war cry*

*warning…this post has some strong language and images I don’t normally post. It is not meant to be offensive –

what happens when you start your week with this blasting???

stirring things up….

like a punch in the face…

I guess we’ll find out…

it’s on replay for the week….

“Hey, I wanna get better!”

I didn’t know I was lonely ’til I saw your face
I wanna get better, better, better, better,
I wanna get better
I didn’t know I was broken ’til I wanted to change
I wanna get better, better, better, better,
I wanna get better

I’m thinking a lot about anger at the moment…



I rarely get angry…

I’ve worked hard and long to avoid being an angry person…



I’ve been afraid of anger in many ways…


and so over these past years….

I kept anger outside of my inside….



passive aggressive chickens

 lately it’s been occurring to me that maybe…


I have become a bit TOO passive…



{ ok, I’ve made a lot of progress… }


and I’m not saying I want to be an angry person…


but I do want to develop a healthy relationship with anger…




and maybe beat on a few things…
hear some things crack open….



On the journey of the warrior-bodhisattva, the path goes down, not up, as if the mountain pointed toward the earth instead of the sky. Instead of transcending the suffering of all creatures, we move toward turbulence and doubt however we can. We explore the reality and unpredictability of insecurity and pain, and we try not to push it away. If it takes years, if it takes lifetimes, we let it be as it is. At our own pace, without speed or aggression, we move down and down and down. With us move millions of others, companions in awakening from fear.
– Pema Chodron



“Don’t be spiritual with me, my love. 

Be honest instead! 

Get angry with me. Tell me how you really feel.

Tell me how pissed off you are. 

Shout. Or cry. Show me your vulnerability. 

Express what’s on your heart.

Say the wrong thing. Make a mess. 

I don’t care. We can clean up later.

I just want to meet you. Now. 

Don’t wait until you have the perfect words.

Don’t wait until your precious fire has gone out.

Or your tears have dried up. 

There’s no shame in being a mess.

Anger is not ‘unspiritual’. 

It is beauty. It is power. 

I want to meet you beyond the mask.

Beyond the nice little boy, the good little girl.

The well-trained spiritual student.

The expert. The calm one.  

The one who was never allowed to raise their voice. 

I want to feel your fucking flames!

I want to feel your truth! 

Your passion! What you need! What you desire! 

Your unrequited longings! Your frustrated hopes! 

Don’t worry about hurting me.

Just let life speak through you. Now.

I will take responsibility for my own pain. 

Please. I’d rather receive your pure anger NOW

than years of stories, blame, resentment,

and passive aggressiveness. 

Drop the spiritual bullshit.

Just tell me how I fucked up. 

Get everything out in the open. 

I will not shame you.

And we can go from there.”

– Jeff Foster

“In your anger do not sin”: Do not let the sun go down while you are still angry, and do not give evil a foothold.”
‭‭Ephesians‬ ‭4:26-27‬ ‭NIV‬‬




I want to live, what author Jeff Brown, calls Enrealment

Intrinsic to enrealment is a deep honoring of the vulnerable, receptive heart. Many of the traditional enlightenment models have been reflections of a paternalistic landscape, one where emotional armor was necessary to maintain its warrior function. Through the eyes of the lone-wolf warrior, expanded consciousness was a disembodied head trip, a lone wolf warrior clamoring for a taste of God in meditative repose while the women were tending to the allegedly mundane world of feeling. What was missing from this lens was the bountiful wisdom of the divine feminine- relationship as path, heart as portal to the God-self, the emotional body as the breeding ground for the soul’s emergence. As our world moves away from survivalism as its orienting principle, the awakening man will one day feel safe enough to lay down his arms, and recognize that an enheartened path is fundamental to a clarified consciousness. That which is real is real because it is felt, and not simply witnessed, watched, analyzed.               – Jeff Brown



Now I just have to figure out how to…



allow it (sigh)


let it go…

Remembering to keep this practice in place….




in the world between worlds

where the shimmering abstract

holds all the secrets within us

words are absent

no scripture exists

there are no definitions

as there is no need for such things

in our eternal knowing

we are ever-being known

the mystic colors of God fill us

unseeable in this earthly realms obscured vision

they hold us there

where we don’t need to be  understood

or understand anything

we are simply

all we could ever hope to be

we are the lover and the beloved

eternal love

eternally loved


You in I

I in you



until the scab scraping

demand of this waking earth

this illusion glazed moment we choose to serve

pulls us completely blinded

into a day in a life

pushes us ass-backward

into the harsh reality

of jaded time

of hard-earned, hard-learned experience

of continually disappointed expectation

of broken hearts, once tender

of broken dreams, once beautiful

broken everything, once whole and healthy

and instead of fighting for our very lives,

we put away our dreaming space,

as if it were somehow the wrong

we decide we’ve learned the truth –

that love hurts –

though what we’ve learned is trickery –

because true love sets us free

and so we surrender to

the soul-sucking zombie apocalypse of our addictions,

our chosen favored forms of slavery

not knowing our vast worth

our royal bloodline

our supreme destiny

we clothe ourselves in useless, flimsy armor

our only known defense.

we use fools gold

cheap drug store variety,

Madison avenue, false-advertisement protection,

these rabbits feet of proclaimed luck,

these traps of anger, arrogance and pride,

against the barbarian onslaught

of what we have been brainwashed to accept

as important

the carnivorous eating of our flesh

by the demands of our own complex making

focused only on our foolish collecting of silly objects,

overrated treasures and pleasures

as we ignore our need for love

choosing instead to battle

the cannibals salivating at every corner

waiting for us to stumble and weaken

so they can take our place at the top of the illusive list

of whatever sort

we have entered into

as our arena of competition

eventually they will toast to their victories over us

with our own fresh, falling blood

pouring from the golden goblets we ourselves had taken from another


we accept it as normal

as we attend to the business of forgetting

who we are

pretending to be full

as we starve to death

in order to get just a little bit more than those waiting

for what will never satisfy any of us

lusting for salt

even as we faint from dehydration


we live, lonely, in empty mansions

forgetting all that makes a house glow

is the home light burning inside of our other to warm our bones

in order to impress those who will never truly know us, love us, or want our best to be honored

in order to arrive at the end of our hourglass

dragging what we will not be able take with us…


we trade our chance to be truly remarkable

to create singular intimacy

we see our chance to find gardens of happiness,

to build something as mind boggling as the seven wonders,

and we choose to ignore it

as we continue on.

too busy, too consumed,

to stop for a moment,

just one moment,

to take off our shoes,

fall down and worship…

to allow the lover into our heart –

as though love isn’t important enough for the likes of us


why do we go about wasting our opportunity here?

how can we awaken to the highest and best within ourselves?

how can we choose to lay our hearts bare in vulnerability?

how can we empty the deepest motes of fear and isolation?

why do we trade love for rust?

why would we ever do such a thing?



Let us return again to where we began…

the joyous place of our belonging

to the passion and wild danger inside our freedom loving hearts

children on Christmas morning

full of sheer wonder and excitement

at the beauty of who we are

passionately in love with our created uniqueness

the fullest colors of our self unleashed

living worship eternally under vast blue skies

shining from our highest place,

with the extreme audacity,

the sheer wonder and glory

of our calling as love

pure love

I in you

You in I

as we

the many,

once again,


the one

Amy Lloyd



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