We cannot live without the night,
gossamer veils of emptiness.
The Goddess is black,
but each pore of her body
emits a rainbow.
Motionless, she watches
beyond care, yet flows
like a river of healing.
Doesn't dark energy circle us all
like Mother Raven?
Take root in your grief.
That is where the sun is born.
Ascend through a bolder falling.
Her womb is immaculate silence.
Her void is moist with stars.
Yet she who cradles them all
has become your breath.
Haven't I told you there is wine
in the void between thoughts,
Joy and sorrow mingled in one cup?
Now taste, and who knows
if tonight you might not finally
embrace the fierce beauty
of your beaten heart?

- Alfred K. LaMotte

​For their heronness, you know what I mean? The way they are long, and thin, and still, and elegant, and shaggy, and awkward, and not at all awkward, and lean, and gangly, and knobby-kneed, and bluegraybrown all at once, and slow and dinosauric in the air but liquid-quick with their bladed beaks. I never yet saw a heron that did not instantly amaze and astound and confound and provoke something very much like awe. Is the divine spark in the heron? Yes. In its ferocious murder of the frog, and startling-quick gobbling of the frog, leaving only one webbed foot wriggling for a last moment in the world it just left? Yes, somehow. In the big red-ruddered hawk who descends upon the heron like a burly nightmare and tears its breast from its spindly bones? Yes, somehow. In all of this is the Breath, the Imagination, the voice that said I am who I am from a fiery bush, long ago. In the beauty of the animals who grew to be herons and hawks over millions of years of experimentation. In the wiry wave of reeds in which this story was written before my eyes one day on a river headed to the sea. In the mink and the crows who will also eat the rest of the heron. In the musing man standing hidden in the alder thicket; he too is here fishing for mysterious life for a moment until a dark hawk comes for him; but meanwhile he knows enough to sing his companions in the wild miracle of the worlds we share. And so: amen.

​    - Brian Doyle

Slow down....inside
I am right here
I am not where you are going
I am the place you leave to find me

I am Holy Fire
Do you trust me?

I am the One who makes your heart beat
and every heart beat
I am the Portal to the indescribable flame within you
I am every longing you have ever felt
and every passion you have ever suppressed

I am Aliveness
Open
Allow
Be danced
Do you trust me?

If you want to know bliss
to feel passion burn
You must become available
to be astonished and amazed
by the simplest things

​Notice the way when you wiggle your toes
a tendril of joy quietly sprouts inside your chest

Notice how you can run your fingertips
on the edges of your skin
and rivers of desire become instantly fulfilled

You can take one single breath
and watch your body explode in gratitude for living

Then you can exhale and melt into the Great Fire
of life's fertile emptiness

You are the Portal

It costs nothing....except
everything you have ever dreamed you are

Your dissatisfaction is a dream
Your disappointment is a dream

I am right here
I have always been right here
It really is this innocent
Savor me
Enter me
Ignite

- a compilation of poetry excerpts by Maya Luna