Dedicated my mated Soul waiting for me across the veil.

Do not call me unattached because I have learned not to beg at every closing door. This heart has not become clean. It has become weathered. There are names I no longer say out loud that still change the temperature of my body. There are hands I have released that still arrive in dreams as if the soul keeps its own appointment book. I know how to pray without building a prison around the Beloved. I know how to open and still let the river move on. This did not come from holiness. It came from loss. From repetition. From standing in the aftermath with my nervous system on fire like a city skyline bright with lightning I have mistaken longing for prophecy. I have called absence care. I have watched my body reach for what my spirit had already surrendered. So no, I am not untouched. I am touched everywhere. By grief. By beauty. By the unbearable intimacy of being human with no guarantee that love will stay where I place it. Still, I refuse the immaculate heart. Let me be marked. Let tenderness leave evidence. Let love ruin the small false self that thought safety meant never opening again. At three in the morning when memory walks through me wearing someone else’s voice, I do not call it weakness. I call it proof. Something entered. Something mattered. Something sacred found a door in me and left it open. ~MIRA #brave #canadian #poet

#griefjourney

 Do you ever hear God? I mean truly hear the voice of silence louder than the ruckus across the street. Like thunder Like proof Like God is simply sitting next to you? Do you ever hear God whispering more loudly than the storm? Sometimes the depth of love inside your own heart shining, breaking opening, folding, smashing, like a lake against the rocks under the full moon torrents days before the rain? Do you ever hear God say your name? Not the one you were born with, nor the one your parents claimed. The other one. The secret one. The name only your Soul remembers when the world stops. Please tell me when you notice magic rising suddenly to kiss you for no reason except that you are here. I used to hear God. I used to feel warmth gather around me like I was the most cherished daughter, swimming in clear water, certain of the song singing to the wind. I used to know the words by heart. When magpies landed at my door, I knew they were for me. A certain melody mystical messengers made for me from my Beloved. I knew the veil was thin enough to let the dead kiss me sometimes. I knew the world was speaking in riddles and rhymes I could understand. Some call darkness failure demanding light when I am also mud, blood, hunger, river, ash, and a new moon sky. I have listened too long to people who fight over God as if God is a house only they can afford. And when I ask them about God, they laugh like I have said something only children do. When I ask them about God, they turn away afraid of demons, while I burst into a million pieces of light, realizing I’d been listening to God all along. ~ MIRA