Devotion

The Rainbow Portal

/ Chloe Kyle / 1 Comment

The December air feels heavy and grey,

Laden with the earthy scent of oncoming rain.

We burst out the door, wrapped in winter coats,

Eager for our dose of nature before daylight fades.

Star, our one-eyed spaniel, 

Darts and snuffles her way along the lane

Flanked by majestic oaks and beeches

In the midst of shedding their gems.

We pass through the kissing gate and

Crunch through the leaves and acorns on the woodland path,

To the bubbling brook which beckons Star in for her ritual swim,

And soaks us in fairy drops as she shakes herself dry.

We squelch through the mud to the cider farm 

Where the aroma of fermenting apples wrinkles our noses

And rows of bare trees stretch out to the horizon.

We’re walking through mizzle, cheeks damp and rosy,

 Into dark, looming storm clouds. 

Night’s creeping in.

It’s time to turn home.

Robert Boyce

An astounding iridescent arc of colour greets us,

A fainter opalescent reflection arches above it.

The surrounding air is startlingly blue.

We’re spellbound by beauty and clarity,

Dazzled by the immense power of the pivot,

The dichotomy of heading out west into the grey drizzle

And turning homeward into a clear blue sky

Lit by the astonishing radiance of a double rainbow.

And so it is with attention:

The more I place it on the Divine,

On my Beloved inside,

The more the dreary mundane world fades into obscurity.

And my inner world becomes lit by an unfathomable light.

The practice of the pivot is a lesson in devotion,

A magical bridge between one world and another,

The art of connection within.

It’s a divine alchemy, drawing me closer

To the pot of gold, my Beloved within.

We’re heading home.

We smile, a warm glow of joy spreading inside, 

And follow Star as she leaps through green fields of sheep,

Tail wagging, nose wet, eye alight with excitement.

 We skip through rows of Sussex vines,

Bathed in the glimmer of polychrome light 

Shimmering through tiny droplets of rain,

Towards the magnificent double rainbow portal.

Embraced by effervescent arcs of Grace and Wonder,

We are guided by a growing inner knowingness of faith and trust,

Borne through hard won trials and tribulations,

Of dead-end adventures and overwhelming storms.

We’re brimming with hope, promise and divine presence,

And feeling so Loved.

Homeward bound.

Comments Welcome

Beware The Ember Season

/ Chloe Kyle / 2 Comments

It’s Ember season and the veils are thin.

The warmth of summer and September days long gone,

A golden harvest gathered and shared.

Nights lengthen while damp, dark skies creep in.

Ghouls, ghosts and goblins rush out to play

In a frenzied riot around Halloween.

Tomfoolery, deception and delusion abound,

Tricking the mind in a maze of distraction.

Old fears resurface to haunt and spook,

The inescapable trauma, the inevitable bouts of chronic pain.

False beliefs rear up their ugly heads,

Entrapping you in a quagmire of fear, panic, shame.

Until you remember,

To return to the source of the Beloved within,

Feel the boon of His Presence and find the courage 

To look the reaper of death in the eye and wink,

Dance with the troll of doom,

And tickle the furry belly of the giant spider,

Dispelling her web of illusion.

For all this dross that is surfacing

Is yours to burn on Bonfire Night.

Effigies of past selves that no longer serve you

Feed the flames of fire, turn to embers

And transform in the crucible of love

To become the fertile ash of your awakening.

A Re-membering.

November nights draw long and autumn hues dull

As the stark chill of mid-winter approaches.

It’s time to reflect on your harvest

For all is laid bare in December,

A reckoning for the Soul,

Where you glimpse your truth,

And choose to step into your magnificence.

Or not.

Behold the Ember Season,

Trick or Treat

Fear or Love

Be aware.

A time to Re-member

Your Divinity.

A Carpet of Pearls and Treasures

/ Chloe Kyle / 6 Comments

The oak rains down her acorns and leaves

In a cascade of rustles and plunks,

Layering the woodland floor in an opulent carpet

Of crunch and colour.

Trees dressed in outstanding autumn finery,

Are shedding orange, green, yellow, copper leaves,

In a fluttering dance of startling hues.

It’s a mast year of exceptional abundance,

And the trees are in the process of a magnificent unrobing.

Months of bright sunshine and bountiful rain

Bring forth this sumptuous celebration of nature. 

I feel a sense of enormity too, an overwhelming fullness,

A resounding call from Grace to let go.

The vestige of head trauma haunts my left side,

Inflammation and pain flaring again.

Grief wells up, the loss of a friend,

The shifting tides of being a mother, wife, daughter,

A bewilderment of how to move forward.

The oak’s glorious unrobing looks effortless,

A wonderful retreat to her core within her bark.

On the woodland floor lies a splendid banquet,

Nourishing squirrels, robins, beetles and the tree itself.

I, however, have a pillar of resistance inside,

A pressing need to release a multitude of age-old beliefs. 

Subconscious patterns hold me fast,

causing me to wallow, distract, or seek outward,

For answers, relief, direction.

