If I could tell you…

IF I COULD TELL YOU…                                                    by: Aliana Alani ©2018

 

single-red-rose-3

 

If I could tell you a story, it would be about how beautiful you are.
It would be a story of love, and laughter, and possibility.
If I could tell you.

If I could tell you a story here and now, would you listen?
Or are you busy – with phones, and games, and the clutter of living?
If I could tell you.

And if I told you, would anything be different, in your world and mine?
Or would we wander, still, like lost souls in the desert of remembering?
If I could tell you.

For if I could tell you – the short form of it at least –
This is what I would say:

You are as beautiful as the sun and moon and stars.
As special as that which knows no beginning and no end.
You are the light of day, and the darkness of night.

You are unique, unlike all else, and yet you are one with all things.
You matter – and though it oft times seems that all this you do not remember,
I would tell you anyway, if you would listen.

I would tell you.

 

galaxy and stars

 

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Stories –

STORIES –
single-red-rose-3by: Aliana Alani ©2018

 

You can love them or hate them.
Laugh till you cry or cry till you sob.

You can bravely follow page by page,
Or sneak peek to the end, to be sure to be sure.

You can raise their swords of truth as though they were your own,
Or shake your head at the sheer folly of where they appear to go.

Through them – you can be a swashbuckler, a Cinderella, an angel, or a spy.
You can dust off your dancing shoes,
Or race that Formula One car to the finish.
In some, you can even fly.

And if they are good enough – if they are well told –
They will, at some point, capture your heart.
From that moment on, for however long a time,
You will believe them to be your own.

lotus flower

The poem … ‘I Had A Dream’

Yesterday I posted a ‘Prelude’ to this poem to give you a sense of how it came to be, the feeling of power,magic, and yes perhaps even destiny, that wove round its coming into form. Here is the poem itself. It is very long so do hang in there. Thanks!

Digital Camera

 

I HAD A DREAM…                                      By:  Aliana Alani – updated ©2016

I had a dream on a wayward night when the moon was riding high.
A dream of the future once hidden so deep, now crying out to arrive.
A dream with a voice, a dream with a name, a dream with a purpose true.
A dream that grabbed me by the heart and begged me to see it through.

The dream spoke of a land, full and rich, steeped in the power of words.
Where voices whispered in morning mist and councils longed to be heard.
Where the earth was ancient and the song was of old, its colors royal too.
Where legends lived and prayers could be heard locked in the morning dew.

It spoke of a time when the world was right and the island knew its name.
When keys were forged in the glistening light of a golden destined flame.
Buried they were in the depths of the earth beyond terror and human sight.
Beyond evil hands and evil thoughts and intruders come to dig in the night.

For it was known then by those who could see between the sleeves of time
That hungry men would stretch their hands across the water’s broad line.
They would stretch and claw and grab for themselves pieces of the soil.
The land would burn, the land would bleed, and men would know only toil.

And all that was holy, all that was pure, would drown midst a sorrowful cry.
The power of the day would run for the dark, its magic now needing to hide.
Men’s spirits would live in the midst of night’s hue serenading a somber song
And all that was free, unfettered and true, would seem lost in a captor’s bonds.

The seed would be sent to foreign lands with young stomachs yet to be filled.
Such worlds appeared new, wild and alive; still the heart could not be stilled.
It longed for the green, it longed for the mist, it longed for those hidden keys
That called from the depths of that deep dark earth and promised a spirit free.

There would come a time when the world itself did not know which way to turn.
It would look to the left, it would look to the right, its lessons still not learned.
The seers knew such a time as that would wash harsh o’er the souls of this earth.
It would toss them and turn them, it would tumble them round, all before the birth.

They knew those keys would be needed then, so potent with life was their door.
Each encased in a golden light so pure, its spark took one straight to the core.
There would be no denying the power of its flame, no denying the power of truth,
No denying the light that would soon emerge, its flag flying o’er all of the earth.

It would come from an island once lost in pain, an island of war and of strife.
It would come from a place ancient yet new that oft seemed to have little life.
It would tear at the heart, sing to each soul, it would open doors so long bound.
It would call to the day, it would call to the night, it would call to the table round.

The island would live, the island would breathe, the island would claim its place.
From the north to the south, the east to the west, its spirit cast in lasting grace.
Its song would circle a troubled world, a loving voice long destined to be heard.
A white dove would fly from a hilltop high, and the dream would now emerge.

And those who had sat on that still dark night when the keys were buried deep
Who had watched them sink within rich moist soil, their secrets there to keep,
Whose hearts were etched in the print of the plan, fired within a golden mold,
Would be called from far, would be called from wide, their stories to be told.

