Maiden, Mother, Crone

Writhing in pain,
release only moments away
but still out of reach,
she let go of the old structure.
The one that locked her hips, her neck--
and kept the shield firmly in place.

The low back pain shifted to the front-- female points on fire. 
How could she ever be enough now?
The fear and sadness began to move, chaos creating a path to the heart-- a call and response to vulnerability. 
She curled up into a ball, stretching.
Now the tightness at her neck became cold air at the third eye.

Oh how she'd worked so hard.
It was unending.
For so many years.
Work, play, love.
Giving,
never receiving enough in return.
Worthiness just beyond her reach.
Fingertips of the mind,
belly, spine--
reaching for wholeness.

Allowing herself to receive,
the relief washed her heart
like rosewater and sandalwood.
She thought of her beloved,
and how he would gift her now.
She smiled through tears,
Knowing. Trusting. Drawing.
Embraced and embracing
the feminine within. 

~AMW

~Morning Glory Invocation~

Sun-kissed, 
under the half-moon,
She stood with an offering bowl
filled with all the morning's glory--
Eyes closed,
hands outstretched.

The wind rose and fell,
as the trees shook
the dew
from their leaves,
raining down blessings
from above--
Oak, Walnut, Maple.

The full circle of elemental power,
creativity moving into manifestation,
In between,
birthed from one world
to another--
holding the power
of both realms
with open palms.


(Plant spirit medicine~Star of David alignment, 3rd quarter moon. )

Fever Dreams

Fever Dreams.
Deep fear.
The kind that makes you flee,
instead of freezing.
Being frozen is only
a side effect.
Learning to recognize
Love,
what and who and where
Truth,
our own
Will,
when to know we're being called
Trust,
when to surrender
Partnership,
when to be led, when to lead

Fear is the teacher,
I am learning how to be afraid
Truly,
in trust
Madly,
in a way the outer world can't accept
Deeply,
in a way I have yet to see

The only path to love,
true love,
is allowing,
and surrender.
This I learn everyday.

Fear.
Not the opposite of love,
only crushed rose petals
along the path
to the inevitable.

--A Walker,
Fever dreams, Brighid's shift

The Package

The older woman watched from behind the counter as she walked in the door appearing a little lost, downtrodden, carrying a wrapped package, empty box and looking for packing tape. 

"You can wrap that first at the counter and pay here at the desk later", she offered helpfully.

The younger woman nodded to her and went about carefully taping the box together. She carefully used the bubble wrap then placed the package gently, as if it were a tiny child swaddled in cotton fabric, streaked with tears and dirt. She taped up the box and fumbled in her pocket for the address, and wrote it lightly and carefully on the outer mailing label. Satisfied, she waited silently in line for the older woman to be free. When called, she solemnly placed the box on the desk.

"Did you want insurance against damage with that?"

The middle-aged woman's face wavered in front of hers for a moment, and suddenly as much younger woman appeared; one whose face was carefree and unlined with worry, age or pain. 

The younger woman stifled a laugh as her eyes welled with tears and she replied, "It's already broken." 

The older woman only nodded, and then said, "That'll be $23.32, please." 

The younger woman thanked her, and turned to leave. She glanced back once, looking as if she'd forgotten something. The older woman noticed her smile then for the first time, and she watched her leave a few pounds and years lighter than when she walked in. 

The philosophy and service of a kiss

Two lips part to receive the tongue of the other-- simple, natural, seeking, probing-- action born of desire; not to possess, but of deepest connection. The moment when awareness merges with the tip of the tongue of the beloved entering the temple is the fullness and connection of love.

The philosophy and service of a kiss~ the merging and harmony of the two that are one. The truth shines through when heart, lips and tongue unite.

Ancestral Knowing

If we allow ourselves to be aware of the truth within our cellular structure, it will teach us things that we cannot learn in any other way. The spirit aspect of us is no more or less powerfully present than the density of what we determine to be physically 'solid', and is interwoven on all levels of our being. This may include things about our animal nature we don't wish to acknowledge, and speaks not only of ourselves, but all that surrounds us. Knowing, in this way provides divine support from within, and requires no need for outer protection or a masking of self. Our body and blood hold the keys to unlock ourselves and heal our ancestry back to the first; back to source. Freedom begins within.

A story of water and fire...

