The Shepherds Tree

I remember the last time I heard the wind whisper your name across the desert plain. 
The wind she blew you on adventure away from your sheep and away from me. 
So I wait for you. I wait until the sons of ISIS bring you back to me. 
While I wait my heart lies buried deep in a tomb somewhere neath the Valley of the Kings. 
And I sit under the Shepherds Tree, holding your staff, watching your flock. 
It shelters me, bark healing smooth grey knotted and scarred, it holds me tight while I wait. 

I remember the last time I watched the waves carry you far away past the Nile. 
The river she beckoned you on a hero’s journey closer to the sun and closer to your gold. 
So I wait for you. I wait until the sons of ISIS bring you back to me. 
While I wait my heart lies buried deep in a tomb somewhere neath the Valley of the Kings. 
And I sit under the Shepherds Tree, canopy of autumn leaves filtering the sky. 
It comforts me, clusters of khaki star shaped buds so strongly sweet, it holds me tight while I wait. 

Blue fades to grey darkens to night and holds each star in its own time and space.
Black melts brown into fuscia golden sunrise and holds my heart in its own time and place. 
So I send you on your way and wish a thousand of every good and pure thing for your ka. 

I remember the first time I saw you midnight dreaming under the Shepherds Tree.
The moon she called you on a quest following your bliss following your heart. 
Since then I have waited for you. I wait until the sons of ISIS bring you back to me. 
While I wait my heart lies buried deep in a tomb somewhere neath the Valley of the Kings. 
And I sit under the Shepherds Tree, parched summer breeze humming of tales long ago. 
They remind me, fragments of you burnt into memory, to hold me tight while I wait. 

As the stars need the night sky and the eye needs the storm 
As my earth needs your fire and the tide needs the moon 
I need you like the desert sun. 

The New Colossus

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame, 
With conquering limbs astride from land to land; 
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand 
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame 
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name 
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand 
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command 
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame. 
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she 
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor, 
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, 
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. 
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, 
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!" 

—Emma Lazarus, 1883

Closer we Get

"The closer we get to what we want, the more our old stories find a way to convince us that we DON"T actually want it. The closer we get, the more uncomfortable we feel. For our old stories, personas and identities, change is like a death – so they will cling on and throw everything at you to stave off their inevitable demise. Therefore the more you hear yourself say: “This doesn’t feel right for me” – the more you know you are on the right track. Hold that tension. Trust your heart for bringing you to this point. A Caterpillar lets go of his old form to allow the butterfly to emerge.” Nichola Burton

Nothing to Fix

You are not broken you are whole.

There is nothing to fix spakfill or  mend.

What you see as cracks others see as added colour and texture.

Reality TV Show

Everything in your life right now is someone else’s Reality TV Show! There is someone in the world fantasizing about having your life RIGHT NOW! 

Comfort in the Pattern

We find comfort in a pattern – a pattern of touch, smell, colour, texture, behaviour and location. We experience something once and then relive that experience over and over again and become somehow attached to the comfort of the sameness of that experience. Then when the experience “ends” and no longer repeats the same way, our emotions feel pain and sadness and emptiness due to an association with our perception of the experience as comfort.

 

Sometimes

We live in different “rooms” in ourselves at different times, and, during our sojourn in any particular “room,” we forget the other “rooms” sometimes.

Evolution

For as the mineral kingdom planned to evolve into the plant kingdom who planned to evolve into the animal kingdom who planned to evolve into the human kingdom each taking raw materials and giving it direction – each driven by the whisper of a heart seeking to discover new depths within themselves, perhaps my heart and the heart of every one of us, is driving us to evolve into the light kingdom where the raw materials of our creations are expressed in the internet and many more energies as yet unknown like that – unseen and untouchable yet as real as our physical bodies?

Market Value

Have a new product to release? Looking to calculate the best market value? Start with your own metrics as a consumer.