They would place their print in the palm of the plan, the heart’s song to be sung.
The earth would tremble, the soil would shift, and the birthing would have begun.
Then the ghosts of the past meet the spirits of the day, awash in a glow of light
And that which was sorrow, that which was pain, is dissolved by a higher might.

Soon a love song is sung through emerald rain, a song so full and so strong.
Its call can be heard through forests and fears, through hatreds and rivers long.
It’s a song we long for, a song held in our hearts, a song the world needs to hear
Brought from an island long known for words, sacred and destined and clear.

I had such a dream on a wayward night when the moon was riding high.
A dream of a future once hidden so deep whose time had finally arrived.
A dream with a voice, a dream with a name, a dream with a purpose true.
A dream that grabbed me by the heart and begged me to see it through.

                           Aliana Alani © 2016

Digital Camera

 …for the heart song of Ireland

Here we go again. It seems to be a week of watching shining lights dash into the heavens.

rickman

Alan Rickman was, to me, a quintessential actor, capable of casting his talent like a magical net upon the story waters. He was a gem, often delightfully deliciously devious or melancholic in his roles. He could pull you into the core of a story, often with such subtlety, that you didn’t know it had happened till the end when you popped out through that looking glass and realized you’d been taken on one hell of a ride. You couldn’t help but love him. His knowledge of his craft shone brightly in everything he did.

There are certain roles, certain films, one simply cannot picture without him. And so it goes to say, he will be sorely missed.

Rest easy, Alan, and enjoy those stars. And thank you, thank you, thank you!

 

The Time for Love

© Aliana Alani 2015

single red rose 3

This one’s a bit long so hang in there with me.

MANY YEARS AGO in what I now lovingly call ‘The Days of White’ when I was, in my own small way, everyone’s little guru dressed constantly in white speaking of the awakening of humanity to its divinity, I remember sharing an insight, a peek-into-the-future if you will.  We were discussing the evolution of the world, where it might go, and what our part was in it. I remember saying to these beautiful souls who were with me at the time, many of whom could not envision that awakening to divinity might ever include hardship – Be prepared for the possibility that there may come a time when each of us in this world will be asked to share with others without question, even to the point of sharing your only loaf of bread if that is the state you find yourself in at the time. Why? Put simply, because you have the bread and they do not. Why else? Because they are part of your human family. Why again? Because it will be one of your greatest opportunities to know, without measure, exactly who you are.

AND WHO ARE YOU? You are unlimited, eternal, everlasting love. And that is what you will have the chance to give – through the offering of bread, of hope, of rest, married with the divine love in your heart.

SO HERE WE ARE so many years later and it seems to me those days are upon us. Refugees pour from Syria into Europe. They are one group of many in this world seeking a better way or a safe place to live, to eat, to raise their children. Often they come with nothing except a longing to be out of devastation and into the light of possibility.

HOW DO WE SEE THEM and what do we do? Where are our hearts? As one refugee recently said, “Where is the world’s humanity?”  It was this statement that brought me back to those earlier days and hence this chat with you today.

THERE IS AN AVERSION to looking at the devastation in our world. Partly because it scares us – if it can happen to them, perhaps it will happen to me.  Partly because somewhere in it all it asks something of us, and that scares us too. ‘If I give you part of what I have, will there be enough left?’ And partly, for some, because we think that if we look too closely at what is going wrong, we will help manifest it. This is quantum physics, the law of attraction, and there is truth to it.

BUT IF WE PUSH THE SUFFERING ASIDE, if we block it from view, we run the risk of judging its story and those who are a part of it. Nestled within judgment, there is always a modicum of fear, which carries its own ‘attractor’ energy, often sending us into yet another swirl. And if we judge, we are still dancing the dance of duality – this is good, that is bad. It is a dance that does not ultimately bring us home to the centre of all that is – to Love.

SO HOW CAN WE LOOK at those who are suffering, how can we help, and stay true to our path of the positive? The word, Compassion, immediately comes to mind; that and a constant awareness that we are abundant in love because it is our natural state. Carry within the awareness that you are an overflowing vessel of love that knows no limits, know it to be true, and respond from there.

THERE IS A BEAUTIFUL WORLD before us. The garden, the kingdom, whatever you want to call it, is here and now. But to have eyes to see and ears to hear, we must have an open heart. We must love without measure. And we must dare to see everything and everyone in this world as the love they truly are.

OUR WORLD IS THIRSTING FOR LOVE. We are parched to the deserts and beyond with a longing and a calling for love. Look at the eyes of these children and you will see a call for love. Look in the mirror and you will find that same call. It is everywhere. It does not matter how wealthy we appear to be or how bereft. The call for love transcends everything.

