SleepingOrchid

Sunflowers = SPIRITUALITY “Our Auras Connect”

The Sunflower cranes its black eye skyward. “Golden wings mirror heaven, petalled glories feed multitudes.” In the language of flowers “Helianthus” is a symbol of wealth and success. Sunflowers bring good luck in gardens (or kept under the bed at night they provide sweet dreams); in multiples this flower must astonish, seeming to create a path to Heaven. In the Tantric Tarot deck the Sunflower blooms inside of YOU, expressing “spirituality”; your “extra dimension.”

Spirituality means accepting and exploring the non-physical world. This is where the “living water” flows, the “ultimate refreshment” that brings peace and the kind of quiet joy that looks around for someone to share. You are becoming aware that people have “auras” – even while sleeping, under conditions when they are not consciously sending out “signals.”

What is your aura? Think about it. What are you projecting? And how about your Beloved’s aura? If you have negative, angry, punitive and vengeful beliefs, these will get in the way of ultimate connection. Then there will be the aura you create together, you and your Soulmate, as you join in the life of the Spirit. Spirituality is a concept of eternality, meeting together in a world beyond your physical selves. Sexual ecstasy offers this elevated sensation of ultimate unity. To live in this reassuring cocoon feels like heaven on earth – no wonder we all search for it. But no aggressive quest can uncover our spirit, it requires patience, time, faith and practice. Yoga and meditation are always good places to start, as is quietly being alone with the Beloved and discussing what comes up.

Soulstice

Who dares malign
The intellectual consolations of this morning
When every leaf becomes a star and
Every pond a covenant;
When Isles of light illumine 
Blind tracks of water
Across the waste of snow
Where “I” saw “you”.

 Arrows of wisdom transfix a
Knowledge sudden as grief
Revealed; our
Lens dissolves
The veil that separates
You from yourself at eight
Years old, proud heritage.

Who am I that I should
Fear to stroke you
Wrong, when touch can cure
The memory of darkness
When gardens opening to Life
Cultivate
The silence of wheatfields
Waiting for wind.