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Tag Archives: Law of Attraction

That Thing You Fear

14 Monday Oct 2013

Posted by elainestirling in Fiction and Verse

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

Canadian Thanksgiving, Elaine Stirling, flash fiction, incantation, Law of Attraction, like attracts like, nagual, poetry, rune singing, self-importance, self-pity, spontaneity, the old ways, vibrational reality

front porch

It was the summer of ’82 when my life fell apart, and I visited Grandma, sat on her porch in Hazelnut Corners, drinking iced tea and watching lightning bugs play catch-me-dare in the twilight.

“What’s that thing you fear, child?”

I was twenty-three, hardly a child, and hoped I made it clear in my response.

She cupped her ear and leaned forward on her squeaky porch swing. “The Reaper cussin’? That’s what scares you?”

“I said, repercussion, Grandma.”

“Well, hell, that’s just hogwash! There ain’t no repercussion, ain’t no Reaper cussin’, except the kind you place in front of your own self like banged-up paint cans to trip over and make a big howly whoop-dee-do for any poor soul who’s close enough to listen.”

I clinked the ice cubes in my tea and awaited what I knew was coming.

Grandma would never call herself a poet, though once she got a rhythm going, you could snap peas and shuck corn using half the energy and a quarter the time. Reverend Hicks said she’d have been a mighty preacher, if it weren’t for that holy injunction against women at a pulpit. But Grandma held no truck with thou-shalt-nots and given a pulpit, would have sent everyone home and turned the church into a B&B.

“Go make joyful noises,” she’d have said. “Let your kids bang pots, do some banging of your own. God knows some of you could use it.”

I wish now that I’d recorded her rune-songs while she was singing them, for rune-songs is what they were. Spontaneous, unbound, her incantations called down the Spirit and sent up her own, spinning out and growing the loop of creation her Creator began. Here, best as I remember, is what else Grandma said in her saucy way, that day we talked about the thing I feared.

Give yourself some
head room, child, grow
a house beside another
house becomes a village
with a garden, ‘nuff
to feed the crops of
young ones sprouting
tow and woolly heads
who chase each other
cross the gullies, nets
and footballs arcing
toward the sunset till
your mothers step
outside and call your
names to come indoors
where clean or rumpled
sheets await with dreams
pressed up like noses
to a candy store—it’s you
the world is looking for
the sweet and salty
liquorice taste of
smacking lips and tongue
your teeth and dreams need
spice to salivate and chew
bite down, enjoy the meats
that tempt while juices flow
let no one come between
you and the joy you’ve
come to sow, spit out
that thing you fear, it
winked out long ago
see for yourself
the lightning bugs
they’ll tell you so.

Happy Canadian Thanksgiving, everyone!

~~~

© Elaine Stirling, 2013
Image from http://www.fragmentsfromfloyd.com

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Lessons From a Lemon Tree

10 Tuesday Sep 2013

Posted by elainestirling in Poetry for Fun

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

allowing, bees, brave new business leadership, Elaine Stirling, free verse, fun and relaxation, Law of Attraction, lemon tree, lessons from Nature, let it be, let's try believing all is well, poetry, The Corporate Storyteller

IMG_0578

In letting it be
how much
of the it
should I let
be?
All?
That does
feel somewhat
lazy, though what
else have I to
offer but my
letting?

For if something
does somewhere
know best, I’d
rather learn
from
it
than spout
the bits I know
and prove how
little of the its
there are
and if
there’s nothing
anywhere that knows
the fix and how
of things then
freer still I am
to watch
the hind
end
of
a
bee.

~~~

© Elaine Stirling, 2013

The Hermetic Poetic Guide to Sustainable Thriving

21 Wednesday Aug 2013

Posted by elainestirling in Form Poetry

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

alchemy, as above so below, brave new business leadership, crown of sonnets, culminations, departures and arrivals, Egyptian mythology, Elaine Stirling, Emerald Tablets, esoterica, Hermes Trismegistus, interpretation, Law of Attraction, Mercury, nagual, Renaissance form poetry, sonnet redouble, The Corporate Storyteller, Thoth, transmutational processes

Hermes_from_Aeon Byte Gnostic Radio

I – In Truth Lies Fiction Fact

If words like powerless should lurk within
your day’s vocabulary, if life feels
like a three-penny opera that no
one wants to pay to see—the jerks! and win
equates to loss, you hate your boss, the deals
you thought were watertight fall through, I’ll show
you something different, a map that moves
you over grooves, a slam without the damn
that dynasties who knew a thing or two
about prosperity hooked onto. Clues
have always lain around like desert sand;
agendas sinister have strewn them few
and far between. Well, here’s the all of All—
the gig, no bites, the rise without the fall.

