When she came into being she was in awe.
She saw everything as luminescent,
gentle, feathery white
with a tinge of angelic blue.
Angels-from-the-stars blue.

Everything was so light she could have been blinded but for the grace of the feathers that held her at bay from the realm of big dreams. Big dreams that held forces too powerful for her vulnerable being.

She thought, “What have I done to deserve being in the wonderful place?

Deserve. Deserve. Deserve.

Deserve reverberated from the high canyon walls that were slowly etching themselves to being across the skyline.  The word became meaningless to her and dropped from the sky, when just a moment ago, it was so packed full of stuff and yearning, of a breaking to understand her badness.

She felt as if she had crawled there. Slithered through dark tunnels. Her body must be aching with pain from all she remembered, but it didn’t. She didn’t remember the coming or even knowing of a here to achieve.

Achieve. Achieve.

Achieve dropped from the sky, meaningless onto the canyon floor, which had become a large pond, silvery, with wisps of white curling above its surface, pearl ripples moving out from the center towards her, beckoning her to the water’s edge.

She stepped forward and her moccasins had gone white. Her dress was unrecognizable as tears sprung from her eyes.

“Who am I?” she thought to herself, feeling foreignness but also a rush of the soundness of home-coming.


So forward she came, leaving her memories behind and her walking stick at the entrance to the tunnels, which were closing fast.

When she reached the still pond, instead of gazing downwards she was overcome with an urge to fly. It ran through her every fiber, kissed with the surprise of a new feeling, echoing of an old, ancient experience she could not fathom.  She reached her arms upwards and spread her wings.

“I have wings!”

And when she pushed downwards, she was transported immediately to a place of grey. In a trance she stood, her wings gracefully trailing the air around her, her heart an open portal from which the white flowers of spring flowed freely, grey receding into form, form becoming colored and people drawing into smiles. She witnessed relief and joy, the remembering of the wisdom of self and she rang with gratitude for the place in which she stood.

She did not mourn the place of grace that she had been whisked from so quickly for she understood that to know a place is to embody it, that she was always there and that deep knowing of such energies transformed her into the nature they held. She knew the nature of such feathery, gentle white energies was to give. To celebrate, to pour forth and to rest in ease, sleeping in starlight, every worry and woe truly soothed.

She looked back at her life. The worlds shifted again and she was standing there feeling everything, seeing all that had happened. She tremored, afraid that she had to go back and struggle as she had struggled for so much, too much of her life. There were work issues, friendship issues, esoteric and spiritual crises, chaos. But mostly there was disbelief in herself and that was something she could no longer grasp even when she tried, out of a strange combination of habit and duty. She grasped and grasped at all of these old things but it was so much easier to beam. And so much more pleasureable! The beaming made her slippery and disabled her from grasping onto anything at all. She pulled very hard then and lost her footing. Shwoop! into the air, spirals, floating back, returning her gracefully back on her feet.

“This is….uhh…nice.” she said out loud, with a little bit of remorse.
Nice. echoed back to her, but it was different than before, not so holy.
“Funny.” she said, and laughed with herself and this voice that was just along for the companionship and the fun.

Funny. Ha ha. Funny. Tee hee!!

She was not alone. But she had known that just from her state of being. To know this place of feathery white was to know that she, nor anyone else was ever alone. That we all are nestled in the embrace of all other and that healing is ever present. That she was not something special or unattainable. That she was an extension of who she had been before and that in her state, she could see the angelic state of all beings around her, no matter what they saw of themselves. That to see them in this way brought it out.

She knew also that her angelic light had grown from the peat of the underworld, that she could not possibly be who she was if she had not learned what she learned from her travels in the unseeingness of the dark worlds. Her catalog of pain and confusion was no longer an energetic base but a breadth of energetic attunement that allowed her to resonate with all beings – to see their full spectrum. And enhance the grace which already exists.

“Ahh, I knew that!” she laughed as she thought back to all of her poems and teachings on what makes a healer. A healer is to see someone’s beauty- from a place of beauty.

“And as in all things, this comes in varying degrees.” she thought as she fluttered up into the ethers, the sky, or whatever this stuff was. Sparkles burst from her toes just because she wanted them to.

“Being an angel will be fun.”

by Tasara



She swims under the ocean, goes where I go.
Pulls canoe through the stars, to where I don’t know.
Her back, steaming mystery, hard-coded resolve.
Jeweled eyes marble black, into which I dissolve
Glints of forge-fire, emerald, yew
Pools in the darkness, deep chasm blue.

