Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Flourish Studio

This blog is posted for the Chi Center by


The Point

There is no arriving at your

The point changes based on where you look
And what you ask of it
It has no preference for it is
Always before you
But should you look to the side
                                                   It will be there

It is almost nothing
And it is everything
Or of it everything might be born

It is you and more than you
You of course are more than you
You are one with all points of the universe

Your point of view is not the point of view
But informs it

The point informs you too

It is ever changing yet still

There are no seven steps to the point
But back and forth and up and down and round
And round and round will do

You might start or end there
Or anywhere to arrive at the beginning again

If it were otherwise the point would have
Already arrived at its destination
And the game would be over

No more dice to toss onto the plane
No longer any to cherish
For what they might foretell

No more jokers or Queens
No more point to pull another card and see
The brush of wind
Or breath of sea
It would always be the card you wanted
Before you dreamed the one you never knew.

by a me

Non Believer’s Miracle

You say you never step foot in a temple or church
Yet isn’t that a shell you are holding listening for the sea?

Isn’t it a temple you place hand to ear to heart?
And is the smile of recognition of the
Hollow sound of coral shell shining white
Not a miracle?

And when you watch the waves turn and pound back in
Noticing your heart swelling and breath deepening

This which has resonance within you
What do you call it?


So Sweet

o sweet the mother's breath 
on the newborn baby 
held close to her breast

So wondrous the dream of life 
unfolding from this moment 
in myriad mysterious ways

So complete the life revealed 
in this moment of such
sweet connection with eternity

So perfect the divine being
locking eyes with sweet
unconditional love flowing

So humbly honor the feminine 
birthing nurturing power 
universally breathing on us all

Peter Stickney

Monday, July 4, 2011

Poetry: So Much Happiness

The Six Golden Keys

Practice, practice, practice.
There is a Chi Field
the Inner Smile
Diligent Practice
Haola, haola, haola.

Following mind's intention to achieve heart's desire,
the Essence comes 
with practice, 

All is well.
So be it.
So it is.

Denise M

Hun Yuan Ling Tong, Becoming the Bell

Hun Yuan Ling Tong, becoming the bell

We can hear it
peeling forth its clear song
lifting up out of the crystalline mist
Hun ... Yuan ... Ling ... Tong

A bell, reflecting 
the brilliance of the light of its song, 
its substance, its source.
Clear, strong vibrations
penetrating all frequencies.
calling forth integration
formless, flowing, form,
each surrendering into sweet sounds.

Hun, everything and nothing
the spacious potential
in which the bell hangs.

Yuan, the loop at the top of the bell
enabling truth 
to sing 
the love song 
between the formless and the form

Ling, the movement of the clapper
swinging in response to the loveliness of life
in the pure creation, 
energy expressing

Tong, the vibrations of tone,
the reunion of clapper and bell
opening of sound 
bringing forth potential 
into notes of truth.

Hun Yuan Ling Tong
Calling forth the infinite potential as the song of our being

June 3, 2011

GUMA, (my grandmother name)
Judy Tretheway
Haola (all is well, so be it!) Haola

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

Poetry Allow


There is no controlling life.
Try corralling a lightning bolt,
containing a tornado. 
Dam a stream, and it will create a new channel. 
Resist and the tide will sweep you off your feet.

Allow, and grace will carry you to higher ground.
The only safety lies in letting it all in –
the wild with the weak: fear, fantasies, failures and success.
When loss rips off the doors of the heart, or sadness veils your
vision with despair, practice
becomes simply bearing the truth.
In the choice to let go of your known way of being, the whole
world is revealed to your new eyes.

            --Danna Faulds
                              submitted by Gina Thompson

Poetry: So Much Happiness

~ So Much Happiness ~
It is difficult to know what to do with so much happiness. 
With sadness there is something to rub against, 
a wound to tend with lotion and cloth. 
When the world falls in around you, you have pieces to pick up, 
something to hold in your hands, like ticket stubs or change. 

But happiness floats. 
It doesn't need you to hold it down. 
It doesn't need anything. 
Happiness lands on the roof of the next house, singing, 
and disappears when it wants to. 
You are happy either way. 
Even the fact that you once lived in a peaceful tree house 
and now live over a quarry of dust and noise 
cannot make you unhappy. 
Everything has a life of its own, 
it too could wake up filled with possibilities 
of coffee cake and ripe peaches, 
and love even the floor which needs to be swept, 
the soiled linens and scratched records... 

Since there is no place large enough 
to contain so much happiness, 
you shrug, you raise your hands, and it flows out of you 
into everything you touch. You are not responsible. 
You take no credit, as the night sky takes no credit 
for the moon, but continues to hold it, and share it, 
and in that way, be known.

By Naomi Shihab Nye
Submitted by Gina Thompson

George Elliot on Regeneration

“Deep, unspeakable suffering may well be called a baptism, a regeneration, an initiation through the passing over the threshold of pain and grief and anguish into a new state of being.”

