Easy to create, but hard to sustain
Wanted or not
Life wants to be

As common as dirt, brought in blood and pain
The mother knot
Formed perfectly

Uniquely human, both sinner and saint
Reflection of
Divinity

Dogma, tradition, law and rule
Ancient word and secret rite.
Headmaster of the sacred school
Chose by myth and God's own might.

More influence than royalty
Holy hand may bless or curse
And bound by fear and loyalty
Trusting masses fill the purse.

While you hold the keys of learning
And the power of the priest
You can't stop their hearts from yearning
For knowledge and release.

You represent the Deity
Acolytes fall on their knees
Unaware, in piety
That they, too, hold the keys.

Opposites in union pull forward
Directed not by hand but by will.
The power of myth and the power of mind
The hero is traveling still.

Transportation and transformation
A singular vision and quest.
The warrior speeds commanding his steeds
Envisioning total success.

Swift motion and great calculation
Under the cover of stars.
Mastery conquering mystery
Whether ordeals or journeys or cars.

The Hermit climbs the mountain on a cold and lonely night
what faith compels his journey and commands his feet be light?
What meditation holds him fast, what knowledge spurs his quest?
There is comfort in his loneliness to heal his heart at rest.

He holds the lamp of wisdom, the light for all to see
But his journey is most personal, a path of singularity.
You may choose to seek his wisdom, but one truth must be known
If you climb his mountain you will climb it all alone.

You may seek true wisdom, eternal knowledge, healing power
You may walk with destiny until your final hour
While seeking truth may take you to the top of lonely hill
There you learn the truth's not there, it lives within you still.

For the caterpillar in the cocoon
Does transformation come too soon?
Does the snake mourn the skin after it's free?
If change is the door, letting go is the key.
Does the chick regret leaving the nest?
Would we prefer not to outgrow our mothers' breast?
What is it in us that clings to the past
And dreads the unpredictable, inevitable last?
All things must evolve, age and transform
Every way dies, and new ways are born.
 

Water poured from cup to cup, and metal turned to gold

Sorrow turned to patience, and ego turned to mould.

One foot on the water, another balancing on land

Not a drop is spilt by the angel's gentle hand.

Caution guards the recipe, stirring grace with balance

Art and time make alchemy with these select ingredients.

Change forged of disappointment, mingling with hope

Built on tragic lessons learned that gave us skill to cope.

Expectation and assumption gone, accepting what will be

Still the angel blends the cups, creating perfectly.

Perfect are the cups' contents, and perfect is the measure

And perfect are the woes and joys, blended into treasure.

Yielding only to flame and destiny, and rendered into dust
The Tower crumbles and begins to fall.
The fullness of its destruction is inevitable.
Torn, falling, brick by brick, and wall by wall.

Is this a metaphor for some internal shadow journey?
Or a dark harbinger of doom, or worse?
Dread curls around your spine and laughs as you relinquish hope
Abandoned, injured, the weight of flesh a curse.

Pray you learned well the Fool's lesson; to leap, with faith, in good time.
Flawed foundations rock; ominous, frightening
Welcome the collapse, raining droplets of Spirit and dirt.
No fear in the storm; raging, releasing, enlightening.

Solid stone stands no more, yet burned and broken flesh is strangely
crawling, quivering, shaking, quite alive.
Ashes swept away reveal new ground, new hope, something shining.
The victory is simply to survive.

Water onto water,
And water onto land.
But water isn't water,
It's starlight in Her hands.

It's the light of heaven
Poured down upon the earth,
It's an act of healing,
Transformation and rebirth.

Avail yourself of pleasure,
Create abundant wealth.
Attune yourself to Spirit,
Rise into perfect health.

Passion and fulfillment
And ecstasy divine.
All of this is yours
When you bathe in Her starshine.
 

Mistress of the dark is she, and keeper of the light

Emerging from the water's depth, I stumble in the night.

Howling wolves and baying dogs echo in my ear

Behind each rock and shadow lurk treachery and fear.

Moving through the midnight land as one moves in dreams

Nothing under moonlit skies is just the way it seems.

Spirit rains in droplets that dance before in my eyes

Intuition is the enemy of treachery and lies.

Her gift is in the dreamtime, when anything may be,

Her light shines down from blackened skies, and shows my path to me.

A child in bright innocence rides on a brilliant steed

Complete within himself there is nothing more to need

No vestments, saddle, bridle, reins to stay upon the horse

No doubts or worries dull his glow, neither anger, shame, remorse.

One red plume adorns him as he rides toward destiny

Leaving behind the garden of walled security.

What hand will rush to catch him, should he start to fall?

In the power of his happiness, there is no fear at all.

The sun provides the nourishment, warmth and growth and light

The sun supports the child, whose shine is just as bright

To influence the sunflowers, by purpose or by whim

Instead of turning toward the sun, the flowers all face him.

Is this careful deliberation, or just a spoiled child?
Sitting, waiting for something better or more exact.
There is no gift accepted. I look in, at nothing.
I feel no urgency to choose, to move or to act.

Am I picky, or fussy, obstinate or just cautious?
Distant, withdrawn, attached to no particular fate.
In discernment, do I miss the opportunity?
Or in patience, is the wisest move simply to wait?

