Category: spiritual

Puff of Dust

Roshnii RoseLeave a comment

Mind is chewing and spitting out

that which it doubts.

Not because it is untruth

but because it undermines

the glamour of the ego.

It says: this is dull, boring,

devoid of fun.

But when these ideas

are held up to the light

and seen for what they are,

they vanish

like a puff of dust

because there is nothing there

but the dead skin

of the separate self.

And, beyond that,

a blanket of peace;

a canvas

on which all form,

all colour,

is splashed

and alive.

Not dull, not boring;

ever-present and open

to all expression,

without dismissive, judgemental thought.

The ego sees neutrality as boring

but in that hollow

is the infinite potential

of the moment

in all its splendour,

no matter how ordinary.

Riding the Edge

Roshnii RoseLeave a comment

Riding the edge
Between consciousness and creation,
Stillness and action,
Being and doing.
Not one, not two. 

Along that edge,
There is an opening inside me,
A letting go and stepping,
Each moment,
Into the unknown
Of the next. 

I don’t want to live
Tired and dogmatic,
Going through the motions. 

I want to awaken to life
And devote myself
To its flowering
And unfolding. 

I want to open,
Like a window,
The sun’s rays
Streaming through me. 

Through pain,
Through pleasure.
The dust motes
Dancing in the light. 

Sisters of Mine

Roshnii Rose1 Comment

.....sisters walking in unity

Sisters of mine,
My support beams
Of light.
You feed and nourish me,
Bring me to wholeness;
To live in my fullness.

In your hands
I blossom in self-love;
Throw myself into the winds
Of this journey’s song

Near and far,
I feel your presence.
The unspoken connection,
An essential, indispensable life force.
Read More »

Quiet Spaces

Roshnii Rose1 Comment

These Four Walls (by premasagar)

She sits, dipping into the quiet spaces that dwell between the thoughts – collage of sounds and pictures that clutter the cerebral walls.

The quiet spaces – cool refreshing pools formed by the rainwater that falls, sometimes a trickle, sometimes a torrent, on the earth.

Where the water falls, seeds planted lifetimes ago find nourishment and begin to sprout and grow. Eventually to flower – petals spreading like flakes of coloured light that catch the Sun.

Petals, like invisible velvet to the fingertips – disappearing between the skin – soft, yet almost imperceptible. Their colours gold and fuchsia, deep poppy red and cornflower blue.

Early morning sunlight enters the window panes. She opens the windows and smells the air – grassy, sweet, fragrant with flowers, alive with birdsong.

The sunlight warms her eyelids, burning away the sleep of night.

She waited

Roshnii Rose1 Comment

Waiting
She waited.
As one can only do when one is alone and quiet.
Waited for a story to come,
for the last shrill tear of the seagull’s call.
Waited for the final shred of warmth
from the autumn sun’s rays.

In the silent, stirring, yearning depths of herself
an unheard song like a hushed whisper
called for some magic to weave itself into a spell
that danced on the page.

She felt nourished by tales of wizards
chased by shadows
and turning to hunt the darkness
with a staff bleached in light.

And she longed to tell a tale
not unlike those she poured over;
thinking that maybe in that
lay the quenching
of her soul’s thirst.