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

Thursday, April 7, 2011

Poetry: What is Love & Other Poems

What is love?
Chi is love
I am love
Love is all around each of us now
Love is feeling the presence of Chi
Love is being the messenger of Chi
Love is expressing the inner Chi self
Love is thinking Beautiful thoughts
Love is seeing Chi as everything
Love is the story I sing everyday
Love is my life, Love is our life

 I am what I think 
 I am what I think I feel 
 -- yesterday, today, tomorrow -- 
 I empower myself with my thoughts
 I am careful with my thoughts
 I feel my thoughts deeply
 for this I am grateful
 and so I let it be 

breathing deeply, I close my eyes
easily, gently, rhythmically my awareness
finds the eternal womb of creativity within me
this place in all existence from which all life comes
this moment I am one with Goddess, Mother of all life
her nurturing essence holding all in her warm embrace
relaxing, letting go, knowing she is with me always
opening inner eyes to follow her soft illumination 
opening my ears to receive her wise counsel
opening my heart I receive her gentle love
accepting with gratitude all she gives
returning her love to all creation
breathing, I open my eyes 

the stream of life flows ever onward
are your goals ahead of you
or are they behind you
think about it for
a moment
I see

                                                                                                  Peter Stickney

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Poetry: Wings


Feel the catapillar's struggle.
Last leaves eaten, flesh constricting, innards liquify.
She moors herself with a gossamer hook under a sheltering leaf.
Turning, twisting, she spins her shroud.
With one last breath she tucks herself into her silken ship,
        and dissolves,  dissolves.
Eons, kalpas, Akashic time.
Then it comes,
        sensed not felt
        felt not thought
        thought not seen
A pulsation growing
        KAI HUI  
        KAI HUI
Feeding on old richness, 
Breathing new light he is impelled forward,
Shoulders heave against the stiff sheath. Now breathing
Faith alone guides him.
He only knows to keep pulsing
Suddenly a new dream, now of flight,
Unknown dimensions of joy.
Look, high in the temple
Amid the shafts of scarlet light and the dust motes

Donna Whitmarsh
April 2011

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Poetry: Questions

What was I not thinking?
That day that I set off from home?
Leaving my spiritual center to find Spirit?
In some other land, some other home?
How thought free is this wonder lust?
That leaves happiness to find suffering?
Is this world fashioned by such actions?
As we spiral through this galaxy for Love?
Does the answer to Questions bring Peace?
Will happiness return at the end of the search?
When what i was not thinking shows itself?

Peter Stickney

Monday, April 4, 2011

Poetry: Mocking Bird's Reverie

No matter where
You write your truth
I will
Read it

Whether it be on cave walls
Or in pyramid depths
Or  on earth
With stick and stone
I will
Read it

Whether it be on napkin
Crunched beneath the table
I will crawl down and
Read it

I will read it
When you desperately
Want that it
Be heard

But should you not be ready
To unveil it like art work
Awaiting completion
I will wait

Or if it is like a birthday
Blown out into the dimming light
And you know the only way
That it may come true
Is to seal your lips tight

I will respect that too.

But should it come

On a mockingbird's wing
Who awakes me
In the middle of the night

Or if you drum it
On earth with your prayers
At dawn

I will read it

If you bless the water
I will read it in the glimmering
Light of sun on water
And see what you have transcribed on the
Flow of life

I will listen because you are
And always will be my
Mother, brother sister, father, child of mine

I will never stop
For to stop would be like
Closing my eyes
Shutting my ears
Refusing to move

For you are all a part of me
Fire of the sun
Leaf falling
Back aching
Heart breaking

Root of
My life
Tree in winter, summer, spring

And I am you
And you are me
I am listening

And now that you have
Sung to me
Drummed to me
Prayed with me

I will forever be listening
To where and when and how
You speak to me

Under the covers
I will be there
Looking at the night  sky
I will be there
Singing to the morning birds
I will be there
And running on seedlings underfoot
I will be there

For I could be no where else

And I know you have read
The waves at the shore
The tea leaves in my hand
The tarot card I drew from a deck
Of fools and knaves
For you are me

Whenever we forget this
And do not hear our unique
Contribution to the chorus of life
From stick banging on earth
To candle quiet in wish making

May we remember
Bum bum, bum bum,
Bum bum.


April 4, 2011

Saturday, April 2, 2011

From The Prophet, by Kahlil Gibran

And a woman spoke, saying Tell us of Pain.
And he said:
Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses
your understanding.
Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that
its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know
And could you keep your heart in wonder at
the daily miracles of your life, your pain would
not seem less wondrous than your joy;
And you would accept the seasons of your heart,
even as you have always accepted the seasons that
pass over your fields.
And you would watch with serenity through
the winters of your grief.
Much of your pain is self-chosen.
It is the bitter potion by which the physician
within you heals your sick self.
Therefore trust the physician, and drink his
remedy in silence and tranquility:
For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guided
by the tender hand of the Unseen,
And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips,
has been fashioned of the clay which the Potter
has moistened with His own sacred tears.

Posted by Orna Meyer

Saturday, January 1, 2011

Poetry New Year 2011

New Year 2011


by Peter Stickney