the 7 led me back to my God Given throne
where I didn't have to hide from the evilness of the world.

mother couldn't love me the way i deeply craved
life was so mean to me, i almost lost my wonder...
until the 7 led me back to my power.

i started at the root, where my sense of self had been forgotten.
they mirrored back to me all parts within me the darkness wouldn't let me see.
i found pleasure in doing the small things moment to moment,
my purpose now was to bring unconditional love into these parts alive in me i was now discovering.
all these mirrored parts in these 7 individuals
the happy part,
the grumpy part,
the escapist,
the hiding one,
the most sensitive one,
my higher self and
my inner child.

bringing all these parts within me together into my wholeness was a great threat to the evilness
because once I knew of the combined power of my fragmented parts, evilness could never keep a hold of me.

unbeknownst to me a spiritual attack sent me back into the darkness.
I was waking up too fast into my power, so they put me back to ignorant sleep;
dead to these parts i was
unaware, numb, disconnected
until I found my way back outside in
kissed back to life by an angel...another me.

I got resuscitated back into enlightenment,
reincarnated into the same body after my ego death.

the old story is gone, now, I have space to create more magic.
I am now living lovingly, simultaneously with all these 7 parts of me, but this time happily ever after!

baby blue skies cold
fresh snow covers soft earth
                growth awakening

Seasons change suddenly,
Friendships can fade from spring buds,
To crumbling fall leaves.

People leave, they tend to take the fire with them,
Make sure you keep spare logs hidden,
Sometimes it snows in spring.

March spring showers—
Thunder and lightning—
Hail pummels flowers—
March spring showers
Shower for hours—
Gradually whitening
March spring showers—
Thunder and lightning—

lace patterned glazing—
frosted silver in spiderweb,
wet and trembling
In the sill sunlight shards
skitter on the panes,
their crackle soft as whispered ice.

Violet beautyberry clusters glisten,
vivid hearts trapped in crystal shells.
Spindly branches ache beneath icy weight,
struggling to hold their winter’s art.

Snow sprinkles itself soundlessly,
a sift of miniscule stars,
flakes pirouetting on their descent—
shhhh . . . .
they murmur in soft exhalations,
sinking themselves in layers,
weaving a shroud of powder crunch.

Lake’s edge frozen,
fractured veins running deep,
a mirror of sky and bone-white birch.
The ice moans—low then clicks
in an echoing spectral chatter
carrying into the hollow woods.

Drip . . . Drip . . .
Melting snow slides from icicles,
each ephemeral jewel
vanishing as it falls.

Cold that bites and soothes,
its beauty sharp enough to scar.
Breathe it in;
the crisp air carving through lungs
in sharp spears of pain.

Nature’s majesty,
frozen in motion,
fiercely silent,
a hymn of stillness eternal.

undisturbed
by shopping fever…
snowfall is quiet