Heavenly Beings

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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.

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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

like a fetal seed

seeking its expression as Love



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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.

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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.”
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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
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The Wounded Healer

“As people are learning all over again in the modern world, when people who will not acknowledge their own woundedness are given power, they will make new wounds and possibly wound everyone because of their need to deny their own woundedness. The word heal means to cure and specifically to make whole. It turns out that being a whole person means we have to accept our vulnerable parts, and that we have to accept and learn to face our original inner wounds. For in this old, mythological understanding, the fateful event of being wounded early in life creates the need for a deep healing process that becomes the path of awakening for each person.
The path of the wounded healer leads to a connection to the deep self within, which is our connection to wholeness, which is the root of the human capacity to heal. There’s an old idea that says that in the same way that something greater than ourselves wounds us early on, something greater than ourselves seeks to awaken through the specific wounds we carry. In that sense, denying the inner wound means also denying the presence of the deep soul or the centering self, which holds the exact medicine we are looking for.
In some mythic stories, the wound inside a person is called the sacred affliction, or the holy wound. There’s another play on words in which the wound which can be seen as a hole, can also be seen as a holy element that secretly holds the natural antidote, the inner medicine that we also brought to life.
The wounded healer is ever wounded, and ever able to find ways of healing. It’s an archetypal condition. The point has never been to become perfect, or perfectly healed, or completely whole. The point has always been to become holy. That is to say, complete with our vulnerabilities and our wounds, because the wound becomes a womb from which we are intended to be reborn again and again. And that’s why the old saying was, the afflicted are holy.”
– Michael Meade
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for Marie


The personality is forever

nested in the Soul

The Soul is forever

nested in the Oversoul

The Oversoul is forever

nested in the Mystery

The Mystery is forever

nested in the eternal Heart-beat

moving through you

like Nesting Dolls

Nothing is ever lost

You are always


and unforgettable 

nested in the forever breath

of Eternity

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So What’s Real?

As I write this it is raining in Southern California. I hear the pitter-patter. I feel the wind sweep past me. My cat is licking my fingers as I type away. I am musing about the rarity of rain in So-Cal. So is this really happening? Is this real?

So what’s real?


I’m tired of the dream thing. There are no dreams. There are no illusions. No hallucinations. No this is real. This is not.

What you experience is real. I don’t want to hear religious and spiritual narratives about this. I’ve heard them. I’ve believed them. Yes,  I’ve made them real.

And then a nagging feeling jabbed into my ribs like how it feels when you are hugging a tree and the hug is of love but boy does that bark dig in and make you feel the texture of its reality in the realms of experience. Still, some believe experience is not real.

I have bought into the gurus, prophets, spiritual experts spouting that life is but a dream. It’s not real. It’s the source of all suffering….blah, blah, blah. Well, I guess that’s real for them. They make it real.

I am turning to my deepest feeling part of me. What do I know. No, what do I feel?

Spirit is feeling through all of life. Spirit grows this way by feeling into and through life itself. Spirit creates living dimensions in which to feel every infinite flavor it desires, so…curious…so delightfully curious to know, no, to feel the flavors and textures It can become.

The mind will capture spirit, tangling it into a web of dead thoughts. The mind is not needed to teach you to fly. We know how already, just waiting for the perfect moment to release gravity and soar.  Don’t worship the mind. Let it fall away for it is the mind that gives the Soul’s power away. We made the mind real so show it what it does best. Let it set up computer programs to turn salt water to drinkable water, let it file your papers and do your taxes.

I would rather be sitting under a flock of trees than chanting away myself into the arms of an “enlightened master”. What? There is no Self, you chant? There is only the One?  Look again. No, feel again. Spirit feels in plural. It feels in the We. We feel each other. We feel ourselves through each other. And yes, we can merge with each other and feel our truth as the One.

Do we write out our story lines before we are born? Do we plan possibilities like accidents and surprises? Do some jump in with a weak script? How do these questions make you feel? Yes you, beautiful Soul.

