transcendence

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 Flight of the Blackbird

/ Chloe Kyle / 8 Comments

Claws entangled in webbing,

Wings and head strain against a crisscross of string.

A dog paws and pounces in play towards its prey.

The blackbird careens desperately,

Gold ringed eyes wide with dismay.

Recently tempted by juicy strawberries,

Now he’s helplessly caught in their net.

Werner Baumgarten

Hands reach in to hold and untangle,

While his yellow beak pecks in defence

To escape the restraint,

Only to dive into the net once more.

Again, hands hold, scissors snip at binding,

A wing is set free and he bursts away,

Still anchored by the net trailing behind him.

I too am stuck in a net,

A complex tangle of my mind’s creation.

Lured in by the desire to be 

a great mother, teacher, writer, homemaker,

I’m bound by the fear of not meeting the needs of others,

Threatened and toyed with by illusions of being better, 

Caught up in demands of society.

In chanting my mantra

I’m held by the hands of Grace within,

Who deftly loosens the cords that hold me.

Time and again I rail against them,

Unmoored without the age-old concepts

That have held me fast for so long,

Taken in once more by false whisperings of the world.

This time two hands hold the blackbird,

Another cuts away at the twine that binds him.

He’s momentarily still, surrendered to the process,

Until, finally untangled, the hands open.

He flies up over the oxeye daisies, meadow peas and clover,

Skimming the flower-filled field and

Soaring into the clear blue sky beyond.

Today as I tune in to Grace,

I lean into His hands and resist

The habit to escape to my mind’s desire.

Instead, I ask His Will for me, and hear

“Be still and know that you are God”.

My liberation depends on this belief,

On my trust in His skill to break the bonds that bind me.

Days later, again a blackbird

Is trapped in the net.

Claws ensnared, webbing overhead,

Dog teasing him playfully.

Hands reach in to untangle.

He stills and offers no resistance.

Moments later, he’s free once more.

Such is the play between entrapment and emancipation.

With practice, the balance between 

The lure of the old snares

And the trust, belief and movement into Grace begin to tip.

His hands gently open and I am set free

To glide up and over the roses and thorns of mind’s creation

And soar into the boundless blue sky of Grace within.

Comments welcome

Soul Fire

/ Chloe Kyle / 8 Comments

She has fire in her feet

And sparks in her hair

But nobody sees the furnace inside.

The crimson flames burn through

The entrenched roots of her grief.

The bright orange blaze incinerates,

The bindweed of her anger.

The wildfire consumes the shackles

 Of not being seen, not being enough,

Which have held her fast to the muck and mire,

Of mismatched ideals, beliefs and concepts,

Borrowed from others, 

Embedded in the fabric of society.

All this dross buried deep in her cells,

Finally set ablaze.

MISHA

A torch flares deep within.

A white beacon of truth and love

Ignites the radiance of her soul and 

serenades the flickers of light in her eyes.

This is the passion that fuels her purpose,

Fanning the flames that twirl and swirl,

Burning faster and faster through all that is not true,

Dancing on the ashes of what once was.

She has soul fire in her feet

And divine sparks in her hair

Alchemising Her presence,

To Reveal her essence.

Lighter, truer, stronger, more vital,

Effervescent Love in the 

Music of the spheres.

The Tremble for Love

/ Chloe Kyle / 1 Comment

I hear it in the rustle of the Beech hedge

 As the chill nip of autumn air loosens her leaves.

I see it in the heaviness of November clouds

As they gather to release their burden.

I sense it in the fabric of the world,

The unrest, the tumult, the upheaval.

Do you feel it too? This tremble inside.

A hard knot of unease

 You’ve been endlessly running from,

Growing bigger, more demanding of you.

Yes, you, sweet one, with your lion’s heart, it’s asking you

To draw up your courage, turn in and tend.

I reach in for Grace and it flows up through me,

Bidding me to feel the grip of panic,

The fire of anger, the smothering of shame,

To name the ways they pin me down,

Or sway me sideways, trip me up,

And to love them for this.

I see the truth of it now:

The vital role these wayward parts play

 In life’s divine orchestra,

How they bring me to my knees, 

Bruised and battered, bare and broken,

To this holy ground within.

It’s a sacred summons to dig deeper into Grace.

To grow the roots of the mighty oak,

Feel the flow of this immense Love, and welcome,

The grief-stricken child, the pain-ridden teen, 

All the sweet children of human existence,

To the infinite warmth of this hearth within.

