Morning Trip (280)

“The Evil One has tried before to use his power against mankind, and always before, God has been able to defeat him. But in the last one hundred years, Lucifer has gained so much ground in the hearts of man that the most evil who have ever lived, and the most evil who are among us now, could tip the balance of power between good and evil. And I am sure you remember the adage from Edmund Burke, ‘All it takes for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing.”
–John Edward, Fallen Masters

**My Own Note: Taken from Master Number 22 (4 pillars of perfection, minus a center of balance from the 5, now, here comes that reason need for the 5,from the page of 5, as above so below, choice, a tipping of balance, paragraph 9 elevated master teacher, ascending, final lesson. Each energy coming from each breath and each ‘line’ our intent crafts and our body executes ripples out changing the shape and response of all else, a dance of consort. Wakey Wakey! 🙂

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Morning Trip (191)

“Here, surrounded by the products of nature, often I sit for hours, while my senses feast upon the spectacle of nature. Here the majestic sun is not concealed by any dirty roof made by human hands, here the blue sky is my sublime roof.

When in the evening I contemplate the sky in wonder and the host of luminous bodies continually revolving within their orbits, suns or earths by name, then my spirit rises beyond these constellations so many millions of miles away to the primeval source from which all creation flows and from which new creations shall flow eternally.

When, now and again, I endeavor to formulate my seething emotions in music – oh, then I find that I am terribly deceived; I throw my scrawled paper upon the ground and feel firmly convinced that never shall anyone born on this earth be able to express in sounds, words, colors or stone those heavenly images that hover before his excited imagination in his happiest hours . . . yes, it must come from above, that which strikes the heart; otherwise it’s nothing but notes, body without spirit, isn’t that so?

What is body without spirit? Earth or muck, isn’t it? The spirit must rise from the earth, in which for a time the divine spark is confined, and much like the field to which the ploughman entrusts precious seed, it must flower and bear many fruits, and, thus multiplied, rise again towards the source from which it has flown. For only by persistent toil of the faculties granted to them do created things revere the creator of infinite nature.”

–Ludwig van Beethoven

Morning Trip (80)

“I lounge on the grass, that’s all. So
simple. Then I lie back until I am
inside the cloud that is just above me
but very high, and shaped like a fish.
Or, perhaps not. Then I enter the place
of not-thinking, not-remembering, not-
wanting. When the blue jay cries out his
riddle, in his carping voice, I return.
But I go back, the threshold is always
near. Over and back, over and back. Then
I rise. Maybe I rub my face as though I
have been asleep. But I have not been
asleep. I have been, as I say, inside
the cloud, or, perhaps, the lily floating
on the water. Then I go back to town,
to my own house, my own life, which has
now become brighter and simpler, some-
where I have never been before.”
– Mary Oliver

On Femininity–Purple Profundity: Poetry by Elisabeth Connelley

Yours
an opinion
made a pickle of
fickle women dressing for the ball
furs and jaded
the twinkling of faux gems
Auburns and sables
much sought after tresses
coveted
twisting bodies, ensnared
clothed
encircled
by wafting
her sensuous perfumes
to be hidden in
going to the play
Dramas
drawn out
melancholies, sweet agonies, what shames
are hidden in blind eyes
in yours
irrevocable decisions
once, and only remaining to be
opinions

–elisabeth connelley

Noticing–Purple Profundity: Poetry by Elisabeth Connelley

Smooth sheets caressing naked calves and feet

The soft grunted intake of air

Upon bumping a familiar round belly

A sigh and change of position

To spoon one back into sleep

Hands on breast and thigh

Soft sleep warmed lips brushing fur

Smiling

Relaxing into

Familiarity

Significant non-quickening

Careful languishing sighs

Sheer curtains move

As always they move

In winter

From blowing heat.

A door creaks open

Something wanders in

Stares intently,

Observer of a chrysalis

Eyes rub

Feet flex

Toes wriggle

Sheets move

Feet hit the floor

Born again

Noticing

 

–by elisabeth connelley

When I am here–Purple Profundity: Poetry by Elisabeth Connelley

When I am here
what part of me do you love
do you fantasize about
without knowing
me
understanding you
smiling at
who
you can paint
yourself
when you feel
near
me
myself
who are you
do you ask
do you dream
illusions and puffy things
you wake up
you think me gone
eye
was never here
missing the view
of the image
in the mirror
smoke
wisps of air
curling away

–by elisabeth connelley