My mind reaches backward,
stretches forward
in a futile quest to stop the pain
twisting my gut
with worry and fear.
Heat sears my body,
as I toss and turn,
Inflamed.
Incensed.

Visceral,
fear memory of not being wanted--
sourceless,
deep vulnerability present within
crying out for wordless expression--
to be taken where it will,
though the mind struggles to pull me out,
like a drowning child.

This feeling is ancient,
and wants to attach itself here,
in this space.
Desperate for reassurance
of my own desirability,
that my existence matters
at all.
Feelings wash over me
like water;
I'm not even sure they belong to me,
yet they need expression,
and proof of Love.
What is that, in the face of eternity?

Is my own life not proof enough?

Tears carry me,
and my throat is hoarse, and raw.
Release is within,
but not accessible today.
The core of me knows
a truth I can't yet reach.
Calling into the dark,
Begging,
for someone to hold my heart--
to tuck me away
in a space of love
until I can find
where I lost the thread...

How we love...

The Beloved wears your face
in a waking moment
opening my mouth gently,
breathing in desire;

A longing in the belly,
and a spiraling movement of heart,
awakening a depth within
the center
unknown even to itself.

'Oh god' floats on the released throaty breath,
Adoring eyes watch, and feel and know.

This is how we love into and through
the Other.
This fragile, imperfect honoring
reaches depths and unlocks doorways
into Bliss.

It beckons like a crooked finger--
Urging, insistent,
Come with me.

Surrender

photo-- Dana Levy-Wendt

When you are crying, cry.
When you are flailing, flail.
When you are lost, sit and be still.
When you are in a tempest, let go.
Don't let anyone tell you how; you already know.

You can only be where you are.
So be there,
In the best way you know how.
That is enough, for now.

There will be a candle lit,
for when you find your way home.

Medicine for the Heart

Mexican spiritual heart with angel wings © Miroslaw Oslizlo

The heart in its wisdom

leads us;

At times with a gentle nudge

or with a bit and reins.

Nothing you've done

has led to this.

This isn't about the 'you' that does.

It's about the 'you' that IS.

No one is always happy.

Look at the false smiles

and desperate busyness

all around you.

So many others,

forlorn of simple kindness

and attention; "SEE ME!"

They hide the lie

even from themselves.

Medicine for the heart

can wear a thousand faces.

The heart of stone and water

knows this truth,

in its cold, still deep.

The heart of fire and wind

knows this,

whipped into frenzy

at the merest touch.

The heart within you

knows this, as well

and wishes to share a secret--

There is a gift to being contented

with one's life...

even with hell outside

the door,

and a raging storm within.

Your heart,

an ever-shifting cauldron

of movement and yearning,

calls you home

in every moment.

If only you will be still, and listen.

Can you hear the fluttering of its wings?

A message from the elements and the season of the Crone

It occurred to me today that in an age of reason we have scrubbed passion from our seasons. Particularly the Spring and Fall. In the seasons where a blowing wind is likely to redden cheeks, and the trees themselves are vying for our notice with new budding leaves, berries and flowers, or brilliant colors that remind us that even death has great beauty, we seem to only wish for mild temps and pleasant, sunny skies, without exception. We have forgotten that beauty also has passion and depth, a creative purpose that can rage until sated.

Maybe this comes to me as inspiration because I adore Autumn. Maybe because I, who rarely ever complains of any weather event, suffered my own great lack of appreciation for what I termed an "unseasonable" snow storm. It cancelled Halloween events, and my last client of the day. It forced me to drive with extreme caution, and most of all, to slow down. No gratitude on my part for all that nasty weather. No way.

And yet yesterday as I worked, I watched the gorgeous giant flakes be driven nearly sideways by a fierce wind, and listened intently (after my music mysteriously quite working) to the pelting of sleet on the tin roof and windows. As I was walking into the house hours later, the wind whipped through the trees a few doors away, and shook snow from it as if the Cailleach (kal-yuk) herself were waking from a long slumber.

And I took it in. I felt it all move through me, this unusual storm; cleansing, passionate, fierce and full of trickster energy. It was sticking it's tongue out at us, and wiggling fingers in non-existent ears saying, "See? You don't control me. If I want to rage and tear down limbs, hurl snow, sleet and rain to force you to SEE and notice, to slow down and pay attention, then I will do as I please. This is my time to create or tear down as is needed, though you may have forgotten."