The journey back home before journey’s end
Memories shared, a reunion of friends.
Honored history and those who have passed
Looking with longing at what didn’t last.
When the sweetness of youth joins the great march of time
Some things will decay, but some things still shine.

Beauty, treasure, the unknown,
What you'll reap and what you've sewn.
Serpents, jewels, castles, kings,
Dragons dance with feathered wings.
All that you could love or fear
Within these cups are gathered here.
A question stands before your eyes,
Which of these to realize?

I search for signs of danger, for tentacles and claws
Yemaya waits, as at the shore I pause.
A long time it took to get here, and longer still to leave
Into eight cups I pour my sorrow, and the reasons that I grieve.
I take most somber inventory as day turns into night
For if the heart be heavy, how can the feet be light?
Yemaya watches as I stand upon her beach
I fill and count the cups, and stack them each on each.
On the shore I linger, as night turns into day
Then I draw my cloak around me, and turn and walk away.

It's not the castle that makes the king
Nor the depth of the love the size of the ring.
If we seek a home without sorrow and strife
We'll seek without finding, alone throughout life.
But when hearts are open and destiny's kind
There's a chance to connect- body, spirit and mind.
If we expect to be happy sad tales we will tell,
True happiness comes from the life we live well.

Jumping and squirming in my hand
a meeting, both solid and flowing.
Earth and water, not mud but land
Cup cradles life, small and growing.

Speak of love and heal your heart.
Speak your heart and heal the world.
Cast your spell in song and art
Let your spirit be unfurled.

Teach that power grows in trust
Learn with wonderment of youth
Temper anger, temper lust
Love is the great eternal truth.

Apprenticeship and mastery, growing, always learning
Skill to plan and dream and do, creating and discerning.
Committed to the task and connected to the Earth
Work is woven in the circle of life, death and rebirth.
It is now and always has been, since the world was made
Fame and fortune follow those who flourish in their trade.

A lovely place to want no more
All time at my command
Locked in ivy-graced walls and door
By birth and by fate on my land.

No worry, then, of poverty
No man to be my warden
If I could at my leisure be
With a bird and a snail in my garden.

To recognize one's true inheritance
To be grounded in history, to honor the ancient
To watch the generations in their dance
To endure, to age wise and patient.
 

This is the Castle, this is the Crown
The power of legacy, the legacy of power.
The myth of brave deeds far renown
And wise counsel in war's darkest hour.
 

As we find our place in myth and mystery
The future emerges from choices of the past.
We create our grandchildren's history
From the power of Earth, strong and steadfast.
 

Forged steel of ingenuity
Communication, keen focus, acuity.
No tolerance for thieves in this blade
As Excalibur discerned a kingdom was made.
This Sword seeks no royalty
It 's a common but sacred thing, honesty.
This Sword of Air scourges lies
Reveals truth behind malicious disguise.
Questions ignorance, banishes confusion
And separates reality from dillusion.
But do not take this Sword of Air
Without the strength the truth to bear.
And remember with faith, when truth is clear
It's never as dark as what you fear.

Peace is a balance kept
In balance and
Not without risk.

The heart knows, but wants anyway.
It should not make these decisions.
Sometimes, the heart speaks,
But should not be heard.

Once unheard, the heart may resort
to screaming, and then fall
silent.

In that silence,
There is peace.

There needs to be a restful place, a quiet space
Between tasks of the mundane.
A retreat from needless worry, mindless hurry
And recovery from pain.
For if we do not take this time to clear the mind
And lay each sword to rest
It's certain that a longer sleep, the soul to keep
Will still the beating breast.
 

Silent on the waters slipping into the black night

An angel guides this journey toward the distant shore's true light.

Rising above turbulence with intent both calm and clear

Higher thought commands this boat,and the stars by which to steer.

Navigation born of science, and logic points the way

Leaving stormy seas behind as you sail toward the new day.

An anguished offering to a disinterested deity
Words cut deep, and fear deeper.
The carnage may be only illusion, not reality
Truth is gold, and lies far cheaper.

Each screaming cut too much to bear, witness the chapter's end
And wisdom is born of such pain.
In final hours the setting sun, a lone surviving friend
Reminds us it will rise again.

Air of air and speed of speed

The keen knight charges on his steed

direction true and sword held high

across the land he'll swiftly fly.

His thoughs and words and aim are true

his message clear, to die or do.

And doing quickly, doing right

these are the virtues of this knight.

Dancing each to our own rhythm

We work to build the temple

No art forms without struggle

No creation process is simple

When love and anger align

Caught in passion and torn

Conflict and chaos circle

In the pains of something being born

Eight arrows shot into the air
No act of war are they
Potential leaps and fires flare
Herald the new day

Motion swift into the sky
Shot by a steady hand
Flying where the angels fly
I wonder where they’ll land

Wands of spirit, Wands of speed
Life force stoked and glowing
Sending down the fireseed
Spark within us growing
 

The soldier keeps his vigil, though he appears at rest.

He is a patient guardian, strong and able for the test.

No need to seek a battle that may never come

His battle is within now, until the war is done.

His duty is to wait, to conserve and to defend

To stand long at his post, his battle scars to mend.

With the knowledge of the Hermit he awaits what might arise

And values now diplomacy; his wounds have made him wise.