MystiCall

The Fibers of the Sacred Web
Extend beyond my Force,
They reach beyond my Knowing
And draw me to their Source;
And yet, the Path leads inward
Encompassing the Whole –
The Fibers of the Sacred Web
Are spun from my own Soul.


I am at once,
the Center and the Whole
I am at once,
the Aura and the Soul
I am at once,
the Flower and the Seed
I am at once,
the Gift, the Wish, the Need.


I am of Space,
of Time,
of Sight;
I am of Faith,
of Love,
of Light;
I am of Stone,
of Rain,
of Tree;
I am my Own,
and yet,
of Thee.


By every thought, I touch the land --
By every feeling, hold the hand
Of every essence meant to be
A part of my reality
And so we live within a Web --
A life source built from our respect
Of every life form’s right to be
A loved and loving entity.


Star-weaver
Dream-scrivener
Webwalker of Time and Space:
Love
is the Sacred Skein,
and the Tapestry
is my Own.


Time echoes
within a cavernous web
So unimaginably, enormously vast,
That at once I can hear
and simultaneously appear
In Present, Future, and Past.


I am the Center
and the Light;
I am the Stillness
and the Night;
I am the Ocean
and the Pond;
I am the Chalice
and the Wand.


Azure-bright, the Fibers glow,
where’er I look, where’er I go...
and every Nexus sings so clear
the music of the Sacred Sphere...


I am the Fool who walks the Web
and knows Her every gentle breath,
and seeks to keep Her precious Soul
in balance, healed, and unalone.


I am the Web-watcher --
I wander Her strands --
empowering, or weaving,
with magical hands,
the Life-blood of the Mother
connected to All --
I am the Web-guardian,
and I answer Her Call.


Silently, silently,
the Wind moves beneath my Wings
...I am all thoughts, all things...
...I am nothing, I am all...
...I am the Call;
silently, silently,
the Web ripples beneath my Feet
...I know my victory, my defeat
...I know complete, I know undone
...I am the One.


There is a River
drawing out from me:
it is my Sacred Light...
the Earth’s own Fiber
that connects me to Her Web
and gives me Sight.


What you weave
has more than once been woven;
What you choose
has more than once been chosen;
The Wheel is filled
with echoes of your steps;
The Earth resounds
with echoes of your breaths.


So, what now, teacher?
What now, indeed?
I used to be a gardener…
now I am a seed.


All souls are equal by design –
The difference set by need;
What learning hasn’t been attained
The circumstance will feed:
To learn that eyes deceive the most,
Seeing color, beauty, strength,
And never once to glimpse the soul
And know the Truth therein;
To learn that senses tend to steer
Along the shallow shores,
Avoiding depths they tend to fear
And seeking nothing more;
To learn that life is what you seek,
And love, all that you are:
All yours to be, deny, or curse;
All yours to heal or scar.


Every touch
Every thought
Every action
is a tremble on the Web...
not easy
to walk
unsanctioned
upon the Sacred Thread.


Here in this cup of coffee
(Can you believe it's true?!)
are waterfalls and galaxies
and meadows touched with dew!


At once,
I am sitting listening to the sea,
as it shushes upon the sand;
at once,
I am sitting in a hospital ward,
with a pen held tight in my hand;
at once,
I am sitting in a monastery cell,
with an afternoon breeze brushing through;
at once,
I am sitting in an English cafe',
enjoying my tea and you.


Where shall I be?
Where shall I choose?
Where is my heart content?
No matter to me
as long as my Truth
sings purely with Sacred intent.


Within me
the ocean, the shore and the surf -
Within me
the thunder and rain -
Within me
the mountain, the meadow, the earth -
Within me
the heathered terrain.


As within so without, as above so below...
as I know - so the way I respond;
as within so without, so my River does flow...
to the edge of my world and beyond.


All I imagine is all that can be
as real and tangible, interacting with me;
every possible truth, every possible fear
can be manifested within my own Sphere;
and so every thought and action that's mine
can dictate the pattern within the Design;
affecting my Path and the Course of my Heart
like fractaling brushstrokes of some Sacred Art.