For Manchester

MIDST FRAGILE LIGHT

By: Aliana Alani ©2017

brewing-storm-with-lightening-and-tree

Midst fragile light, a shadow comes.
Rippling forth like a wave of darkness
Upon a sea of budding hearts.

Leaving shards of broken memories
In its wake.

Do not leave them by the shore, alone.
Rather gather them, as a lover might,
Gently to the circle of your love.

Whisper softly, with tender words
That they may heal enough to travel

Boldly, once again
Into the untold possibilities
Of their Eternal hearts.

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The Boogeyman

©Aliana Alani 2016

  Light Within The Darkness              EVERY STORY HAS A BOOGEYMAN, that nasty force that shows up when you least expect it, peeking through the shadows of the deep forest of your awareness (often called, your inner world). Sometimes there are even two or three, dancing around like toothless vultures in the wind. They delight in tantalizing, teasing, even terrorising. They look for the chinks in your armour, the cracks in your heart, and the storm clouds inside your mind. They eagerly sup on the doubts that linger and the anxieties that grow within you. They are especially fond of fear.

FEAR IS FOOD TO THE BOOGEYMAN, its own perverse, somewhat inverted, life force. It takes what you have so it can grow. It thrives on destruction. It likes things that fall away. Consequently it quite enjoys watching as you, and all that you might value, begin to crumble before its very eyes. It likes this even more than it does seeing you tremble – trembling being an example of escalating fear.

AT ITS FINEST, THE BOOGEYMAN becomes the quintessential vampire of the story, merrily sucking the energy out of existence. By the time you become aware of the extent of its intent, you are apt to find yourself fast-forwarding into that blackness commonly called, the void. You will, of course, emerge again. But that will be at a later date and possibly with fragments of the last journey embedded in your psyche.

IF YOU ARE ON THE ROAD to enlightenment, you are guaranteed to encounter The Boogeyman many times over in many ways and many forms. After all, it comes with the territory. All part of the journey, as the mystics might say. Are you told that when you start along its path? Probably not.

ENLIGHTENMENT, AND THE ROAD TO IT, requires a single-minded focus; a bit like candle gazing for the soul. No matter what is thrown at you, what changes in the script or bumps in the road, your mandate is to gaze upon the eternal light of creation and the heart of love. That and the peeling of the proverbial onionskin of your psyche are the skills necessary for that quantum leap that will, at some point, be required – that moment when you cannon-ball into another level of awareness and find yourself smack dab in the middle of all that is. Bank on it. Nothing less can prepare you adequately enough. It is like the hero’s journey. You must prove yourself worthy. How do you do that? By facing the darkness within as it manifests without. You must know who you really are. If you are to claim the Golden Cup of Enlightenment and drink of its endless blessings, you must ultimately see The Boogeyman for what it truly is – a plethora of smoke & mirrors, dust in the wind, illusion’s folly.

IF THE WORLD STORY YOU ARE a part of is also on the road to Enlightenment (and this one is), then expect a sometimes bumpy road. It won’t last forever, but it might seem like it at times. When the tempest swirls, and The Boogeyman’s roster of weapons dash and dive all around, there may be moments when you feel swamped in an overwhelming sadness, as though it is all pulling the very skin from your soul. It isn’t, but it may feel like that.

REMEMBER THIS – you don’t fight The Boogeyman by playing its game. If it dances devastation in front of you, you don’t win by creating more. If it surround-sounds you with neon images that say ‘fear me’, that is precisely the time that you do not fear. You be fearless. You stare at your own shadow. You turn around. No matter how destructive things appear to be, you see beyond. You see beyond.

YOU LOVE IN THE MIDST OF IT ALL. You laugh. You share hope and kindness and understanding, because that is the realm of love, and that is the way to the middle of all that is. You be who you truly are. You hold to that. You hold.  And sooner that you think, the fears within you will abate, the smoke around you will begin to dissolve, the dust will settle, and your world will come into a place of balance and harmony once again.

YOU BE WHO YOU TRULY ARE. You be the love. You hold to that. You hold.

 

This I know…

THIS I KNOW…  

©Aliana Alani 2015

As we search for wings we once had,
Trudging along dust-filled roads,
Hoping for rose petals in unlikely places,

As we scan pristine skies for long-needed rain,
Picking the bones of ancestors,
Sweeping the streets clean of the tears of hunger and war,

As we dare to dream or desire,
To rise up or to care,

It comes to this –

There is only room for love now.
We only have room for love.

ARE YOU NOT TIRED?

white rose

            ©Aliana Alani 2015     

Unlike many of my writings here, this is more Dylan Thomas than Rumi – but there are things that must be said, words that must be spoken.  

