Temple of Solace

Whispers in the Wind

I hear your voice whispering in the wind.

Words sweet and low, barely heard,

But there,

Calling out to me,

And thee and thee and thee.

I hear you voice whispering in the wind,

Words that speak of pain

And bring tears to my eyes,

Hurt to my heart.

You are, my friend, solid and dependable,

An artist, a loving human being,

Asking for little,

But now in need—

I am listening—We are listening

For your whispering in the wind,

For your laughter once again,

And your words.

Your call, my friend, has been heeded.

I am here, we are here,

Sending healing thoughts across the miles,

Over land and sea,

And in the wind.

Vi

September 29, 2007

Deep peace I breathe into you
Oh weariness here, O ache, here!
Deep peace, a soft white dove to you;
Deep peace, a quiet rain to you;
Deep peace, an ebbing wave to you!
Deep peace, yellow wind of the east from you;
Deep peace, blue wind of the west to you;
Deep peace, green wind of the north from you;
Deep peace, red wind of the south to you!
Deep peace, pure gold of the sun to you;
Deep peace, pure silver of the moon to you;
Deep peace, pure green of the grass to you;
Deep peace, pure brown of the living earth to you;
Deep peace, pure gray of the dew to you;
Deep peace, pure blue of the sky to you!
Deep peace of the running wave to you,
Deep peace of the flowing air to you,
Deep peace of the quiet Earth to you,
Deep peace of the sleeping stones to you,
Deep peace of the Goddess to you,
Deep peace of the God to you,
Deep peace of the Flock of Stars to You.
Deep Peace of the Spirits to You.
Deep Peace, Deep Peace.

- Old Irish Blessing of Peace

If I Could Rise

• no desire to begin
• no desire to be gone
• no one waits for me
• no one hates for me to be alone
• quiet and unrequired
• to smile
• to touch kindly
• to reassure
• a day or a year could pass now
• and no important love
• will be missed
• but all would be well
• and full
• and complete
• and enough
• if I could rise right now
• and wash my beloved’s hands

Stephanie Hansen

September 27, 2007

I told myself

not to do it – to

touch the hand

laying lifeless on

my beloved’s breast

It would be

cold

I knew

But

I reasoned:

How many winter

homecomings had I

warmed those icy fingers

with devotion in my every breath?

I told myself not to do it and

now I cannot forget the

touch of the hand

laying lifeless

on my

beloved’s

breast

I reason:

death is colder

than a Canadian winter

Stephanie K. Hansen

September 10, 2007

To small children with big minds

the word Love is the sound

you make that makes mothers

and others

smile.

The loved and the lucky

learn eventually that

love is the When

the sound is made.

When the wicked splinter

is pulled painfully

from the slender finger, forgiveness

is found with the sound of

Love You and Had To and tears.

Love is the sound made when the day is over

and a head is against a heart in the dark

and there is only the beating and

the breath and the

Love You, Baby.

When all the time is spent,

wise and foolish,

the casket is closed

over slender fingers,

still and cold,

and no sound is made

and no sound is heard.

then Love becomes the echo of

a question asked and answered

throughout the lifetime of

a small child with a big mind:

When do I love you, Baby? Tell Steph.

Forever. Stephie loves me forever.

Stephanie K. Hansen

September 16, 2007

Blanket flowers literally blanket the earth with color, blood of our dead meeting the yellow of new life.

In memory of 911, September 11, 2001. Nature soothes troubled spirits, but this act was not soothable. We carry on and appreciate our own lives more, giving thanks for every day we are alive and for every flower that blooms for our comfort.

if only here a moment
beauty, love, and life
were here

if only for a moment
you gave love
were loved

if only for a moment
you made life
better

what tragedy the moments
were too soon ended

Helen, Greg and I took Darryl to the place he had asked to rest in. The Stoney Creek, within an hour of Melbourne, gurgles through remnants of old Lemuria. We all agreed that this is the perfect resting place.

Fly free Darryl!
September 2007