An Abandoned Prayer


An Abandoned Prayer


Like a Prayer abandoned on the Street. Entangled in bristles, thistles and Thorns. Tassles of Arteries and veins held together with dirt, clay and determination.

Hunchbacks of soil encase S-shaped spine. Skewers of sticks, rocks and Bones pierce my sides.


Roots pulled violently from the Earth yet not pulled apart. Therein lies my hidden strength. Palatine Realms are found in Dead Doorways.

Muscles and sinews exposed to unfamiliar daylight.


Souls came with me as I was ripped from my terrestrial womb. Eruptions of long gone Voices suddenly displaced from home. Not so Silent surrender. Songs and Dreams dispersed floating driftfully seeking sanctuary.


Head bent forward. Seated alone while being ignored by passersby.


Will I become sawdust or mulch washed away by the rain. The Valued parts of me became a plank, a board, an Artist Table.

Am I not as good as those housed in white walled sepulchres?


Then came one who saw my deeply entrenched Holy Beauty.

She who with loving rituals committed my energy to time and eternity. My Memory lives on Thanks to Her. Cosmic Travel lives on.


I see you She said. I see the authentic natural real you.





Balance


 

Travel theme: Balance

Travel theme: Balance

I find my spiritual balance in nature especially during late spring, early summer and Autumn.  A Celebration of Natural Symmetry.

Central Park

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The Brooklyn Botanic Garden

 

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Rockefeller Center Fountains and Green Space

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Spring 2015

 

Spring Central Park 2015

 

 

Zen Gardens of the Mind, Spirit, Soul & Body

The Feathered Forest | Zen Garden

 

Rambling Through Central Park

 

House of Ganesha

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fort Tipii


Fort Tipii

Tepee-Hut
Tepee-Hut

I couldn’t build a proper tree house.  Too high up and anyway I’m afraid of heights, so instead I built this little fort of sorts as a place to gather my thoughts after a hectic day.  Made my best efforts with whatever materials the forest floor offered up as building materials.  There were enough twigs and branches to construct more ground level tree houses or make my current enclosure larger but I chose to save some for kindling for warmth against the chill night air and the rest I kept stacked as a type of cord-wood in a womb like nook Mother Nature had carved into a tree that had been struck by lightening. Eventually I decided to construct another Tipii twig abode to store my few belongings I had gradually began to sneak away from The Family Residence.

These Tree/Tepee/Tipii/Twig aka T3 structures became my holy sanctuaries and safe havens I return to again and again to re-connect with Mother Earth and nature. Too small to stand upright clicking my heels together three times was not an option so I was forced to remain seated. With some degree of discomfort I could lay down in a fetal position while I imagined myself re-entering an alternate womb to be reborn into better circumstances. Mine were a tepee shelters without the buffalo skin covering all exposed bones and framework.

Tipii Stick Hut
Tipii-Hut

Sometimes I’d hug my knees and rhythmically rock back and forth while repeating what I thought were calming mantras, occasionally wishing that the earth would open up and swallow me whole transporting me some place free from pain, misery and cruelty. Like a shaman I chanted using my homemade rituals attempting to silence the drumbeat of voices incessantly chattering inside my head versus the declarations of the Family.  They created a dissonance tear in the time frame continuum of my thoughts.

You see our house, The Family Home if you could call it that is a ramshackle structure; a hodgepodge mixture of stone, wood and stucco additions and afterthoughts as different parts of the building were constructed at different times upon the whims the directors and caretakers.

I was forced to share this mishmash cottage with twelve other inmates, bordered on this expanse of woods providing me a refuge from leaky roofs, busted walls, peeling wallpaper, lukewarm baths, moldy musty scented showers, not to mention all the yelling, screaming, arguments, fights, thefts of food and personal belongings and constant disagreements of a house too small to accommodate the number of people residing within its creaky ramparts.  The Family nicknamed it the Hotel California. You know the place where you check in but never check out. The nails across chalkboard voices of The Family were constant knife thrusts to my brain making daily life a constant battle that did not end even has the diurnal gave up residence to the nocturnal for they all snored, wheezed and gasped through the night abyss.  The utter desolation of the place crept into your bones and took root nourished by hopelessness.

The Family’s house sits on an oddly place piece of land, our house gives way to forest which in turn after several miles gives way to craggy, rocky shores of a steep cliff, where if one sits perfectly still you can hear the violent waves crashing against rough jagged rock formations that looked as though they were designed by the devil himself. It is said that in olden times there used to be many shipwrecks where sailors were either impaled on the razor sharp Stalagmites. Sometimes you can even hear the shrieks, moans, cries and groans of the unfortunate wretches mixed in with the howling winds. The few who weren’t dashed to pieces by the razor sharp jagged rock formations tried to climb up to safety but were thwarted by the steep incline.

Forest Hiding Place
Forest Hiding Place

So I periodically retreated to my exoskeleton asylums as a sentry medium between earth and sky. I can never turn my mind off completely but within my secret hiding place the voices were kept to a low roar and bid to change direction and pace.

The last straw that broke the camels back came when my moronic addled brained cell-mate Pearl kept throwing her nasty, dirty towels, underwear and flip-flops over to my side of the room. When I returned from the canteen or our common dining area there were moldy wet towels plastered to the floor like throw rugs that accosted the dividing line between our two living areas.  Pearl was known as the filthiest female in our wing tossing food and drink to and fro fully expecting that a squad of personal maids and sweepers were following in her wake. One night after I returned from my many woodland sojourns I decided that I had, had enough and soaked all her grimy towels in gasoline and lighter fluid obtained from an unlocked supply closet near the motor pool.  Pearl had a tendency to drink like sailor on shore leave and sleep just as soundly so she never had an inkling as I piled the towels around her bed, built a kindling fort for good measure and added effect, led a fuse from a doorway to an open window, climbed out and lit said fuse.

The Kindling delivered me from The Family’s vocalizations. I tried to warn them before. I tried to silence the voices through escape, but it was not working so I had to try another plan. The crackles and pops of my campfire seem to be in sync with the screams and cries for rescue from the patients locked inside their rooms but eventually those voices will die out also, and then sleep.  Blessed sleep.

Love,

Cassandra Verity

Luna Redeems Her Sisters


Handsome men leave behind a trail of broken hearts. Bitter words and bitter lies designed to strip our souls of strength. For them it’s a game of Hearts. Hearts to break, souls to trample into the ground.

A Pathway littered with the debris of broken angels. Spirits melting into glass puddles lying stagnant upon the porous earth. Our Mother Earth taking mercy receives the scattered ashes mixed with Luna’s tears back into her Womb so that we can be reborn as the Phoenix Arisen.

Deborah - A Judge over Israel
Deborah – A Judge over Israel

Sirocco


 

 

 

Canadian Snow Geese -- Rochdale Village
Canadian Snow Geese — Rochdale Village

Sirocco

Canadian Snow Geese grazing on hoarfrost pre-Spring grass

Gust filled kinky kinaps whipped by February’s foretaste of March’s bitter winds.

Whipped by winds I sink deep into muddy rivers of melting snow so lightly trod upon by winter fowl. Wishing I could remove protective shoes from freshly pedicured feet feeling cool frosty mud oozing up between bare toes.

Primordial bog clay slime squishing up between exposed toes. Reconnecting to Mother Earth. Rooted like a tree into the receptive ground. I lift my hands and arms high as branches of worship to the Great Earth Mother Goddess of the Universe.

 

Swaying in the mild Sirocco.

Snow Geese
Canadian Snow Geese