II – Above Below, You Are the Envelope

The gig, no bites, the rise without the fall,
she’s already happening, the higher
you expands toward ever more perfection;
it’s the puny mind that falls behind, all
caught up in the past with proof! The flyer
of the gods, great Hermes, with pure gumption
set it up. You are hermetic, sealed, an
envelope with higher thoughts and lower,
and these cannot for long fly separate ways.
The skank can’t run from diplomat; to ban
the coward from the bro disempowers
both. And by the way, you’re on full display—
the best, the worst—which may initially
strike you as far beyond reality.

III – From Inside the Insidest

Strike, you, as far beyond reality
as possible! This is the stretch that’s asked
by Infinitely Smart, your future best
that calls to you from Love’s supremacy
where every answer brings the question, tasked
to fire up your passions and interest—
listen up!—then brings you strange new people,
some are cute, some acutely scary. They,
with fine detail, arrive to pave your road
with all you’ve stored nucleically—feeble
or forthright, it’s your clay and mortar. Say
what you like, friend, but blaming will corrode
pipes and dreams. Seeing mostly failure, then
you would be right, the worlds of crime and sin.

IV – Adapt: Dilute or Strengthen

You would be right. The worlds of crime and sin
will never let you reach the bottom where
the body lies, though they’ll happily let
you chase those paths of misery in
ratios of your choosing—where is the care,
the love? And finding disappointment yet
again. Ta-da! So look the other way.
Everyone’s well-meaning, doing their best;
their means may not accord with yours, but it’s
not your mess to straighten. My inner ray
of hope shines just as bright as yours. The test
is each to see and find our own; our wits
mirror belief, no more. Let’s overhaul,
for once, forgive, forget, for what!?—are all.

V – The Great Big Inside Family

For once, forgive, forget, for what!?—are all
the beads that loop you through the string of life
and leave no residue. The addict’s pull—
I want it now!—the thoughtless, inner brawl
contains the speed, but unaware, brings strife.
Your multitudes, when leaderless, are fools,
an arrow with no head, bandwagoneers.
Throw off your fears, and penetrate those thoughts!
Allow no whine to perpetrate, for once,
and then again, a third, and persevere
until you feel the loosening of knots.
This is forgive, and it’s for getting! Fronts
of old resistance will march through, you’ll see,
designed to offer upward lift, to free.

VI – Nothing Till it Hits the Earth

Designed to offer upward lift, to free,
the density of conflict is the cold
that rises heat, the solar you. Avoid
the trollish need to join the fray, the fee
is too high. Frogs trapped in a well grow old
and croak, stay sadly until death, unbuoyed.
Until you can fulfil the rise, the fall
is mere excuse, a laziness—here’s why
I can’t. Or won’t. Oh my, the litanies!
Poetic rants, a stomping folderol
when lunar cool, STFU, would dry
the swamp to peat & fuel; then hopeful breeze
must spark the flame that rises you and me,
and not enslave you to conformity.

VII – Be Fussy Who You Play With

And not enslave you to conformity,
Uriah Heepfulness, a sickish kind
of helpfulness, so terrified of debts
that fawn and scrape replace true amity,
your word becomes a roadside stall defined
by crappy goods. No need for these regrets!
Receive friends with real appreciation—
first done by being one. Priceless worth comes
from me esteeming me, then you, rising
through my eyes, we reap, no deviation,
bounty of the flooded banks, mighty sums
together. Ahead would be surprising
in the ways of gain, taint-free wealth, not lack,
if you would just drop tit for tat, leave back.

VIII – Winged Heels and Free Fall

If you would just drop tit for tat, leave back
in cluttered halls what you’ve been taught about
longevity and her twisted sister,
growing old, ride in Mercury’s backpack,
you would see the multi-lie turned inside out,
for growing ever young is the twister,
pathway of the gods and giant ages,
way beyond paltry strains of villainy,
the plod of sacrifice, lives mounting joy.
No one deprives you! Cells know all stages,
and what you like to think is tyranny
reduces thought to loss, a sad deploy.
Our body-mind remembers, so leave stealth
behind, go only forth. You’d find the wealth.

IX – Keeps the Bedbugs Away

Behind, go only forth, you’d find the wealth;
fly life out like a kite string, hand over
hand, obedient to currents outside
thinking’s limitation. Inherent health
resides at the cleft of thought. See clover
or dung, bloom or decay; in both reside
potential joy. Resentment brings the rash,
unpleasant itch, with as much misery
as the shrinking heart can hold. Are you bold
enough to make peace with power and cash?
Can you swim through the greater mystery
straight to success, accept its blessings, fold
its curves into yourself, become the lea
of kings and true democracies, a sea?