Yesterday's storm here in the middle of the NE coast was nothing if not filled with passion and raw, primal power. Something already very present within seasons not everyone in the US is lucky enough to experience. We have 4 full seasons, though many of us in this area spend lots of time complaining we don't 'like' the weather during at least 2 of them.

With this storm, we were presented with a passionate yet icy expression of the Feminine crone energy; fierce, beautiful, intense. Just like her to strip away the illusion of control, and to make everyone aware of the areas of their lives where they fail to honor time, nature, loved ones-- the things in our life that are truly important.

Reasoning away passion is something it seems we've grown far to used to in our world. Not just within the seasonal expressions of nature, but within our relationships with others. We even do it within the many spiritual containers, as if stillness and peace could exist in a never-ending stream, without movement, intensity, passion and growth. Why is that? Who sees peace as truth, and yet denies the value of the more difficult states this arises from?

We adore speaking of love, and yet deny it's full expression; thinking somehow that if we control conditions, everything will remain pleasant, sunny and 75 degrees. I think we may well see the fallacy of this, and yet we also wish to deny the passionate expression of love in it's full, raging beauty. Rage can rip the veils from our eyes, as it contains a huge amount of power and life force. It is when that rage is misdirected to hurt others, or we have memories we are personally tied to of people using rage to gain power over us that we balk. But we all contain this power, life force, raging beauty, blinding intention, fierce love. What would be amazing would be to begin honoring it and allowing it some compassionate expression, rather than suppression and minimizing how this looks and feels when our own discomfort gets in the way.

This is the lesson of the Cailleach/Crone Mother of Autumn-- being present to death requires both great passion, compassion and fierce love. Rage and fury. Careful expression and gifting of what no longer serves us, so that it may gift what passes, and we may be empty to receive renewed life and warmth enough to bring us through the Winter-- not simply to dream, but to celebrate our lives.

In this season of Autumn wind, fierce storms, leaves of blinding beauty and the passion of one moving towards finality, let us all remember what it is we may fail to honor; life and impermanence. Death and rebirth. This is a time of allowing things to reach their final conclusion, and to let go with grace. Also a time to understand that offered up within the face of blinding intensity is our gift, and it is that very energy used to weave the next threads within the tapestry of our ever-changing lives.

Samhain Blessings to All, Love, Passion and Great Turning,

Alyce

True Seeing

All mirrors are clear.

If there is darkness or a lack of clarity,
it is only the smoke in your own eyes
clouding your vision,
confusion blocking the inner light
from shining brightly.

The clouds that block
true seeing
are covering your heart,
not your eyes.

One may learn to see clearly,
with the inner eye,
by opening the heart to love
a little more deeply,
and completely.

~Reconnection teaching, 8.11.11

Happy Earth Day

Honor the earth. Love the earth. We are not separate from her, we are the co-creators of what is.

As ever-becoming beings, our thoughts, words and deeds will be our love talk to the planet today.

Feel your feet on the soil, sit by a tree, put your hands into the dirt, drink clean water, and most of all, feel gratitude for the earth within your being.

Required Earth Day reading: http://www.alternet.org/story/146568/five_ways_you_can_help_save_life_on_earth

We bring ourselves to the Feast

We can only ever bring to the world
what we were given...
be it fear, or love, or pain.

But until we soften our gaze and see through the eyes of honor;
open our heart and feel through devotion,
awaken our mind through consciousness and
learn to dwell in the wisdom pool of the soul,
it will only ever be someone else's offering.

There is no getting it "right",
there is only what you choose to bring.

We sit at the table of the Gods,
and we are the feast.

The Pregnant Void- A womb-time journey

Prying open the Third Eye- Sunshine Miller

In my own life, I am trying to heal my womb, and this picture speaks deeply to me. I am exploring the different faces of the goddess each day in order to better understand and step into my own feminine power, rather than wielding my inner masculine power, which I was taught and mistakenly believed, was stronger. I grew up with a feminist mother whose own damaged mother crushed and repressed her feminine, so I had to learn from the beginning. And so began my healing journey to explore my matrilineal and ancestral wounding.

There tends to be, in our society, a distinct lack of understanding and appreciation of the principle energies of both sexes. I see both needing reverence rather than denigration. The honoring of the other is what I see missing in many relationships between the masculine and feminine (both within and without).

