Imagine all the voices
through which the Divine
speaks and sings
to us as we wander our choices
and pluck their strings.
She sprinkles notes of song-ly stardust
across Akashic parchment.
Our cells hum the ancestors and
our blood rushes to meet our soul’s past lives.
The owls hoot of darkness met and
the hind^ daintily whispers of what is yet — to come.
Dogs and cats murmur into our necks
melodies of tales of long forgotten treks,
while the pine needles burst with
scintillating lyrics of creations to make.
Her sacred voice is All. Awen.
“the Awen [is] the living energy that stands behind the form” *
*from Martin Shaw’s book Scatterlings