Blessed we are
to dance on this ground,
The rhythm of saints to carry the sound.
We hold a prayer for the earth,
for the ones yet to come,
‘May you walk in beauty and remember your song
Remember why you came here,
Remember your life is sacred.
~Peia Luzzi, lyrics from Blessed We Are
A long time ago when much of the world was still a wild place there was once a waterfall with a beautiful voice. She could sing with the stars and moon. She would sing with the trees of the forest and all the creatures that came to her shores. In all the earth there was nothing like her divine voice. One day the waterfall told herself she was tired of singing and telling stores all the time, but she couldn’t stop her voice from flowing with the waters. As time passed the waterfall’s voice grew dull as it cascaded down over the rocks. It had lost its music of laughter. It only sounded cold and angry as it slapped down into the depths below. There were no more lullabies at night because the trees no longer listened. The creatures of the forest came to her shores only to quench their thirst. They no longer stayed to visit. Even the stars hide themselves from her behind the leaves of tree spirits and veils of clouds. The waterfall began to feel a deep sadness that she had never known. She had never been so alone. She didn’t know what to do.
Until one day, a pokey little green frog jumped on a mossy stone at the foot of the waterfall. He began to croak out a song. And croaked and croaked into the night. The next morning, the waterfall called out to the frog and said, “Thank you little web-footed friend. I had forgotten what it feels like to sing out with all your might. For many years now, I have used my voice to say what others wanted to hear. But now I realize that I can only sing the song of songs when I give the gift of presence. You have been a true friend.” After that the frog and waterfall would sing many a new song with each dawning day.
© Salem Islas-Madlo 2016
*photo of waterfall by Nicolas A. Tonelli, Pennsylvanian Waterfalls
*photo of green frog found on Frogs Native to Pennsylvania
From the surface
Down into the depths
A friend to myself
Smiling, I make the universe
Even more beautiful.
© Salem Islas-Madlo 2016
“Summertime. It was a song. It was a season. I wondered if that season would ever live inside of me.” ~ Benjamin Alire Sáenz
“Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass under trees on a summer’s day, listening to the murmur of the water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is by no means a waste of time.” ~ John Lubbock
“The island is ours. Here, in some way, we are young forever.”
~ E. Lockhart
Enlighten your desires.
Meditate on who you are.
Quit imagining.
What you want is profoundly expensive,
and difficult to find,
yet close by.
Don’t search for it. It is nothing,
and a nothing within nothing.
~Lalla, Naked Song
My blood
Is calling to you
Through
All the chaos
And frightening sound
Of darkness
Giving birth
To love.
© Salem Islas-Madlo 2016
Illustration by Cinzia Bardelli
Heart flutterings
Of butterfly girl
Old soul eyes
As big as
The moon
A spirit
Dancing tenderly
With the Earth
To music
Born
From silence
An inner laughter
Of firefly stars
Breathing
In rivers
and
Breathing
Out oceans
She lives
In the
Gift of
Presence.
© Salem Islas-Madlo 2016
*more art of Cinzia Bardelli can be found at:
The gift of presence
Is the song of songs
That blossoms like the dawn
In our hearts
We sing with the earth
In gratitude
Interbeing in the pure land
© Salem Islas-Madlo 2015
*to hear the song version visit https://soundcloud.com/user-476527928
Today the hill
Put on a
Different dress
To greet me
Frilly spring green
Lined with darker
Evergreen
A lace slip of
Pear blosooms
Peeking from underneath
Her voice…
Filled with a thousand
Notes of birdsong
Calling me
To the heart
Of home.
© Salem Islas-Madlo 2015
Excerpts from Shakespeare’s “Merchant of Venice”:
Lorenzo:
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!
Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music
Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night
Become the touches of sweet harmony.
Look, how the floor of heaven
Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold:
There’s not the smallest orb that thou behold’st
But in his motion like an angel sings
Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins;
Such harmony is in immortal souls;
But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.
Come, ho! and wake Diana with a hymn:
With sweetest touches pierce your mistress’ ear,
And draw her home with music.
Jessica:
I am never merry when I hear sweet music.
Lorenzo:
The reason is, your spirits are attentive:
The man that hath no music in himself,
Nor is not mov’d with concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils;
The motions of his spirit are dull as night,
And his affections dark as Erebus:
Let no such man be trusted… Music! hark!
Nerissa:
It is your music of the house.
Portia:
Methinks it sounds much sweeter than by day.
Nerissa:
Silence bestows that virtue on it.
Portia:
How many things by season season’d are.
To their right praise and true perfection!
Peace, ho! the moon sleeps with Endymion,
And would not be awak’d.
(Soft stillness and the night
Become the touches of sweet harmony.)
I surrender myself over
To my heart
There Love resides
Infinite Soul
We are all One
© Salem Islas-Madlo 2015
Deep Souldiving 