Tag Archives: writing

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Go!

by Liam

It’s in the setting of my footprint

That my words begin to walk—

A journey across wide spaces,

Tracks deep inside my thoughts.

The story of those places—

Of stars, of mountains too,

Of hummingbirds and crystal balls,

Of you, and me, and who.

This world of ever-never—

It’s here for all to share.

It’s here we touch, we laugh, we cry,

We open up the inner eye

To fly, to fly, to fly—

According to a magic where bonds release the grip,

Where things unfold—a story told,

A whispered word, a place of gold.

Not only in this hour, ‘twixt midnight and the dawn—

Outside, a storm; inside, it’s warm:

A twinkling star,

A princess far,

A half-filled, waiting cookie jar.

I’m talking with an angel

Who whispers in my ear:

“Of seas, and ships, and sealing wax,

Of cabbages and kings.”

Oh, friends, now gather round me—

Your time too near at hand.

Your journey starts; our ways might part,

Yet never feel alone at heart.

It’s in the setting of that footprint

Your words will learn to walk,

Take you on a journey far—

Beyond the storm,

The twinkling star,

The secret space where

We just are—

All one.

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 Angels Dance

By Liam

Now day departs and seeks its rest,

Soft gold still lingers in the west.

The sky dissolves in shifting light,

Blues to crimson, then to night.

Yes! you, an angel dancing high,

Across the quiet evening sky.

Clouds become your gentle flight,

Again, you drift into my sight.

Your horizon now meets my gaze,

You search the night with tender words.

With stars, with sparks, with dreams unseen,

Then flashes where our souls convene.

Together there, we shape and write

A cosmos born of purest light,

A heaven woven, bright and free

Our silent book, our mystery.

Now I close my eyes in sleep,

This wonder in my breast I keep,

Until at dawn, on morning’s wing,

We wake once more, and rise to sing.

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Quietude 

by Liam

A handshake…

 this simple moment of presence.

Your child’s laughter, sudden and bright,

like a bird startled into song.

The August rain,

softening the grass under my feet,

and the patient rhythm of the sea ….

eternal, like my first deep breath in the morning.

A glass of wine with dad,

that silent enjoyment of time passing gently.

The grace of easing someone’s pain…

as if your hands remembered

they were created for this.

And love…

not hurried, but intense and slow,

together under the watchful shade of the moon.

Our souls meeting again,

stronger for the intimacy  we enjoy.

Life, quietly , remains

the most astonishing gift.

It is from here…

this place of sacred normality…

that we learn to stop,

Allowing the small things to speak.

These, they are the truest.

They fade not.

They dwell inside us like embers,

warming us when we feel cold.

And this is why we go on …

because even in the quietude,

we are being told who we truly are.

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Music

By Liam

Dance, spin, and soar,

not as an escape, but as a return.

This rhythm is older than breath,

deeper than quietude.

It’s as we began.

A pulse in the dark,

a whisper blowing between stars.

The music waits,

not here in the noise of the world

but in the hush beneath it’s appearance.

When the body loosens its grip

and the soul steps forward,

bare and trembling,

then the ringing begins

pure and vast,

the long, clear tones

of the cosmos remembering itself.

O how the energy moves in me,

not frantic, but free.

The spheres humming in holy accord,

lifting us again and again

like breeze whirling over open fields,

like joy spilling out from love.

To be lost in flow

is to be found by grace.

To move without need

is to be moved by something

wider than will.

There, in motion

unbound and unburdened,

I felt at last…

not the music I sought,

but the music I’ve become.

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The Brushstroke 

by Liam

There is an artist,

Not apart from you, but pulsing in your very breath.

There was an artist,

Creating long before the cry of your first light.

There shall always be an artist,

Alive in the quiet flame of your becoming.

You are the brushstroke of the Eternal,

Painting the canvas of each day with your presence.

Each morning you waken the dawn,

Summoning gold from the hush of shadow.

From the invisible, you call forth wonder,

Shaping creation from the silence of soul.

A star has kindled deep within your being,

Its radiance not seen by the Sun,

But known in the marrow of your being.

It outshines the wild surge of the sea,

Moves beyond the mighty pulse of the surf.

