerge,
gentle enough for us to look again upon its beauty,
and to bask again in its warmth.

The light reemerges as the shadow journey passes.



Copyright Lynda Allen 2015