I believe that both men and women can become polarized due to our different understanding (or misunderstanding) of our own energies and a lack of acceptance of those that differ from our own truth and experience.

I see that religion and even many of the teachings of spirituality have been geared towards the masculine need for emptiness, which is not necessarily the best way for women to learn, because they come from and return to fullness. The void is not empty, but pregnant with possibility. I am learning this is in my quest for healing.

As my friend Michael Mantas put it, “I can see how [from the masculine perspective] it would be easy to believe that Nothingness is more valid that Somethingness (Womb).

For the Archetypal Masculine the Math of Spirituality is expressed as 0 + 0 = 0.

For the Archetypal Feminine the Math of Spirituality is expressed as 1 + 1 = 1.

One is rational, one is intuitive. But rational does not equal heartlessness, and intuition does not equal invalidity.”

As a result of my own explorations, and my own re-emerging feminine, I'm beginning a group of spiritual exploration and focus from the feminine perspective. It will begin as a women's group, but men who have come to a point of emptiness and wish to embrace their inner feminine might be included later, as well.

I don’t have an agenda other than calling forth and fully embracing our own divine feminine within. Exploring our feminine energy and gathering in support with a definite spiritual focus utilizing meditation, journeying and guided energetic practice techniques. This circle will begin meeting at my Doylestown office in late January or early February during the time of Imbolc or Brighid’s Day.

Because my own beliefs and healing work are earth based and influenced by lunar cycles, these will inform my facilitation. People of all faiths and belief systems are welcome. All I ask is that you come with an open mind, and an open heart.

Anyone interested can contact me by email at awalkerbtweenworlds@yahoo.com, fb message, or snail mail at Ascentuals 26 E. Swamp Rd Suite E, Doylestown PA 18901.

Thanksgiving- Feast Day of Forgiveness and Atonement

I firmly believe that Thanksgiving is just another day. Perhaps it is just my decidedly irreverent mood today, or just that I don’t blindly believe in following any tradition just because everyone else does. Being that I open my heart to gratitude and give thanks each day in my prayers, I find it odd that we have only one particular day set out for gratitude, instead of all 365 days of the year.

Some of us celebrate abundance at the height of harvest (Lammas/Lughnasadh), some at the end of harvest before the first frost (Samhain/Halloween) and some before the coldness of winter settles over the land (Thanksgiving). All can be beautiful expressions depending on your intention and focus. I'm focusing on the ho'oponopono prayer today, since Thanksgiving is ‘traditionally’ a bogus holiday created by puritanical transplants who, in their quest for freedom from religious persecution, in turn helped to decimate an entire indigenous population.

I found this posted on a NPR thread the other day, and felt it resonate as truth:

"Thanksgiving should teach us all to be afraid. Although it's well known to anyone who wants to know, let me summarize the argument against Thanksgiving: European invaders exterminated nearly the entire indigenous population to create the United States. Without that holocaust, the United States as we know it would not exist. The United States celebrates a Thanksgiving Day holiday dominated not by atonement for that horrendous crime against humanity but by a falsified account of the "encounter" between Europeans and American Indians. When confronted with this, most people in the United States (outside of indigenous communities) ignore the history or attack those who make the argument. This is intellectually dishonest, politically irresponsible, and morally bankrupt."
--Robert Jensen
http://www.commondreams.org/view/2009/11/15-2

So, I agree that we should celebrate the Harvest time (which is part of Thanksgiving) and our ability to feed ourselves through the winter. Our gratitude may be acknowledged because, truly, only 'wealthy' people feast. For if there is not an abundance of food, and good will, there can be no feasting, or a full table. But somehow we should probably make it a point to include a forgiveness ceremony and offerings as part of this holiday on this land. I will be sure to do that, as I am native to this land now, and honor its spirits and inhabitants.

Here is a beautiful prayer based on the ho’oponopono tradition, recognizing that forgiveness of self and others is paramount to opening the heart, and the full experience of love and gratitude.

MORRNAH'S PRAYER (Hawaiian Shaman)

Divine creator, father, mother, son as one...If I, my family, relatives and ancestors have offended you, your family, relatives and ancestors in thoughts, words, deeds and actions from the beginning of our creation to the present, we ask your forgiveness...Let this cleanse, purify, release, cut all the negative memories, blocks, energies and vibrations, and transmute these unwanted energies into pure light....And it is done.

http://www.manifestourreality.com/blank.html

Dream Fragment – Re-awakening the Feminine Heart

Heart of the small one, tortured…
broken open by grief, longing, yearning.
Tear-filled eyes, shining with pain.