Let this fire infuse your moment,

Let your hands create with sensations of longing,

Until the world feels the love of your light.

Becoming the art you were born to reveal.

Becoming the blessing you already are.

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Climb

by Liam

When your soul searches for answers,

Go deep—scale the vast immensity, climb!

The cliffs, the cracks, the sacred crevices

Of your own magnificence.

Embrace it all—fully, without fear,

For your thirst will only be quenched 

From the fountainhead of self.

“Where?” the traveler whispered.

“Here,” the echo replied,

“Where insight meets recognition.”

This knowing lives within you—always has.

Let greatness be your mountain.

We all must climb with humble steps,

Toward the truth:

For you are, and always have been, whole.

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the Soul

by Liam

Remember my beloved,

not as an act of memory 

but as an insight~

a soft turning toward

the beginning of your beginning still breathes.

For within the archives of your memory

there waits a threshold,

a gate not made by hands

Yet which opens by the ache of love.

You stood there once~

before your naming, before the remembrance 

and the insight that met you then

And has never ceased to seek you since.

Here,

you will not become more,

nor less~

but completely and wholly

what you have always been:

a flame within the great fire,

a note in the eternal sound,

a soul returning to source.

In this sanctuary,

at the very center of your heart,

there is a joy beyond song,

not even happiness, but belonging;

not escape, but homecoming.

To become everything

is to become nothing~

and in this disappearance 

you again become one.

Not as before,

but as forever.

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The Beginning

by Liam

To the music!

Dance, spin, and fly~

not to escape the world,

but to discover it again,

more whole.

It’s in the music

we first open our awareness.

We are shaped, at first,

by its breath.

And here,

in this still moment,

we remember:

we are not only flesh,

but more~

Specifically like music.

In the release from the body,

we are caught by something greater:

the ringing of the cosmos,

a choir of light

moving through the air.

The energy of the spheres,

older than time,

whispers us upward,

lifts us~

like wind whirling

across open fields,

like breath streaming

through a vibrating flute.

In the blur of movement,

I dissolve.

And in that vibration ,

I find what endures~

not an answer,

but a harmony:

a quiet belonging

to all this life.

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Her Light

Liam

She moves through her day

like a hush between

the catechism and confession.

Quiet, unassuming, introverted,

yet charged with a grace

that makes dust motes

seem like angels in the light

each dancing to be noticed.

Her presence, too, always gathers vibrancy,

as if she creates

sparks of lightning with her gaze.

People often ask where she comes from.

Strange—

as if the sacred has to carry

an identity document.

True:

she shines like a diamond

at a garage sale—brilliantly,

but gets mistaken for costume jewelry,

and sold to someone

who became nothing more than a paperweight.

Yet even then,

she did not dim.

For the heavenly never complains

about being misnamed

or being mistreated.

She simply waits,

waits to be recognized—

like eternity

wearing time as the disguise.

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The Art of Becoming

By Liam

They say I am growing old, that time is stripping me of who I once was, leaving behind only regret and solitude.

But no, what they mistake for age is something else entirely. I am not fading; I am maturing.

I have ceased to be the shape into which others wished to mold me.

I no longer hunger for approval, no longer lean into mirrors that distort rather than reveal. 

Instead, I have turned inward, where quietude inspires truth.

I am not withdrawing,

I  am choosing. 

Choosing where my soul feels at home, with whom my spirit truly sings. 

Let’s uplift rather than constrain, 

Let’s create thoughts which nourish rather than consume.

Not from indignation, but in reverence for my own well-being.

I have traded restless nights for wakeful learning, exchanged borrowed stories for those now woven with my own hands. 

No longer hidden beneath the disguises of expectation, 

I carry not masks but books, each page a window, each word a light.

No, I am not growing old. I am unfolding.

There is a fresh pulse in my soul, a child’s wonder still alive in my heart. 

The cocoon I once clung to is breaking open, and what emerges will soar to places untouched by those bound only to the weight of this world.

I smile now with the ease of one who knows that simplicity is sacred. 

I walk more slowly, not from weariness but from a desire to see what others rush past. 

I hold silence, not because I lack words, but because not all words are meant to be spoken.

No, I am not growing old. 

I am beginning, at last, to become alive.

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