I reach deep into the beloved source within,

And see my leaves of creation from all angles,

The red tinge of despondency, bronze glow of misspent hope,

The headstrong tendencies behind them,

And the golden beam of divinity that runs through all.

A kaleidoscope of revelations lights up within,

A sacred gift that ushers such yearned-for release.

I too am laying a carpet of pearls and treasures,

A path of Grace to walk me home.

The Grace of the Hare

/ Chloe Kyle / 4 Comments

She sits aback a hazel tree in serene repose

Exuding a quiet, gentle grace.

Her soft, tawny fur melds into bark and earth,

Long black-tipped velvet ears upstanding, nose twitching,

Two oval amber eyes ever alert to the surrounds,

For to lapse in attention is to invite peril.

JMrocek

Grass snakes weave through the lush meadow,

Hawks and kestrels scour the earth from above,

Foxes, weasels and stoats prowl the fields,

All dangers of the natural world

On the hunt for prey.

Speed and awareness are her antidotes, her gifts.

In the blink of an eye, she tears through the grass

Joining a drove to race and chase,

Twisting, turning and leaping around each other

Like fallen blossoms swept up in a spring breeze.

Gambolling and pirouetting with fluid grace,

In an instant, she melts into the landscape once more.

Daily I sit in humble reverence

Amidst the highs and lows of life’s harshness,

Practice receiving the wrath of a mother or loss of a friend

With due respect, yet remember to effortlessly pivot

To the eye of Grace and play here in His sacred field,

Where Love is all and all is Love.

Comments and insights welcome

The Grace of the Apple Tree

/ Chloe Kyle / 10 Comments

Her silhouette tilts, limbs askew,

Trunk leaning, gnarled and knobbly,

Hollowed out from base to branches,

By feasting termites.

Gaping holes laced with cobwebs

Pepper her battered bark,

Streaming rays of sunlight in, 

Through the very core of her being.

Yet she stands before me now

In a graceful side bow,

Branches laden with bountiful fruit.

I wonder at the depth and strength of her roots,

How far and wide must they reach, 

These intricate, internal networks of nature,

Under soil, out of sight. 

The abundance of connections they have made,

In the ecosystem of the earth, the field, the sky,

For her to weather perhaps a century of storms, 

 Onslaughts of drought, deer, disease.

And the hand of Grace that flows within,

Gifting ground, bird, bee, butterfly,

And all that lies in her wake.

I close my eyes and reach within, 

Through my weary body, my wayward mind,

See my tangled roots, my engrained patterns,

 Shackled by shame and anger,

The untrue beliefs that form their foundation.

In the quiet beyond, I too feel this flow, 

The power, the wisdom, the love.

And hear a tender whisper to let go.

Such sweet surrender. What Grace would it take to

Split me open, feel the flow through my being,

Be His vessel, gift His fruit?

For now, I pick these beauties to cook and gift,

Green orbs of wonder tinged with red,

Stewed with butter and cinnamon,

In a crumble with blackberries, 

And with each step along the way,

Each gentle stir, each juicy taste,

Marvel at the Grace to bear such majesty,

Give thanks for my small part in this divine play,

And yearn for more.

Such is the wisdom of this ancient apple tree.

Take a bite; a box awaits you outside my door.

Comments and contemplations welcome

This Great Unravelling

/ Chloe Kyle / 9 Comments

Do you feel it too,

This unravelling of all of you?

The things you hold tightly falling away,

Like petals of apple blossom,

Dancing on a spring breeze?

TommL

Are you being asked to loosen your grip of all you hold dear? 

People, possessions, concepts,

Ideas of what and how life should be—

To witness your own unspooling,

Of everything you know to be true?

Are you being invited to disrobe

From the comfy cocoon of knowingness?

To shed the illusory veils that serve you no more,

Release the costumes on which you built your identity,

And now look yourself in the eye?

To see what lies at the end of your rope,

When all that you think you are,

Blows away in the winds of truth.

Here, in the midst of your once-assumed emptiness,

 Is your ambrosia, your honey, your divinity. 

Do you get it now?

You are both the nectar and the pollinator.

This great unravelling is for your dazzling union.

In realising that you are the sacred elixir of your being,

Comes the bounty of your fruit.

So dive in and feast on the Love you are.

Easter Gifts

/ Chloe Kyle / 4 Comments

Amidst the dawn chorus, the blue tit brings her gifts.

A twig of hazel, a tuft of dry grass,

Selected with care, placed with intent.

Layer upon layer, day by day,

She lovingly builds her nest.

Today she carries sprigs of moss to soften her bed.

Her mate passes her a slender shoot of beech,

Adding strength, structure, comfort.

Bit by bit she ferries in her treasures,

Ever more immersed in creating her safe harbour.

I too am making a home for myself,

Each dawn I slip into the golden rays of Grace deep within,

Lay down all mind’s burdens and play awhile,

Soaking in the radiant truth of this sunlit glade,

Aspiring to master the dance of this inner sanctum.

This sunrise, I bring the whole of myself,

My fault finding, broken, wilting parts,

Tarnished with resentment, pain and shame.

I light a candle, sip hot tea, and gather around the warmth,

Of my own inner fire, calling Grace in.