  

I

Are you not tired of battle? I am.

This constant feeding on the life force of others
Till even young bones dry and crumble into dust
And winds lament their passing like banshee cries across the lands.
To what end? For what purpose?

Think you immortality lies within the reach of those
Who trample o’er the souls of others? If so, think again.
Or has this thirst turned so insatiable that friend and foe alike
Become but mere morsels for the next feed?

When is enough, enough?

It matters not what name you give this.
What righteous path you cast its fate along.
Light or dark, it is all the same.
Devoid of love, we are all nothing!

Can you not understand?

II

You plant your flag within the halls of Mount Olympus
Expecting adulation in return. To you, it is but one of many.
But you forget. You lack remembrance.
Therein, perhaps, lies your folly.

So let me help. Let me be blunt.

There are gods and angels who walk amongst the living
Cloaked in skins of a mortal kind. Some appear tattered,
Even wounded, for the journey has been long, nay even arduous.
Still they are present, perhaps, yes even especially, in those very halls
And they are not happy.
They wait, but not for long.

What will you do next, they wonder?
What foolish blunder? What further desecration –
Before you awake and realize?

III

Occasionally one will dust off those weary wings, flutter and fly.
Winds will change, and for a brief moment,
Love will enter the now toxic air.

A sigh of hope is heard within the hearts of many.
But it does not last.
It cannot be sustained.
Not yet.

Ask me why. Oh. Please. Do.

IV

There is a fabric that holds this universe together.
An ancient warp and woof of life.
No cotton this. Not even silk or satin.
No, this is the stuff that hearts are made of,
That travels pathways of geometric harmonics
Lighting galaxies as it spews forth in all its splendour.

It is unstoppable, of course
Unavoidable, actually
Undeniable –
But still you try.

To usurp it is impossible,
A flight of fantasy on your part.
It belongs to all, permeates all, is all.
It is not yours to hoard or blunder –
But still, amazingly, you try.

Are you not tired yet?!

So here’s the irony, the paradox, the problem.
Put simply for you to understand –
What you do blocks the very field of energetic awareness
That sustains your, yes your, very own existence.

You have created a game that is a self-fulfilling prophecy
In which you are doomed to be no more.
You do not know this yet, so you continue,
Like unfed vultures, to merrily feast
Upon the dreams and hopes of others.

If it were just about you,
You would be left to your own devices.
But sadly, it is not so.

You think you can act with impunity
But, once again, you do not remember.
You lack vision, foresight. You do not see the larger picture.
You harm one. You harm all.

And so, ultimately, it cannot be allowed.

V

Understand this –

Unborn dreams are fragile things.
Like hopes, they reside in the realm of etheric mist.
Some say they are the prodding of angels
Whispered gently into an open heart.

What matters is this – to come into being,
They must be nourished, nurtured, loved.

Each spins a slender thread of woven gold
Linking it to the core of all. Invisible to the naked eye,
Unknown to many, they crisscross galaxies.
There are zillions of them.

To the enlightened among you
They are the geometries of existence.
To us, they are the song lines of the eternal heart.

So here’s the rub –

When you repeatedly force a people to its knees
Pushing spirits into the bog of existence
Until they can barely remember their own names
You poke holes in the chrysalis of their dreaming.
You weaken those very threads.
You damage the song lines.

Song lines are the royalty of life from which worlds are born.

If any should break, connected to your doing, you will be held responsible.
That, lest you forgot, is the hidden addendum to the codex of the contract
You eagerly signed when you initiated the Game you were so thirsty to play
(A game, I hasten to remind you, that was meant to enhance not devastate).
You, of all, should appreciate the irony of this.

So I ask again – Are you not tired of it yet?
WE ARE.

VI

There is, of course, a key to redemption – there is always a key.
But you will have to use it well and you will have to use it quickly
For you are running out of time (does this sound familiar?).
Let me offer a clue –

All things are born from the heart
And to the heart all things return

The key, like all keys before and after, has a name.
This key’s name happens to be Compassion.
Not your every day garden variety kind.
NO, only pure unadulterated unconditional open-hearted
Compassion will do now – for all and everything.

You have travelled far from the core of your heart’s awareness.
Will you get back to it in time? We do not know.
But we are obligated to remind you of the key’s existence
And hence give you an opportunity to try.

VII

One last thought –

This world is a precious place, sculpted with endless opportunities for love –
Beautiful, abundant, vast, and deliciously exquisite in its myriad of forms.
It has always been humanity’s mandate to flourish and prosper –
To excel in coming home to its true essence and to cherish all who
Reside in this unfolding garden of love. This mandate will not be denied.

So I will ask you one last time – Are you not tired of this Game?

For truly, I AM.

white rose