Hunted Connection I

I had quoted Rumi. A line of hope from an elegant poet.
In a flash, he responded with the very next line from the same piece.
There had been no time to google or research....
I quoted the next line.
His immediate response, to complete the poem, was to seal our friendship.

"Those beautiful words we said to one another
are hidden in the secret heart of heaven.

One day, like the rain, they will pour
our love story all over the world" Rumi

Agasp with delight I watched his next message come in:

"I love Rumi! How do you come to know him?"

Indeed he seduced me with medieval poetry...

His appearance and persona upon the profile I was privy to, the only place I had access to view him, did not match the beautiful script, the inspiring conversation, the thrill of communicating with the friend I now had. We clearly both loved chatting to one another.
I had no real idea what he looked like nor what he really did. As he didn't of me.

From the beginning ours was a meeting of presence, a dance in the ecstacy of the extraordinary.
The man I did not believe existed was peacably, presently arriving...

Antique Little Girls

Upon the wall a plaque is bared
A phrase that captures all
Amid the lilting remnant smiles
The scribe is to befall
That deep within, despite the roles
The little girl resides
Regardless of the time that’s passed
Or the lessons that life hides.

She sings and hopes in colours,
She dances light within
She dreams and wishes for those she loves
Her heart a toll to ring

Shared wisdom in her play
The little ones delight
Captured in the dancing giggles
Her heart the dawning light

Wisdom paints her patience
Her energy is young
Enthusiasm lights the world
When she is said to come

New is found in skills of old
Memories in child’s mind
From she so beautiful, so warm, so strong
So gentle and so kind.

A role that will not be repeat
She owns it for the world
The plaque it states it plainly:

Grandmas are antique little girls.

For the beautiful Mel Hunt, Happy Birthday

Melissa Hocking 2010

Initiation 333

Kaleidoscope sounds behind the fluttering, closed lids of trust.
Breath shallowing, unmeasured, unnoticed,
Slipping,
Gratefully slipping,
Falling,
Roguish muscularity jerks consciousness into fore,
Resentment takes mind and holds it in a delusional awareness
A misleading reality.
Colours fade, escaping the grip of an imprisoned dimension.
Struggle, trying,
Struggle, losing...

Draw deep, sweet, succulent breath ...
The colourful, spiralling parade resumes in rest.

From core to peripheral the vibration lifts
A dull ache permeates the flesh renewal from heart streaming.
The flesh reacts,
The mind falls deep, rich,
Downward into beyond.

Cumulus travel, fast tunnel in light,
Sliding through the non-existence of time.
Sweet, spherical arrival, ever moving, without moment.
Emotion, too small, is overwhelmed
As knowledge is strewn against the limitless boundary of recognition.
Biology steps into mechanical relief, drawing information into structure it knows priority.
Spirit flies.
A spiralling ecstasy, aloft upon release,
Accelerating,
Infinite,
Savouring the fragrant mead of whole life...
Spirit Flies.

“the physical healing, while often “miraculous”, is the very least of what occurs in session”
Melissa Hocking 2010 – Quantum BioEnergetics International

In my mind, my descriptive structure, this is what it is to know session under Quantum BioEnergetics for the first time.

While the work we are doing continues to be "cutting edge", the research "phenomenal", while the demand for the knowledge of this is ever increasing, still it is this experience, this moment of recognition when the individual enters self that is what this work is all about. A genuine initiation intot he most important "club" you could ever become member of: You

MH

Stark cherry tree branches weep forlorn in the icy chill, battered by hail and torrential rains. Adorning her shape, ripe buds full of promise yet to awaken, kiss each branch tip and from each of them: a single remnant drop of rain, yet to fall. Baubles of hope, their spherical base mirrors the warming light. A reflection of a future.

The Dark Self

Spiraling into the shadows,
Awareness a pile about the trodden footprints from which one cannot sift out the clarity of wisdom.
The facade hemmed too high to disguise the pretence any longer:
Worthless.

Too short the reach?
Too far the journey?

History gripping, regardless of truth, striking blows upon raw,
bloodless wounds.
Phrase,
forgotten long by delivery, oozes from the open flesh of injury
Splattering pointless upon the transparent shield
Of the self torturing mind.
Worthless.

Cast amid the hungered jaws of the self involved,
Sacrifice to wants,
Ready price to relinquish
Upon the caged desires of the shallow.

Disloyalty ripples from core to perimeter of the performer.
The mirror cries
Worthless.

The mirror, fragmented, tainted by dishonor,
marred by the withering esteem of those casting response.
Incomplete in reflection, the mirror
Lies.
The clouded veil drawn by falsity is weighty, resistant…
Lift the veil.

All within screams hollow and
Worthless.
Lift the veil.

Injury strikes blindness, vision impaired of the truth within.
You are abundant within you…

Lift the veil.

Melissa Hocking 2010