On Sacred Quest Volume 2 :: Issue 9

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Just as your first breath was met with air, and every breath thereafter, your quest is met with exactly what you need.


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Self Portrait as Lilith

by K Lenore Siner

Sometimes painting is excruciatingly intimate. Through the process of creating I am often forced to engage with aspects of myself that I would rather look away from. More than that, the final product is at times something that feels so personally connected that sharing it publicly can feel like I am sharing some of the most fragile or unbearable parts of myself with anyone who has eyes.

My last painting “Self Portrait as Lilith” is an acute example of this. Here I am, naked, bony, wild, legs spread. It feels horrific and shameful on some levels. What is my aim in painting something like this? Why not paint her with someone else’s face and do away with the personal connection?

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Creativity is the Flow
of God’s Love

by Douglas Walker

In my experience, healing is a whole lot more than attending to the physical body. It is the development of an integrated functioning of mind, body and spirit. It is the creation of a state of physiology where the light of the higher Self can flow unrestricted to all parts of the human experience — mental, physical, emotional, energetic.

When we are disconnected from our higher Self we not only lose touch with our spiritual essence, we also set the stage for physical and emotional suffering.

What is the solution?

How do we reconnect with the Self? How do we remember our life’s purpose? How do we bring bliss back into our daily experience?

There are probably as many ways of reconnecting with our source as there are souls on the planet. Many turn to religion, others to meditation, others devote themselves to service to others. As an artist, I find that opening yourself to the flow of creativity is a perfect way to reconnect to the divine Self. The process of painting (or writing, or sculpting, etc.) is in itself a process of healing.

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Wings to Replace Broken Arms

by Sara Gately

Paint and permanent marker on acetate . 18″ x 22″

Self Pleasure

by Bolajoko Collins

Lungs expand
carrying breaths
Inviting my morning inhale

A routine of locking personal perfumes within nostrils
retaining scents as momentary keepsakes

Then exhale
lungs release forward
chest tangos between outward and inward pulls
my scent still lingers in the pits of my nostrils

Breathing
breathe in a daily regimen
of warm touches on my design

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Reading Between the Lines

by Kathy Crabbe

Acrylic and pastel on masonite . 48″ x 48″

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In This Room

by Alisa Muñiz Blanchard

I broke into a little room of myself
unnoticed, untouched, forgotten all together
until today
The dust stirred and lifted
a filter to the sunlight creeping in
I stood puzzled

Many days were spent in this place
So familiar, left still for all these years.
Holding my breath I could hear
the laughter and tears
distant groans of the bed frame
as we jumped in sheer joy.

Should I be here, in this familiar comfort,
I thought to myself as the dust settled.
What is left of her, I wonder?

My daughter ran past the barricade of
confused frozen self, rushing to
the patch of sun broken on the floor.
She was glowing in front of me,
A vessel for life and light
twirling in song,
Divine manifested.

I took a step into this sanctuary, to be closer
to this creature of tomorrow
how she slithers around me sparkling
like a time honored serpent dressed in mirrors
She, the pulse of our cord
She, the scribe of my memory
She, the key to spirit

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Wild Woman

by Raven Hawk

Digital art . 1500px x 1909px

Ode to the Mountain

by Nathalie Jackson

Mountain, beautiful mountain
All around me
Surrounding me, filling me
With images of years gone by
Ageless wisdom

How long have you known?
How many moons have risen and fallen
On your shoulders?
What have you seen?
Before time
Before concrete, electronics, cars
Before birds, caribou, salmon
Surpassing the lives of millions
You’ve listened and witnessed
Silently you stand
Wordlessly you hold life as it is

Do you long for it to be better?
Do you mourn the falls and mis-takes
Left in the wake of humankind?
The factories and vehicles that pollute your roots
The taking of all you possess
Does this bring you pain?

Today I stand in awe before you
Knowing you will go on long after the walls have fallen
Long after I return to ashes

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Canyon Dreams

by Victoria Jones

Oil on canvas

On Sacred Quest to Canyon de Chelly

Wild Wise Women

by Samantha Fernandez


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Where Do Poems Come From

Part 2

by Rand Hall

like the last leaves
that have clung through winter
to float down on a chill wind,
words fall
on the barren page

dying embers
flickers of the once bright fire
spark to thought?

but seeds bursting from the pod
though carried by the breeze
rarely grow to rhyme.

it is not the warming fire
the whistle of the kettle
or the company of friends

but
the lonely wail
of a distant train
that draws the wandering line

nor does the rising
sun inspire
words of living color
but the darkest hour
of night

it is the ends
that force the heart
to write.

Original Wild Nature

ReWilding Self

by Trishuwa

My teacher and I rendezvous just after dawn. I set up my tent while he searches the small roadside campground for firewood. Picked clean by previous campers he opens his van and carries wood to the fire pit. He has a rake, a small shovel and an ax. While I set up my tent he gathers dried grass, deftly shaves off kindling from the split logs, picks up old garbage and rakes the pit readying it for a fire. He looks in the trunk of my car. Words are unnecessary. I have no firewood or even a small camping shovel. It takes me a while to set up my tent. He watches.

I finish and sit down to rest. He begins to talk. I know why we have arranged this time, but he will say it again as if he has never said it before. “You are Earth. You will go alone up the mountain. Stay the night, perhaps more than one. Yes, more than one. You need to learn how to live in a sacred manner. This is part of your training.” He does not speak these words but I know I am not to return until I can say “yes” and commit to the words he often says: “Are you going to do this dance, sister?”

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Don’t Cry for Me

(Cry for the Sea)

by Mother Turtle

Owl Medicine

by JoAnne Dodgson

The full moon rose up over the horizon, glowing orange, illuminating the summer night. A woman walked among the trees as moonshadows danced along the path. She climbed on top of a large boulder, her worn leather bag strapped across her back, and sat facing the moon to soak in the mystical glow.

A Great Horned Owl suddenly emerged from the starry sky, swooping down and lifting the woman up on his wings. Greeting her old friend, the woman settled herself into the soft downy feathers on the owl’s back. Sinking into the soothing rhythms of the owl’s undulating wings, she relished the sweet sensation of warm winds blowing in her face.

“I wish I could fly like this,” the woman told the owl dreamily. “I’d love to be so free.”

“If you want to be free, there’s something for you to see with your very own eyes,” said the owl. “Because it’s time for you to choose.”

“Choose what?” asked the woman. The owl flew on silently, veering sharply to follow the river, heading into the West.

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Telephones

by Dwora Fried

Three generations of women in my family, three telephones matching the time period each woman lived in.

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Crow’s Nest

by Karen Noel

My challenge is not to produce a realistic representation, but
to capture the magical spirit of the environment.

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