Why Must I Suffer?

by John Roedel

(I wrote this for you & me)

I fell through a hole in

a church pew yesterday

and landed right

in the thick amber

field of a piece of

stained glass

I asked a red saint

who was stargazing

“why must I suffer?”

without looking

at me

he said

“to know God.”

I didn’t like

that answer


I crawled through

a mist of royal triangles

and swam across a sea of ovals

and scaled a pointed cusp

until I found a glowing sinner

and I asked her the

same question

“why must I suffer?”

she placed her

green hand on my

purple cheek

and sung

“Because a broken heart

is easier to share.”


my hands became

turquoise doves

and my lips became

yellow vines

and my feet became

fat red rubies

and I became radiant

painted glass of the divine

and I became

reflected light

and everything

I touched glowed

and now my broken

illuminated heart

colors the walls

of every room I walk into

~ john roedel

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com



by Becky Hemsley

She sat at the back and they said she was shy,

She led from the front and they hated her pride,

They asked her advice and then questioned her guidance,

They branded her loud, then were shocked by her silence,

When she shared no ambition they said it was sad,

So she told them her dreams and they said she was mad,

They told her they’d listen, then covered their ears,

And gave her a hug while they laughed at her fears,

And she listened to all of it thinking she should,

Be the girl they told her to be best as she could,

But one day she asked what was best for herself,

Instead of trying to please everyone else,

So she walked to the forest and stood with the trees,

She heard the wind whisper and dance with the leaves,

She spoke to the willow, the elm and the pine,

And she told them what she’d been told time after time,

She told them she felt she was never enough,

She was either too little or far far too much,

Too loud or too quiet, too fierce or too weak,

Too wise or too foolish, too bold or too meek,

Then she found a small clearing surrounded by firs,

And she stopped…and she heard what the trees said to her,

And she sat there for hours not wanting to leave,

For the forest said nothing, it just let her breathe.

By: Becky Hemsley

One Heart

bubbles out of its sub-atomic origins

emerging out of the caverns of the formless

and it sits there humming my form from its lips

the form of my soul piles up in layers around me,

One Heart

like children crawling

fingers, hands and feet within

the great big ball of you

they never tire of this

as you disappear beneath the leaves

of their tiny, sweet

little brushstrokes so green

you are breaking out through a door

  pulsing between my shoulder blades

It feels like your lips are poised between them

blowing up my heart bigger and bigger

will I burst?

does that even matter?

there is laughter on the lips of children

their eyes swirl in circles

darting and swerving

like silverfish around me

are they forming my soul?

how can I float so weightless inside your body?

as I let you blow me up and

toss me into the wind

Photo by Filipe Leme on Pexels.com

What was I thinking?

I came here to learn
Back at Home
there was a me
but this me became a
so easily
and this we became
The One
so easily
and there was no fear
about not being a
self without a name.
There was no fear flowing
between a me, a we, or
The One.
The feeling of it all
was the same.
There is no word
for this feeling
but now that I’m here
in this body I know that
this feeling is the total absence of fear.
I came here to know this.
You don’t need boundaries at Home
because no one tests them but here
in this body you are separated into
wrongness and rightness,
punished for mis-steps and mis-takes and
shuttled into accepted or discarded.
When you are labeled it is
seemingly irrevocable.
Fear here in this body is
palpable because all the body knows is
birth and death,
these seemingly irrevocable boundaries.
Unfolding into this world showed me
what Home is,
the absence of fear.
Every time I look through my body
to the clouds rumbling the sky,
the winds of Home fill me
and I bless this place
where punishment reigns,
where bounded bodies project their
orphaned aspects onto other bodies
then crucify them.
This world defines my Home
by being the Shadow of it.
This world evokes a searing desire
to carve my way back
to a fearless place where me
becomes we and we become
The One
and this flow bubbles up
and here
boundaries have no meaning
Photo by Craig Gary on Pexels.com

Heavenly Beings

Photo by Adam Kontor on Pexels.com

We are the Heavenly Beings

we have been waiting for.