X – No Such Thing as Solid

Of kings and true democracies, a sea
divides the potencies to islands of
precise individuality. That’s
you, my dear, and me, and everybody
limpid, clear as glass, composed of pure love,
and from this heightened state the former flats
of sadness show their ephemeral selves
as mere topography, lines carved in sand,
no need to trip, much less to grieve, that sleeve
where sits your heart, little tailoring elves
wait eagerly to stitch the rips, your hand
is firmly held by all above, believe
till you can see us in our anti-black
of pure prosperity, goodbye to lack.

XI – All of This, my Doing

Of pure prosperity, goodbye to lack,
hello to glorious states of wonder,
no heavy lids, all wide-eyed here, doing
what we came to do—create new worlds. Back
there, we all made fun; today, stand under
majesty’s umbrella, Tree of Being
in full bloom and giving fruit, forbid to
none. At times, you are the bark that scratches,
I, the root, that digs around until you
bite. The games of chase go on, your catches
love the being caught, and you’ve stopped dropping
them at my door. We know each other’s hue
from blinding floods before the rainbow’s wealth,
that crazy stressful enemy of health.

XII – Wondrous Continuous

That crazy stressful enemy of health,
that scourging, false humility who wails,
I am not worthy, yes I am, but you’re
not, to compost has been turned, death blow dealt;
the body-mind precisely tuned regales
in nothing less than plenitude, well-shored
by evidence of pure design and form,
from which above-below can spin the whole
of you to match the Heaven scent of Earth.
This is the dance of Love, the Court reborn
and effortless the steps, a caracol
whose speed like stillness feels, painless rebirth.
To have, to hold becomes I know, I’ve got.
Pick up your bed and rise alive, why not?

XIII – Three in One, I’ve Won

Pick up your bed and rise alive, why not?
Let possums who play dead attract their own.
Three-fold Trismegistus has arrived, winged
feet in every word, now and then, a spot
of silence to absorb the beauty grown
within and out, serenity, her ringed
magnificence the banner that uplifts
medieval to full good arrived intact,
of ever after happily, the truth
we sought is here, my dear, we won the gifts
that fairy tale and myth sustained, our pact
with joy all colours of our spectral youth
we may employ the love we freely sought
for fun is why we came, to thrive, our lot.

XIV – The Solar Truth & Nothing But

For fun is why we came, to thrive, our lot,
and this is all of Thoth I’ve come to say.
My lunar friends, the twilit souls, you are
as I am, where you choose to be for now.
Our residence is change, movement the plot
of every tale, and now this peacock’s play
is done, I fold my tail. You will allow
some small affection to remain, I hope,
though I shall not come back this way again.
The spiral road does not repeat, we climb,
we soar and drop, but what we’ve done to cope
before is born afresh, and what this pen
sets down cannot be chased. Some other time
we have already laughed and would begin,
if words like powerless should lurk within.

XV – This Crown, Forever Yours

If words like powerless should lurk within
the gig, no bites, the rise without the fall
strike you as far beyond reality,
you would be right. The worlds of crime and sin—
for once, forgive, forget, for what!?—are all
designed to offer upward lift, to free
and not enslave you to conformity.
If you would just drop tit for tat, leave back
behind, go only forth, you’d find the wealth
of kings and true democracies, a sea
of pure prosperity, goodbye to lack,
that crazy stressful enemy of health.
Pick up your bed and rise alive, why not?
For fun is why we came, to thrive, our lot.

~~~

Author’s Note: This 15-stanza poem is a Crown of Sonnets, also known as Sonnet Redoublé. Constructing such a piece is great fun, for you get the chance to travel a theme with 14 opening lines that fold up to conclude with the 15th, crowning stanza. The theme I borrowed and interpreted is the Emerald Tablet of Hermes, which has been translated into 13 or 14 tenets—perfect shape for this form. I’ve used the rhyme scheme ABCABCDEFDEFGG, for its combing effect. I am grateful to John Donne and various poetic academies, now lost to time, who conceived the form and left for us an invigorating challenge.

© Elaine Stirling, 2013
Image of Hermes Thrismegistus from various websites,
original artist unknown

I Know a Love

23 Tuesday Jul 2013

Posted by elainestirling in Poetry

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

abundance, Elaine Stirling, Law of Attraction, love poetry, new love, relationships, romance, sensuality, vibrational reality

IMG_0240

I know a love
that doesn’t show
or force his hand
who lifts this weighted
heart to kiss as if
it were a hummingbird
then sets me down
to go my way,
a muscled love
that rises like the mist
across a mountain lake
and feeds the texture
of my dreams with vast
realities to which I wake
and find the evidence
beside me, ever-growing,
in the shape, the touch
and smile, thrust of you.