“In service” answered the bright being,
Her eyes smiling kindly,
shining with the light of the stars.

The small one reaches out her hand to touch the light one.
“How can I live this way, with a wound that will not heal?”

“Grace is yours for the asking, bright one.
Accept what is, embrace yourself in all of your fullness.
Become one with your heart” answered the Mother.

“It is too difficult here, alone and without physical comfort.
I want to come home.”

She wavered in her lavender fullness, and revealed a rainbow heart, beating at the center of the world, in time with the small one.

“This is your heart center, and your heart is your home.
You carry your home inside, always.
The Presence is not outside, but within.
Your own divinity is soft, receptive; strong in vulnerability.
Loving…in both joy and pain.”

“Then where, bright one, can I find freedom in restriction, and stillness in chaos?”

“That is what you are feeling, child; The All of your Being.
The heart is movement- ever-shifting, conscious, active, loving.
The stillness you seek is illusion.
Only in acceptance and honoring does the pace slow enough
for you to perceive your connection to the totality.
And then, you are in Oneness.”

…and still the small self asked,
“And is there anything in that for me?”

Again, the Goddess smiled.

“Why, of course. It’s all for you, dear one.
When you open your heart,
the totality of All That Is opens.
That is the true liberation of spirit from form.”

Invoking the Cailleach

A chill wind rustles the leaves of early autumn
and the girl slips out from behind the tall,
straight trunk of the retiring maple,
her gaze still watching the summer fade behind her.

It must have slipped past without her notice,
the shift more subtle than usual this year
despite the dreams and visions.

When did the burgeoning ripeness of the Mother
turn to the visage of the Crone?

How long has the Old One been standing
in the Northwest corner,
waiting for her to see?

The girl knows that the summer boy
has departed for good once again,
without a parting kiss,
no honoring of love shared,
or even a proper goodbye.

The tears of sorrow fall to the ground,
the unseen beings silently accept the offering.

The Ancient Mother is aware of all this,
the pain palpable as she watches
the bright red heart of the girl crack open.
This is the fertilizer for the seeds of the new
though the girl does not yet know.

The long eye of the Cailleach
glances simultaneously back to all that was,
and forward to all that might become.
The longing of the girl who awaits her release into death
has invoked her full power,
unknowable and full of destruction.

The Hag misses nothing,
noting the cowardly withdrawal
of the masculine.

The denial of love, a closing down, an easy conquest.
Where are the men who used to hold the space?
When as Badbh she wields her scythe of blind Justice,
this transgression will not be forgotten.
As the earth slowly releases the final bounty,
the cycle of her power grows.

With her left eye, she gazes forward
into the harsh wind of deep autumn,
and the soft dreamtime of Winter.

The Morrigan cracks a wide, forbidding smile,
relishing the tearing away of the old
creating a space for the tiny seeds of hope
to be planted in the now barren soil.

The Ancient Crone reaches out her arms, waiting.
Time to clear what no longer serves,
and welcome the girl
into the embrace of the twilight.

The Cailleach knows the Truth of this world;
All things must die.
And what she cannot teach through love,
will be learned through fear.

There is no difference save what we create.

Womb-time memory

'New Hope'- Barry Mack 48x72


Blood, bright red and shiny.
Today the pain is much less, she thought.
Better this time not to be hunched over,
waiting for something to move.
Better than a time long ago,
when she felt moved, and there was no trace.
Nothing but a faint memory, and a whiff of anaesthetic.
An ultra-sound picture,
taken by a well-meaning nurse and mother.
"Don't you want to see?" she asked, puzzled.
There was no pain then. Only numbness.

She grieves a past that never was,
and weeps for a future that will never be.

She thought she'd made peace with herself.
Until the long view came into sharper focus;
the lost highway of baby clothes and little girl dresses,
dimmed with the passing years.

And yet her womb is producing something.
How many are they?
How many growing in there,
feeding on shame, and self-esteem...
robbing creativity?
Something read, and remembered from Buddhist query:
If every living thing is an entity of the Mystic Law,
can she chant that these small,
dark growths evolve and support life,
instead of draining it?
Tiny bloodsuckers, drawing energy into the vortex.
What can ever come of that?