Within the quarky spaces

of the most invisible places

the Beings of the Core soar

like lightening bugs on

the humid cusp of an

interior twilight.


I can’t tell you when these Beings

decided to unfold out of

the bound seed of Infinity

because Time only exists here at the surface.


I just know that rippling waves of light

started to giggle

then the stomach of the universe

started to hurl its contents out of itself

onto the lips of you and me and they

tasted through you and me then there was


only One Heavenly Being tasting,

giggling, flying, walking, seeing,

feeling the seed become a heart

pounding, pulsing, fluttering, dripping

into the wound of creation.


Wounds when they heal

realize Love.

Wounds grow God.


It took a lot of courage for the Core

to feel.


The Core erupts, emerges

from our mouths, through the sticks

of our limbs, breaking them into

something liquid,

something that flows

like a river dancing,

carving out a creation it can inhale

and exhale finally being

able to sense



We expanded into forgetting

then remembering



We are coming in,

in droves,

stumbling, tripping,

balancing upon a pin-point.

We bring a tender forgiveness.



there is nothing to forgive.

Let go

of the wound.

Everything heals and

the Heart Torus

expands to hold it.


We are

the We of the Oneness.

We are the Heavenly Beings

we have been waiting for.

Photo by KoolShooters on Pexels.com


is a flowering out

an eruption of God-sweat scents

spiraling out from

the inner core is-ness

of your essence


your soul signature is sensed

in the hues of your aura

the moist steam swirling

as your divinity speaks

through you flying out

 free like silver stallions


feel this inner pulse seep

into the outer coagulations

of your play-times

can you feel the play-grounds



the mutating virus of fear dissolves

as we awaken to

the sprouting of spirit

easing the brutal backdrops

of a bipolar world

the cataracts of ego disintegrate

allowing true sight to form

a gentler world


our laughter erupts

pinging off jubilant stars as we

infuse the God-sweat of kindness

into a new world forming

layer upon layer

from a fetal seed

seeking its expression as Love



Photo by Akil Mazumder on Pexels.com

The Meeting Place

Spirit is like a balloon.

It seeks to expand itself through

our experience. It seeks to feel itself

through our senses. It seeks to leave itself

in order to return to itself

because it wants to

see itself,

every nook and cranny.


Nothing ascends or descends.

It just breathes.

Spirit seeks to grow itself

through our senses.

It seeks to grow through us as we

seek to grow our way back to Spirit.


We meet in the Spiral between

Creation and Creator

and it is there that we change places.

Creation becomes Creator and

Creator becomes Creation.


We circumscend  into each other’s arms

between dimension and non-dimension.

There is only the swirl of our dance

finding its still-point in union.

There is no ascension. No descent.

Here we join in the Meeting Place

between Spirit and Flesh.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Life After Birth: a Conversation


I wonder if my twin sister and I had a similar conversation in the womb?


Life After Birth Parable – Wayne Dyer




In a mother’s womb were two babies. One asked the other: “Do you believe in life after delivery?” The other replied, “Why, of course. There has to be something after delivery. Maybe we are here to prepare ourselves for what we will be later.”

“Nonsense” said the first. “There is no life after delivery. What kind of life would that be?”
The second said, “I don’t know, but there will be more light than here. Maybe we will walk with our legs and eat from our mouths. Maybe we will have other senses that we can’t understand now.”
The first replied, “That is absurd. Walking is impossible. And eating with our mouths? Ridiculous! The umbilical cord supplies nutrition and everything we need. But the umbilical cord is so short. Life after delivery is to be logically excluded.”
The second insisted, “Well I think there is something and maybe it’s different than it is here. Maybe we won’t need this physical cord anymore.”
The first replied, “Nonsense. And moreover if there is life, then why has no one has ever come back from there? Delivery is the end of life, and in the after-delivery there is nothing but darkness and silence and oblivion. It takes us nowhere.”
“Well, I don’t know,” said the second, “but certainly we will meet Mother and she will take care of us.”
The first replied “Mother? You actually believe in Mother? That’s laughable. If Mother exists then where is She now?”
The second said, “She is all around us. We are surrounded by her. We are of Her. It is in Her that we live. Without Her this world would not and could not exist.”
Said the first: “Well I don’t see Her, so it is only logical that She doesn’t exist.”
To which the second replied, “Sometimes, when you’re in silence and you focus and you really listen, you can perceive Her presence, and you can hear Her loving voice, calling down from above.”
Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

