Little Blessings

 

Little Blessings

 

Little blessings

Every daybreak;

For spirits to watch over us

As we go about a busy day.

For our children to be well,

Healthy and thrive;

And our loved ones, sometimes

Far away, to be protected

And angels to smile upon us..

 

Let us use our small prayers

To show respect and understanding

That we are part of the universal family

That dwells in thanksgiving

On this beautiful World,

Together

Every time we say our;

Little blessings...

 

copyright 2010

 

For our new world being born

 

 

Prayer

On this day., I am here

Asking for help and guidance;

In overturning racism, injustice, greed,

Theft of Resources,

Trafficking of the vulnerable,

Hunger and poverty,

Open our hearts, please

Help us all heal,

Help us balance;

Through the unification of all races,

Tolerance of all religions,

Connection to every living creature,

To preserve our increasingly fragile world.

 

Toni Truesdale copyright 2016

Just who are we? I challenge you to think deeply

 Throughout History 

Western cultures celebrate the righteous conquests over nature, 

women and Indigenous peoples; calling it Manifest Destiny

The rightful position of racist authority.

The people who have struggled to take back their sovereignty and identity 

only to find it distilled by the historic arguments of western power: guns, religion and education.

 For the onslaught this convincingly presented superiority of ideals is hard to extricate. 

? Is originality important or the continuing embrace of the ethics and aesthetics in academics because is so rewarded still.

Today we see this persistent legacy in systemic eurocentric concepts that when we want to discard this role to become a better country, more inclusive and just;

 it is found to have a great degree of difficulty.

.

We have to own the lies;

We have to retell history;

and deconstruct our academics and arts.

and redefine power.

That is how we begin to break free

and become who we need to be.

May the ancestors and those before in their suffering help guide into this better world.

Prayer for the Dead,

Prayer for the living,

Prayer for future generations

to live in a just and equal society

within the beauty of this world 

in harmony with its creatures.

Nov 4th 2020

   

    

Prayers for the Dead, Prayers for the Living, Prayers for a Becoming a New World of Justice

 

Historical grief slips secretly generation into generation…

Unseen yet visible emotionality

In sterile familiar poverty;

Pain, sacrifice still poisons unresolved time.

Victims caught in moments of past and present tragedy

That left a legacy of tears, haunting children presently.

Adults respond to medicate away impersonal pain 

Leading to destruction, cycle; again.

From senses understanding incomplete.

And, the land murmurs in despair, as well as in

The very air 

Filters atmosphere, in pathos steeped ...

 

Spirits all around

Some Native to this land, others brought to serve and slave

Still overlapping the sequence

Beyond dying, outside the living

Imprints of sorrow nestled in the soil

Discerned by the unconscious living mind perceiving

The footprints of historic grief.... 

Indigenous Peoples Day 2020

 

Prayer for the Dead

by Toni Truesdale

 

To all those conquered bones,

With the painful solitude of lone closed eyes.

It’s not just the victim that dies.

Did gold, silver and slaves

Make this destiny just?

Or did fate rape those women in lust?

Can they ‘save’ the souls

To make it just?

Or did Manifest greed burn the cross in the night?

 

Would it not be right,

To look back at 500 years;

And say to those dead

That we finally see their tears?

And to each that has suffered

Say a prayer for peace;

For the sake of the future

And the hope of release;

From that continuing cycle

Of servant of master...

 

copyright 2000

ToniTruesdale.com

 

WE MUST VOTE! We must caucus. We must defeat the evil poisoning us all. And never give up our power. The Fate of our country, the fate of our world depends on our unity across race class and culture.

 

Women Breaking Through

 

Women are breaking through the bitter darkness,

After centuries of the patriarchy that stole

the Mother Right;

Millennia of misogynist and cultural struggles,

Against poverty, persecution, inquisition, rape,

Genocide, slavery.

Destruction of indigenous cultures,

Spirituality, languages continue;

As does the extinction of species, and the poisoning of the planet.

Women need to come forward

to rebalance the forces of life with the children of the world

 

May we speak in one unified multicultural voice of peace,

Preservation and protection…

 we will break through…

 

Women Breaking Through © Toni Truesdale 1998

Toni Truesdale.com

 

Deep Woods

There was a place, and is there still;

Overgrown with tangled webs, wildflowers amid spiraling vines.

Ancient mythic images stand in solitary shadows,

Crumbling and cooling in the deepest shades cast by the sun.

 

The path runs through caverns and ruins

Travelled by foolish children,

For the garden invites them into a magic game.

An invitation few adults would venture to accept

Into this abandoned and dangerous solitude.

 

I followed this strange path,

As a child I followed the path.

Skipping into sanctuary

Lured by the magnet of abandoned trees with green apples

Left to rot under unpruned trees.

And the scent of honeysuckle.

 

Moss grew on staid, standing water of reflecting pools

Dimly redirecting the obstructed sky.

Hardly mirroring my face as I searched for little fish, tadpoles and lilies.

 

Perseus stood for eternity holding the head of Medusa endlessly squirming stone snakes,

I was awed and avoided him gingerly.

Athena minus a limb or two presided with authority.

 

Pan guarded the entrance of a tiny tunnel,

That one small child could enter fearfully.

Yet, spirits seemed to hover indulgently,

Keeping safe the wandering children attracted into the sweet solitude.

 

My favorite entrance was to sneak around the big stone gatehouses;

To dance by the bluebells

Into a cavern, dark and scary;

Once brick oven set with steps that led up into

Arches flanked by benches

Surrounded by the stories of ancient statuary.

I always went that way.

 

A small white temple by the Brandywine

Was perched on the river’s edge;

On the falls that connected to the millrun.

For there was an island on our side of the river

That had its own path to that point.

I would dangle my toes into the water on either side

Watching the patterns form from

My slightest movement;

Rippling, swirling endlessly around the rocks molded by the waters.

 

 

I would play for solitary hours,

Singing to myself

Perhaps those ghosts of those that died before

Heard my childish voice.

 

I wondered as a girl

If the river would know me later.

So intimate were we.

For time was insignificant here.

 

So, when I dreamed of the iron bridge many times;

I had to cross back, as a woman

And return to the garden of secrets.

 

I stole into it again and again

To find the same path as my girl child;

To put again my feet on familiar trails,

That years made more tangled than before.

 

Travelling the road backwards,

I reclaimed the child;

So pure in spirit,

Yet aware with all senses

Of what was before;

In this special timeless space;

This secret place

Now wandering paths inside.