Blood.
Bright red and shiny.
Sacrificed to the earth.
Surrendered in love.
Each small thing released, and named.
One for each love she's ever had.
Some never embraced or admitted to.
So many tears shed, a deepening stillness spread within,
and all around.
Perhaps now her womb can be whole, and healed.

The Nature of Sacrifice

'Being'- Barry Mack

Repost from Tuesday, January 29, 2008

Nearly 3 years ago, prior to Hurricane Katrina, I began to receive messages, instruction, dream 'transmissions' regarding the nature of energy. How it is contained within nature. How it is transmitted. How it can be harvested, stored and accessed; utilized for protection, and for healing.

And about the nature of sacrifice.

At first these things seemed unrelated. And even though I was 'shown' how the act of sacrifice affected particular energy lines (literal and figurative), I was still not clear exactly what was considered a 'sacrifice'. Or that I wanted to know. Why was I being shown this?

The very word itself made me uncomfortable. I began to understand that it was the definition associated with the word that left me with this confused emotional discomfort.

This is taken directly from the Britannica Ready Reference:

sacrificen [ME, fr. OF, fr. L sacrificium, fr. sacr-, sacer + facere to make--more at do] (13c) 1: an act of offering to a deity something precious; esp: the killing of a victim on an altar 2: something offered in sacrifice 3 a: destruction or surrender ofsomething for the sake of something else b: something given up or lost. sacrifice vb -ficed ; -fic.ing vt (14c) 1: to offer as a sacrifice 2: to suffer loss of, give up, renounce, injure, or destroy esp. for an ideal, belief, or end 3: to sell at a loss ~ vi 1: to make or perform the rites of a sacrifice.

This didn't really engender much comfort or trust in my 'dreamtime' instruction. Suffering, loss, renunciation, offering to a deity. It seemed so last millennium. I thought about the story of Jesus. About terrorist attacks. How religious and political extremists believed they, too, were making a sacrifice, twisted and illogical though it might be to us. And about how this is usually done in the name of a deity. Not exactly something I wanted to look at.

Then I began to understand a bit more. I learned that the definition associated with a word was similar to an energy being placed on or associated with a symbol. That the word or symbol can evoke (or invoke) a particular energy, but it can also accumulate energy that becomes connected to it that has nothing at all to do with the origin or creation intent. It can become covered over with an energy that warps and obscures the very word/symbol itself.

I've been opened to learning over these past few years that the original idea and nature of sacrifice is intrinsically connected to love. Not as far from the idea of the resurrection story of the Christ as one might think, but before the myth itself was appropriated. Used by multiple religions in a quest for 'owning' the ultimate Truth about sacrifice. To be able to dictate how one should behave in order to be Christ-like. This in and of itself helped to obfuscate the meaning of the word. Through this knowledge, I realized that without the energy of love, true sacrifice is not possible.

And that was about it, until about two weeks ago. I'd been personally working with the elemental nature of fire, and it's transmutational properties. I received another message in the time between waking and sleep. I saw the word sacrifice spelled out in front of my closed eyes. And then it moved and shifted. The letters began to rearrange themselves... sacr..sacre..fire..care. Then it looked like this: sacred caring.

So simple, really, to take so long to understand fully. Sacrifice is not a thing, not a mental construct, not even an energy. It is the very intent that creates the energy. And behind that intent is love. This is where the idea comes from about sacrifice and miraculous healing. Lifting up a prayer, or raising your voice with open-hearted love in a state of complete selflessness allows one access to the Divine energy within and without. And moving out of the way allows this energy to manifest as ultimate healing. As Oneness.

I finally understood. I was being instructed to 'take back' the very word 'sacrifice'. Not as a noun, but as a verb. The original creation intent that has been lost within our culturally narrow definition.

So here is the recently defined version as I understand it at the present moment:

Sacrifice:
sacrificen [ME, fr. OF, fr. L sacrificium, fr. sacr-, sacer + facere to make--more at do] 1) To make holy, or sacred through an act of pure love. Sacred caring [the act and intent of] 2) in healing: the holding of a sacred space, a contained and witnessing presence within which a person might offer up something one is holding [something precious] in exchange for receiving the light of love and understanding.

I send this out into the ethers with love, light and many blessings.