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Wild, Mundane Glory

Jacob Nordby’s soulful proclamation of the miracle of our humanness is aptly captured in his phrase “wild, mundane glory.” As of late, I’ve been challenging myself to fall in love with my humanness as much as my divinity. It’s certainly a challenge, as I know it is for many of the more cosmically-connected Lightworkers out there, but every time I deepen into my senses, or notice how beautifully the Light of Grandfather Sun dances with Mother Nature, I am reminded of how perfectly blessed we are to be here. To be human. To have the gift of not knowing everything for the sheer joy of discovery, and the humility of accepting that which we may never know.

So this is me today. Wild. Mundane. Feeling inspiringly infinite, and yet grounded in my limitations. And, ultimately, full of Love.

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Wild, Mundane Glory
by Jacob Nordby

The thing is, you’re beautiful.
Yes, you…
In your wild, mundane glory.
Your daily life hides from you the possibilities of why you’re here
And who you are.
But never forget that every breath you take is actual alchemy.
With your eyes you record visions of this place.
With your fingertips you read the bumps in life,
Sending messages back from whence you came.
You’re a soul traveler,
An explorer.
You make this place home for now;
Trying on the costumes,
Playing out your roles.
Every so often, take off your masks.
Drop your robes.
See yourself reflected in the very mirror of your life.
And remember…
When you leave this stage,
The only thing you will wonder is,
“Did I love brilliantly?”

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In Soul, Danielle

Home Is

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HOME IS
if home is where the heart is
i’ve found mine in many places
i’ve left a nest in
iron skylines
redwood rainforests
lovers from campbell to canaan
home is where i am
but also where i want to be
in a cluster of stars i swear i’ve seen
and in the damp sweet soil mother gave me
is my heart shattered and scattered?
or rather expanded,
encompassing hours of
ruffage and road?
perhaps home is not a place
but rather a state
beyond the surveyor’s tape
beyond the postmarked letters
or white picket gate
home is in knowing
our fate is in the hand
or rather foot-drawn map
of every step before
and even more
each to come
home is here
wherever we stand
welcome