In lovingly listening to their stories,

Through the eyes of Grace,

Comes the beauty of revelation.

Dead leaves of age-old concepts, 

Worn out beliefs and mistaken ideas,

Fall away in the magnificence of autumn.

Tinged with orange, red, bronze and gold,

Fluttering gloriously in the winds of change,

A kaleidoscope of human experience,

In a divine dance with the Beloved within.

A letting go of all that is untrue,

A stripping bare to essence, to Love.

Take heart, dear one, this tremble inside

Is an invitation from the Divine

And it is wonderous.

Comments and contemplations welcome

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

Re-membering

/ Chloe Kyle / 2 Comments

This is for those of you tending your wounds,

Not just the cuts and the bruises, but

The hard long-held welts hidden deep inside,

Too harsh to forget, too frozen to weep.

rudall30

I see the pain you stashed there, your aching sorrow,

The voids in your childhood where love wasn’t felt,

The harsh words which siphoned the sparkle from your eyes,

The well-concealed traumas, shrouded in mistaken beliefs.

I see where your needs to be heard were neatly paved over,

The gaping disconnect between authenticity and expectation,

The truths you swallowed and caged inside of you,

Drenched in grief and cloaked in darkness.

And now you stand in the empty halls of your being.

I see you change your stance as you call for His guidance,

Move from the shadows of distress into your divine indomitable light,

Finally ready to love yourself whole and set yourself free.

I see you draw on His strength to raise your sword of truth,

Cut through the shackles of fear and self-loathing,

And beam with a Love so strong it melts the orphaned parts of you,

The fragmented capsules of stardust awaiting liberation.

Some call you wounded, but I see you as blessed,

With the courage and power to embody,

His great Love for this sacred re-membering.

You have been chosen, Dear One.

This is for you.

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

Awakening

/ Chloe Kyle / 2 Comments

A part of me wants to stay curled up under the cover,

Eyes tight shut,

To block my ears from the jostle of noise,

To hide from the starkness of light.

fszalai

A part of me wants to wallow in the sticky goo of victimhood,

Enshrouded in pain, grief and shame,

Entrapped in stale beliefs and worn-out concepts,

Of how to play the game of life.

My truth, my essence, is bold and courageous,

She fiercely yearns to live in freedom,

She knows of the magnitude of Love deep inside,

And delights in sweet, tender glimpses of liberation.

Grace nudges me to gently pandiculate my weary body,

To hold His hand as I face the seeds of resistance, 

To be responsible for tending the wounds, 

And loving myself full—to grow.

I call into the deep expanse of my being,

And feel a powerful upsurge of Love wash over me,

Soaking into every cell in my body,

Scintillating, radiant, enlightening.

I sense the cover, these layers of illusion, 

Slip gently away,

Such sweet surrender to be reborn.

To uncover who I truly am.

I open an eye,

And rise.

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

A Practice in Liberation

/ Chloe Kyle / 6 Comments 
I know how the darkness beckons you sometimes,
How you turn your back on the light.
I know how you walk down paths you know you shouldn't,
How you lose yourself in labyrinths of grief and despair.
I know you see your well-trodden habits and want to change them,
How you're done with reliving these painful patterns,
How you're oh so weary of your worn-out ways of being.
HTWE
I know you feel empty at times, like you exist in a void,
With life twirling around you, always just out of reach.
I know you wallow too long in pools of fear and shame,
Stuck in the abyss between who you currently think you are,
And the deeper truth of whom you know yourself to be.
I know there are parts of you that you don't love,
That have plundered your joy as you exiled them away.

I know too that you've felt the kiss of Grace ignite inside you,
How you've soaked in the abundance of trust and love that reside within,
I know you can believe yourself full, rise-up out of this darkness,
For you are not flawed, damaged or failing in feeling this pain.
When fear debilitates, loneliness blinds, despair dampens,
You are being blessed with a divine invitation to love Grace more,
To replace self-judgement with His most gentle and loving embrace.

Welcome these dark, banished corners of yourself,
Listen, comfort, forgive, re-member and restore His love within,
Feel how this awakens all the cells in your body as they vibrate in jubilation and awe,
So you can dance more gracefully and play more joyfully with all the richness of life.
The dark, the light; the fear, the courage; the resistance, the acceptance-
Rise above all of it, a taste of heaven as you regain your divinity,
Where the shadows pulling at your feet, are mere tickles at your toes.

Dearest One, everything is just fine. It's all a practice in liberation.

Comments most welcome.