~~~

© Elaine Stirling, 2013

A Little Bit, with Everything

14 Sunday Jul 2013

Posted by elainestirling in Form Poetry

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

abundance, beauty, beyond appearances, Elaine Stirling, form poetry, innocence, inspiration, Law of Attraction, Medieval French verse, simplicity, triolet, tweets that grow

IMG_0236

A Triolet

Be a little bit in love with everything
for anything can be a start

a quiet glance, a broken string
Be a little bit in love with everything

the bellicose, a freshly buttered kugel ring
beyond appearance lives the tender heart

Be a little bit in love with everything
for anything can be a start.

~~~

© Elaine Stirling, 2013

Instructions on Building a Secret Garden

29 Saturday Jun 2013

Posted by elainestirling in Narrative poetry

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

advice for future generations, being easy on yourself, boundaries, brave new business leadership, creative center, Elaine Stirling, experience, humour, inspiration, Law of Attraction, legacies, Live in the Momentum, narrative poetry, poetry, poetry for children, re-energizing self, reclaiming innocence, self-acceptance, The Corporate Storyteller, tranquility, vibrational reality, wisdom

IMG_0150

Carve a path, child.
Carve a path around
the bushes, place the stones
that others leave behind in
patterns you’ll remember for
the music they create when
rain and melted snow from
crag and blustered
mountain fall.

Here are tools.
They are used but
good ones nonetheless:
compass, triangle—squares,
they’ll show up soon enough
with not necessarily right angles—
a length of twine for getting and
forgetting rules of symmetry, a
sieve to shake the background
noises to the back where they
belong. What’s left inside the
netted steel is yours to toss
or wear around your neck.

You ask about the seeds.
I’ve none to give. I’m forested,
my limbs to cabinets for guns
and vanities are marked,
but you, your pockets
and the space behind
your ears—that place they
always check and scrub
and scold you for—are
full of unconceived, the
seeds that nobody but
you can see. D. S.

Don’t Stop.
It’s a sign I made
when I was young
and still connecting
dots. I never found a
place to hang or post it
in my garden, though I’ve
known the pleasure once
or twice of hearing it.
You’ll hear it too.

And now I see
you’d like to know
does secret mean
that should you fall
asleep one night inside
your garden, you might
wake one day to find
the world outside has
moved away and left
you with your bottle
caps and robin eggs
and fine clear paths?

This I cannot answer.
Only you decide what
secret means; the world
can only turn, it has nowhere
to go but round and round
and doesn’t care.

Your garden, though,
has heights and depths
and passages, descents
and entryways to places
built for two or three or
fifty-three and thousands
more you may adore—
you made a door, I’ll bet
you didn’t notice, look,
it’s here, as sturdy as a
tree. With every choice for
happiness, you made it
strong, it floats like cork
and locked is safer than
the mint of Knox. Who holds
the key? No one. It’s here
inside this vanity that’s
marked:

I’m me
I am forever me
and that’s enough!

And now it’s time
for me to let you be.
Your garden’s built and
growing, and I spy a pair
of irises fast rafting down
the winter melt affixed on
you. Enjoy, my sweet
young architect, adieu!

~~~

© Elaine Stirling, 2013

Life Support

27 Thursday Jun 2013

Posted by elainestirling in Poetry, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

abundance, brave new business leadership, Elaine Stirling, Law of Attraction, poetry, reasons to feel good, seasonal, The Corporate Storyteller, vibrational reality, we experience what we believe