Our flame blazes through any perceived problems,

Self-imposed barriers, heavy obstacles to truth.

Grace softens my edges, balms my scars,

Shows divine purpose behind every limitation,

That all is for Love.

Day by day, gift upon gift, a sacred refuge is built.

We are co-creating a hallowed home within,

Where treasures of Grace abound,

As I step up to partner this divine dance,

Love’s miracles of rebirth emerge.

An egg of expanded consciousness, 

Gives way to a new awakening,

Watch me grow my wings and fly.

Comments welcome

The Grace of Winter

/ Chloe Kyle / 8 Comments

Like a tree in winter,

Branches bare to the open sky,

Roots sinking down into the earth,

Seeking nurture, sustenance, from deep inside…

shaunl

Like a bear in hibernation,

Holed up in a dark, cosy cave,

In refuge from the harshness of the world,

A long slumber, to recharge, restore…

Eyelids heavy, body weary, aching,

I hear the world knock unrelenting at my door.

But this is sacred, fallow, resting time,

And I too choose to honour the call within.

Grace takes me in through long-held pockets,

Of anger, fear and shame that cling to me still,

Through corridors of pain and grief that loom too often,

To the darkest, muddiest, ugliest self-hating crevice.

Here, Grace turns to make His stand,

Tilts up my chin to His twinkly eyes, His beaming smile,

As if to say, “This too is Love.

Rest here awhile”.

As I soak in His radiant gaze,

Swathes of Love seep through every pore, every cell, every sinew.

Grace gifts me this, and seeds for more,

To plant, right here, in my deepest wounds.

Grace tasks me to nurture His potent seeds,

To water with Love, nourish with attention,

To use this precious season of gestation,

To tend myself into bloom in His image.

So, if the world comes knocking,

I may growl and roll over, let my roots sink deeper,

For this divine alchemy,

Is necessary for rebirth.

Rest deeply, sweet soul, 

Such Grace in winter’s still.

Comments Welcome

November Rain

/ Chloe Kyle / 2 Comments

The gorge is full, yet the downpour continues,

The thrum of the waterfall growing ever louder.

Thunder and lightning crack the sky open again,

Unleashing cascades of water to meet at the fall,

 In a dramatic tumult of leaping spray.

The power is palpable in the surge of the ravine,

Its banks close to bursting downstream.

Whitelady Waterfall, Lydford Gorge

I feel it too, this overwhelming fullness of life,

Beating down in a never-ending onslaught.

The horrendous atrocities of war laid bare on the news,

The wounding, the grief, the despair, the fear,

 Overseas, on our streets, close to home,

But also, within the fabric of my inner world.

Engulfed by distress, pulled under by pain. Overburdened.

All is dark, until I remember to call His Name.

In leaning into Grace, the response is manifold.

He shows me the divine radiance of His reflection,

 Shining unwaveringly bright, deep within my core,

How unveiling the darkness gives way to more Light.

His tender gaze glances over my hurts, my sadness, my shame.

He smiles broadly and whispers, “All is Well”.

The intensity of the waterfall’s roar subsides to a sigh;

In symphony with the trees, a gracious show of letting go.

Beaming rays of the setting sun play with the abating drizzle,

Allowing gentle autumnal hues to interweave the dance of the spray.

A multitude of vibrant, verdant mosses line the sides of the gully,

Softening the path, lighting the way, for the water coursing

Through the ravine towards the great expanse of the sea.

A glorious upsurge of Love swells and rises through every cell,

Every bone, every sinew, every breath in my Being,

All imbued with a deeper resonance of Grace.

I begin to let go of the time-worn concepts, the age-old beliefs that served me once,

But now cling to my essence, blind my light, dampen my vibration.

I choose to open to the fullness of His embrace,

And am cleansed by an immense shower of Truth and Love.

Tears of gratitude flow for this journey into Grace, 

This Path of becoming the Ocean within the drop.

Comments welcome

A Scream of Swifts

/ Chloe Kyle / Leave a comment

Some days I feel stuck, rooted to the ground,

Both feet ensconced in wellies sucked into squelching mud,

My mind heavy and slow, absorbed in the mundane,

My heart weighed down with grief and sorrow,

My soul unable to lift myself out of the muck and mire.

Danshutter

Today this gloom is broken by a rush of displaced air,

As a scream of Swifts glides through the sky.

Their piercing calls demand attention.

Black crescent-shaped silhouettes arc and dive overhead,

Their aerial gymnastics a display of vibrant ease and grace.

How is it these intrepid voyagers from far off shores,

Sleep, eat, bathe and mate on the wing,

Replacing the vulnerability of being grounded,

With a life of perpetual motion.

Adapting and pivoting with the natural dynamics of nature?

Could I too, raise my awareness sky high,

Keep it aloft in the realms of the divine,

Withstand the inevitable battering by winds of change,

Downpours of perceived misfortune, storms of anger or grief,

And rise above it all again and again in a never-ending spiral of grace?

I reach up to the kernel of divinity within,

Draw from it the faith, truth and love,

That bring joy and reverence to the way ahead,

And pull my wellies out from the mud.

Comments welcome