She’s lodged in my body, strong, loud and unshown
a monster of chaos, black feathers explode
ca cawing with laughter, “make sense, discard,
make sense, discard, discard, discard, discard”
old friend, my heart, my guide by my side
without whom my life would be calmer but blind.

by Tasara


my heart is open
it is like a lotus reaching out, touch beauty in all directions,
knowing roots into the muck of the underworld

my womb is a moonflower
not luscious red but gorgeous, lily white
teasing and gracious, open for spirit to come in

my soul rings in tune with the stars, today
there is a light that pours forth upon me
and I am grateful

for one day


by Tasara

The Well

I reached out
very far
and I fell.

I fell into myself
my deep, deep well
and was washed over with relief
to know that I cannot harm myself
with leaving

for I will always be there.
Like a child tottering along the edge of a rail and
the mother who won’t let her -.

Because it is back with myself where all things reside
where the moon is the richest
and I can safely lie on my back
in the summer dewy night
and look up
eyes awonder, up at the stars
private and safe
the sweetness of the night.

It is in the well
where the sacred resounds
with edges and echoes
that reach far beyond its thick moss.

It is here where the dreaming is strong
the mind is at peace
and the churning, more meaning

Chaos reaches high above the sky
order sifts between its heat waves
dust sinks and rises
patterns on the land

I come
and I go,
traveling far within the crevices
the ravaging land, untamed
yet holding wildness only in moments
when the wind turns to look at you
or me or them
and then the storm picks
one of us
and we fall back within
to realize that we
have never left

that the beauty in awe is remembering.

by Tasara

Two Songs

I reserve myself
and the fragrances within intensify, dream to potency, ready to be tapped like nectar.

I pour out
and my heart learns its opening once again, as it was many lifetimes ago.

I don’t stay sure
for sure is in motion, in the wheels spinning beneath me as I ride on my bicycle, clear day, summer beach, tempestuous storm.

There are two songs singing their wares, their ways all around and inside of me.
One old, it’s source unkind, pointing, pointing, pointing always at me.
The other, a luscious garden, so new I forget, I forget in some waking days that it can be there.

The rasping song, so old and known, plays and plays, its needle scratching the phonograph’s ear.
The other remains. It has become, like a blossom and will not fade.
Their musics swell and flow.

I am riding my bicycle.
Joy streams like a blue ribbon. Or two, or three. Red, green, blue.
My colors blend. I take the low road by the river, feeling happily endless,
before and behind, balanced in the middle.

by Tasara

The Old Black Road

I have been through cinder, nettle
Drowned in flood plains all amore
I have walked through, death and barren
valleys, never finding golden ore.

There’ve been chapters, many chapters
Filled with glue and glass and stone
Times when I was living under
surfaces to me unknown.

My traveler’s stick, my hard-earned wit
it kept me sane and safe and sore
My lantern it seemed overwhelmed
but now I know it was much more.

I shunned the sun for what I knew
the dark spark drew me while it grew
it drew the magic all around
but was so intense, those there were few.

Chaos ensued, the years went by
the sparks did come, the sparks did fly
and then one day I met a man
who returned to me my soul, this guy.

The globe of light, it filled my middle
The world became less like a riddle
I lost my friends who were not true
I learned to love to hear a fiddle.

I tracked the source, the gift to give
So I could help some others live
My eyes adjusted to the light
My sorrows melted through the sieve

This joy I find when in the road
come from love and laughter told
but also from my weathered boots
that tell me of my older roots.

For if I fall, I do not fear
as much as when in elder year
There is comfort yet to know
that love and light can only grow.

by Tasara

The Faerie Realm

The RealmI asked to be shown the extent of the Faerie Realm. Not as how it is portrayed by artists around me or talked about in tales but in a way that would be meaningful to me.

Faerie. It IS the inbetween place, which is why the inbetween places are portals to this realm. It is the inbetween place between the physical and spirit, mortal and timelessness. The interplay, a tension of the inbetween, that magical line generates a super intense force of creativity. It actually birthed the faerie creatures in the first place, organic matter liking to create.

But it creates more. It creates physical-half-physical access points to the sacred. To the most rooted forces of the elements as expressed through the elementals, divine forces of their own. The elementals manifest as dryads, nymphs…the trees and flowers and streams themselves charged with a magical potency, all tended by the faerie creatures, some spawned from such divinity, some created as byproducts of human expression. Human virtues and foibles manifested in energetic creatures that behave on their own, driven by the vast power of creativity come from the crack between here and there.

Hence the faerie realm is not one of infinite wisdom and compassion but a playground of beauty and light intermingled with all expression and deeds capable in the middle realm.

For many, getting to know the faeries opens portals to the Gods and Goddesses, Angels, Power Animals and many other beings that hang out in realms beyond the Fey. There are Gods and Goddesses that are multidimensional, causing trouble as well as joy and there are others that are completely divine, only pure passages of light and compassion. We can choose to invoke the aspects of compassion and leave the rest.

I want to align with those that are divine. I want to shine in the light of my own blessed divinity, spilling over for others around me.

by Tasara

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