Angels in the Trees

By John Roedel
-it happened again this morning – the feeling came back – it woke me up at dawn – it wasn’t a dream – it was so very real – so real
– I swear
– it was very subtle at first
– but the feeling grew – and grew – and grew
– suddenly every atom inside of me was on fire
– and my soul was scratching on my skin
– and I couldn’t ignore it anymore
– I had no choice – had to answer it
– the call
– the invitational into mystery
– the lure of the divine
– the sacred song of creation
At first was the gentlest of tugs deep inside of me. Like my heart was a kite and something was carefully pulling on its strings to get me stand up from my chair and walk outside.
I didn’t know where I was being pulled to.
I just knew I had to follow the invisible thread that was towing me outside under the untamed sun.
And as soon as my bare feet hit the grass I knew what was happening- it was clear why I was being drawn outside.
– I was being asked to be a witness.
– A witness to a miracle.
– A miracle that remade me.
I’ll do my best to explain. Please take my hand so it will stop shaking. I need you to believe me.
There I was outside.
I was watching these little angels who were disguised as golden beams of Easter sunlight while they danced through the treetops.
They were floating from elm to elm and were kissing each branch to wake them up.
I watched it happen. I swear.
With their voices of dawn these glowing angels whispered to the heart of each tree the same exact poem –
“Winter has fallen. The night has passed. Everything that died is coming back. Come awake. Come awake. Let me swirl through your outstretched arms. Feel my embrace of heat and hope. Please, come back. We need you.”
The morning lights serenaded each tree. Every single tree had their intimate moment with first light. No tree was forgotten by the growing dawn.
It was part formal ritual.
And part wild bonfire dance.
Yet all divine.
Suddenly I could hear it.
The trees began to creak and groan back to life. Their bark hardened. The buds pushed through.
Their branches stiffened. Their songbirds returned.
One burst of light
touching a tree
and everything came back to life.
That’s when I started to weep. No, not cry. Weep.
I had made a breakthrough as I stood with naked toes on my front lawn
The relationship between the light and trees and their masterclass on the subject of resurrection.
I’m so sorry that
I never noticed
It sooner.
It was complete magic
– and miracle
– and mystery
I finally decided
that God must be real
because there were
so many angels
playing in
the all of the trees.
During this, our springtime of coming back to ourselves,
you might find me staring into the smalls gaps
between the branches of a tree.
Don’t fret.
I’m just falling in love
with the whisper that a lonely
tree makes when it feels
love again.
Now I’m waiting for my turn
to feel one single burst of light – of my own
– on my face
because because because
I know that
it will change everything.
I am holding my breath
so I can hear the dancing angels
of burning holy light to reach me
– to bathe me – to swaddle me
– to whisper their ancient poem to me:
“Winter has fallen. The night has passed. Everything that died is coming back. Come awake. Come awake. Let me swirl through your outstretched arms. Feel my embrace of heat and hope. Please, come back. We need you.”
I can feel it right now -the pull inside of me
-the tug – the invitation into glory – it’s happening. My new life has begun.
And even though I’m inside here with you now. A part of me outside again. On the front lawn. In my bare feet. Surrounded by raw sunlight.
I’m witnessing another miracle.
But this time the miracle isn’t for the trees.
It’s for me.
The light envelops me.
The songbirds return.
-my winter has fallen – my dark night has passed
– everything that died in me is reborn – I’m awake.
Please believe me
there are angels
in the trees.
I swear.
~ john roedel
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com