SO THE TIME FOR LOVE TRULY IS NOW. Your opportunity to gift that love will come in many forms. Judge them not, for each time you open your heart and share the pure love within, you will grow and flower and blossom. And so will our world.

Namaste and Aloha.

This is for you…

I’ve had 22shangrila up and running for awhile now. Some of you have been following here since the beginning; others are new, or at least newer. Some click ‘like’ having found something in that moment that speaks to you and then you are gone into the internet mist, never to be heard from again. Some come back. Some choose to hang around.

To all of you, I want to say – THANK YOU!

Thank you for being touched by something in this site, whether that be poetry, an article, or some of the other work I do. Thank you for letting me know. And thank you for choosing to follow to see what else might show up here.

The purpose of 22shangrila has always been to communicate – to speak to the language of the heart in us all, no matter the form or moment – but especially through the power of word, image, and story. And of course to let you know what I’m doing.

I’m not the best at answering, or for that matter at clicking ‘follow’ to your sites when you come to mine. Apologies. The intention is often there. I do take a look at what you’re doing if you click ‘like’ on mine, and I often say to myself, ‘I must make a comment, a thank you, an I-like-your-work-too’. But then the moment goes, the phone rings, the muse calls, and my best intentions fly off into the winds. I’ll try to get better at that.

After all, we are a community of world storytellers, are we not? Mystics in the making, perhaps. Poets abounding. Weaving new visions and thoughts that, yes, could quite possibly change our world for the better. And we all matter.

So here’s to you – all of you  – may every day in your life flourish with harmony, balance, and love. May you weave the most scrumptious tales ever, whether they be in word, image, or sound! And may they dance in our world like magic calling us home.

I hope you’ll hang around. If it feels right, send a comment note or an email (I will answer those) and tell me what you’re doing to help this world be a kinder happier place.

And again – THANK YOU!

Aliana

Happy St Patrick’s Day

 

shamrocks for st patrick's day

Today has become a celebration of green beer, green rivers, green ties, green clothes and a touch of Riverdance. It is also a day where we send Irish blessings across the world as if we were Irish, whether we are or we are not. It is a day when we celebrate – The Green.

And it is a day where some hope that as we cast that bit of fairy dust across the skies, it will kiss our lives with joy and bless our hearts.

Every country, every land, carries within its journey blessings and sorrows, gifts and challenges, things to be remembered and things to be let go of. Ireland is no exception but what it also carries (and I say this from having lived there) is a song of story and of heart so deep, and yes sometimes so clear, that it could crack wide the realm of memory and bring us home to what is true – if only we would let it.

It is the home of the poet, the mystic, the minstrel. The weave and fabric of its word and story can linger with you no matter where you travel, how far, nor for how long. Somehow, strangely, you find yourself still breathing its slow air.

Happy Paddy’s Day Everyone. May the sun always shine on your days and may the tale of your life be blessed with a delicious dose of magic and a cup overflowing with love.shamrock

leonard nimoy

Thank you Leonard for all the magical cinema moments and memories – of what’s possible in the skies and what’s possible here on earth – for that wonderful phrase ‘Live long & prosper’ which might just be a terrific mantra for us all – and for your incredible contribution to the Griffith Observatory, a special place in itself.

Your final tweet about life being like a garden could echo a chord within all our hearts.

Bless you, Leonard Nimoy, in this your gentle journey to the stars.

In The Realm of Sky

I mentioned last month that I would be taking the pdf of In The Realm of Sky off the site. It took a little longer to get around to than anticipated due to some unexpected developments in my life (more on that later, maybe). So today is the day.

I truly hope you have enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it, and I hope you have enjoyed receiving it free-of-charge.  To me, it is a magical story.

Until a print book copy is done (hopefully late this year), the pdf of the story will still be available upon request, but for a small fee. Just email me at 22shangrila.com or leave a comment/request below if you haven’t read In The Realm of Sky and want to.

I’ll be keeping a wee info page regarding the story on the site so that anyone can check it out at their leisure.

Wishing you a heart-filled delicious day!

There goes another angel – flying high into those wild beautiful skies – or maybe to some faraway realm. Mork would probably have liked that.

robin williamsThe mad zany wonderful world that was ROBIN WILLIAMS. 

REST IN PEACE, ROBIN

You are pure genius and you will be profoundly missed. 

May you be wrapped in love as you make this journey beyond our world, just as you so often wrapped us in laughter, and yes sometimes tears.

You and your talent were a gift to us and we are grateful.