IMG_0154

Untapped genius of the world
is breathing through my open
window stanzas of mock orange
and paragraphs of grass freshly
mown; a novelistic memory strains
through spaces in the screen
to land reconstituted, granular
like salt across the floor that’s
clean but not too much, and
there is more—the belly laughs
of children freed from school,
gotta call my Dad, I’ll race ya!
spokes of bike wheels whiffling
up a breeze, these lungs of life
are clear and all that might
appear to contradict, to turn
the world against itself
is mockery.

~~~

© Elaine Stirling, 2013

Man of Magic, Woman of Wit

26 Wednesday Jun 2013

Posted by elainestirling in Medieval form poetry

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

cobla exchange, Elaine Stirling, for the love of Mexico, French medieval verse, fun and silly rhyming verse, humour, Law of Attraction, nagual, narrative poetry, Oaxaca, Occitan form poetry, partimen, poetic dialogue, rancheros, Tehuantepec, tenso

Oaxaca_centro

A Partimen with mature content: reader discretion advised

I met you on the streets of Oaxaca
at night, staggering home from a party
or fight, you were singing rancheros
with all of your might, and I feared
my chihuahua would die of sheer—

Frightened you were, my love, that
I agree, I affirm uncontestedly, but we
met on a boat in Tehuantepec. You
admired my muscles, the curve
of my peck—

No, no, no! A lady of virtue that
I surely am would never engage
in ogling a man, though as I recall
I was waving a fan in the heat
of the boat and your hand—

Two threes and a king
wouldn’t buy me a taco, but
you had this thing that you did
with your eyes, and my courage
she rose, and a thought came to
life in the crook of my thighs…

Go on, I’m listening.

…and I looked at the guys
who were looking at you—

And I knew when you won
with the crappiest hand I had
found me the one, a magical man
who could hold up his own in the
face of my wit on the boat,
the canal of Tehuantepec—

No, no, no! They never did
build the canal, I was wrong.
We met in Oaxaca, the streets
were quite empty, and your little
hua-hua despised my guitarra,
but I kept on singing ‘cause you
gave me power, and now we are—

Masterful, magic and wit, forever
inseparable, though I submit we
should quit this partimen and
find a cantina. It’s your turn to pay.

~~~

Walking the streets of Oaxaca
at night is not recommended,
but if you should find yourself
craving tamales, garnachas,
a nice chimichanga with no
other signs of a Mexican
hunger, then do check your
pockets and heart—not for
money, but things you believe
in. If love is not there or you’ve
squashed it with reason, look
around in the dark, in the shadows
you’ll find a handsome señor and
his foxy señora, their yappy
chihuahua who hates the
laments of ranchero guitarra.

They’ve come not to harm you
but show you a way to chase
the unwanted diablitos away
like this, sing with me…

Ay, ay, ay, ay, canta y no llores!

© Elaine Stirling, 2013
Image: streets of Oaxaca, Mexico,
from Wikipedia

Reconstellating Senses

25 Tuesday Jun 2013

Posted by elainestirling in Poetry

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

abundance, deepening, Elaine Stirling, Law of Attraction, love poem, reconciliation, sensuality, shamanic mysteries, the creative process, vibrational reality

IMG_0143

Last night you flowed the taste
of caramel through my waking
dreams, an amber warmth
your words attuned electric
pin pricks at the outermost
the tips of all I slowly plant
along the roads in memory
of our clustered peregrinos.

Golden light is hard
to see when camouflaging
plum shades and sienna fill
the crevices of under-watered
lives, and when I try too hard
to look at you the stripes
of dark and light like jailbirds
scar my eyes, and no one
warned me hornets sleep
in petalled sheets of rose—
so much for smelling you!

New music to my ears
of late, compels, and touching
well requires more than
garbled tongue
and fingertips.

For now, it is enough
that certain gates be closed
the sumac knows which
flavours to admit & hawk
she loves the taste
of fresh caught
prey and gravity.

~~~

© Elaine Stirling, 2013

Triptych

23 Sunday Jun 2013

Posted by elainestirling in Form Poetry

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

boundaries, confluence of elements, correspondences of time/space, creative process, disintegration, Elaine Stirling, form poetry, I Ching, Kabbalah, Law of Attraction, nagual, self-importance, self-reflection, Spenserian stanza, The Corporate Storyteller, the Mysteries, triptych, vibrational reality

triptych mirror

I

Unplucked, the highest fruit must fall, the Book
of Changes says of you and me, this day
of twenty-three, disintegrating hook
by crook and other piracies that slay
your notions of lukewarm egalité.
All blood is royal blue until it’s spilled,
all secrets that once shocked us fade to gray.
The fleurs de lis you wore upon your cloak
now decorate the oxen’s humble yoke.

II

Thunder, it is said, in winter months hides
deep in mountain passes, where no one can
penetrate; a solitary force bides
she, till heated whispers of lightning’s plan
arouses her. She creeps across the land
sharp-focused, rumbling through the fertile minds
that have no fear of mysteries, she’ll dam
the rest, their wayward tongues she’ll scorch & bind
and leave you chasing shadows till you’re blind.

III

The purple ash outside my house stands tall.
Descendant of Armada’s fleet, he knows
the names and faces of the ones who call,
regardless of the hour, and he throws
the stubborn profligate as food to crows.
Our moments of past symmetry may shine—
don’t know—but polished copper pots don’t grow
a garden or a book, so leave what’s mine
for me to blend until it turns to wine.

~~~

© Elaine Stirling, 2013
Image of Victorian French Dore Bronze Triptych
mirror from http://www.rubylane.com

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