Question everything. We live in a world of smoke and mirrors. Nothing is as it seems. Sink into the driver’s seat of your heart. Feel out the truth of you. Feel out the truth of us.

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Dear Kids

by John Roedel

Dear kids,

Before you take another

a step into the wilderness

out there

I have nine things

on my heart

these days

that I need say

to you


the people

who come to

steal your wonder

are the same

folks who let others

freely take theirs

long ago

never let go

of the ability

to let this world

surprise you

remember that everything

under the sun is new

hold on to

your wonderment

cling to

your sweetness

and become a

living witness to

the million

beautiful curisoties

in your life

don’t let anything

become mundane

I’m serious

pay close attention

to the adventure

before you

all of your experiences

are soaked in magic

the good and the bad

the happy and the sad

the hilarious and the mad

some people will

want you to treat your

pulse like it’s boring

it’s anything but

your life is bathed

in stardust

I know that doesn’t

make much sense now

but I’ll explain that a bit

more later in #9


every time you

see a mother

holding her baby

I want you to

fall down the

rabbit hole of

of creation’s divine


babies are the

key to understanding

our entire experience here

don’t let a baby pass by

you without becoming bewildered by

the perfect oddity of life

they are the swaddled cipher

to the riddle of where we came from

don’t let a baby escape

your gaze without gasping


during the times

when your stomach

hurts from laughing

so much with your soul friend

don’t let the moment slip past

you without first acknowledging

the unappreciated marvel

of your deepest relationship

the soul friends that you meet

here on Earth are the same ones

that you knew before you came

into being

you knew each other before birth

and promised to find one another

down here in the blood and mud

good work you two!


when your heart

gets broken

– and it will –

I am begging you

to count each tear

that rolls down your

face as the blessing

that it is

you are crying

because you haven’t

let your heart go numb

you are crying

because you let

yourself be vulnerable

and that is such an act

of bravery ~ I’m so proud of you!

you are crying

because you are

still fighting to stay alive

you are crying

because you have

accepted your humanity

every tear

is proof of how

incredibily strong

you are

be proud of your shedding tears!

each tear is a unique


telling your story

of survival

drop by lyrical drop


on the occasion

when you find

yourself watching

a sunset please

spend a fat second

breathing in the last

seconds of the dying light

take a moment to

learn the great lesson of twilight

despite the long night

the light always returns

darkness always loses

the game is rigged

a fresh start is always just one

single firecracker daybreak away


someday you will be

kissed tenderly

by a person who recognizes

the treasure in you

don’t you dare treat

it like anything other

than the strange marvel that it is

and yes,

a true kiss can transform your life

and yes,

a true kiss can cut you in two

and yes,

a true kiss can live in your memory forever

there are few things more

terrifying than a goosebump

real kiss

it’s an elemental festival

of goosebumps on your arm

and lightning on your lips

but beware,

if you let any your kisses

become ordinary then

everything else in your life

will quickly follow


every breath you take

is proof that your

existence is a singular event

there will never be anybody

else like you again

everything you do

makes history

every time you exhale

a fresh ripple of your story

is sent through the galaxy


there is only

one you

there will only be

in you

you are

a divine curiosity

every second that washes

over you is something

brand new that this universe

has never seen before

be fearless

your life is the miracle

someone has been waiting for


someday you and I will hold

hands for the last time

but if you let that

moment take root

inside of you

our hands will remain laced

for a thousand lifetimes

let our fleeting time

together grow into a

towering redwood tree

time is relentless

but it is no match for


honor every second

of the clock

treat every little

bit of your experience

like the wild phenomenon

that it is

be a vigilant witness

to the magic of



don’t become forgetful

of your dignity

or that on the day

you were born

you were covered in

the stardust of

first-day creation

you were forged

out of the most brillant

of celestial fires

never take for

granted all of

that radiates in


you were born

to blaze

~john roedel (johnroedel.com)

Poetry | John Roedel - Writer, Poet, and Storyteller.