Gabriel’s Light: Spiritual Poetic Musings

By BJ Feeney

I created this book to recognize and counteract all the stress and angst in the world today. We must be mindful of old, protective, subconscious habits that keep us blocked and stagnant. We have an inherent need to find our joy, give it life, and propel it back into the universe, giving a cadence to our purposes here on Earth. In order for mankind to evolve, we need to learn how to turn to our higher selves residing within. It is my intention that you will find yourselves between the lines written for your perusal – not only find your true selves, but act upon what you perceive, giving back to the universal consciousness. I ask of you, who would listen to yourselves, “How will you serve? How will you choose to transport your light into the world?”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: Dec 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9781982212490

BJ Feeney

BJ Feeney currently resides in a western suburb of Boston, Massachusetts with her husband, Marty. A retired educator, she recalls years of working with her students and peers with a great deal of fondness. BJ’s BS in Education and MS in Education allowed her to serve as a reading/writing consultant in the public schools, giving her many opportunities to appreciate and respect multiple cultures and learning styles. BJ credits her parents, John and Margaret Karr, for creating a literary environment where she could grow and learn. Yearly birthday memoir letters composed for other family members, anniversary letters expressing deep sentiments and/or humor, diaries holding philosophies, essays regarding life, occasions for poetic musings, and many opportunities for oral discussions, storytelling, and so on are some enduring memories for BJ. “I’ve been writing as a means of expression since I was a child,” she reflects. “That’s what writers do. We write about what inspires us, always taking mental notes as we observe and categorize life into its myriad possibilities for others and ourselves. We inspire each other with our words, pictures, paintings and music – whatever artistic form gives voice to our emotional/spiritual selves – presenting them as a gift to the world.” BJ continues to grow and learn professionally by subscribing to Poets & Writers, attending workshops and courses affiliated with Grub Street in Boston and The Loft in Sherborn, and participating in writers’ roundtables. In addition, she holds a degree as a certified Master Reiki Shamballa Instructor, practicing other religious modalities as they introduce themselves along the way. In the future, BJ intends to write children’s literary picture books, thematic poetry anthologies, flash fiction collections, and snapshot memoirs. She recently co-wrote a fantasy picture book with her grandson, Austin, and is anxious to publish it as a second-third-grade guided reading book.

Book preview

Laments

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Peace

If only it could be

for all time …

I am sorry

for all that

has happened,

for all that will happen

in the name of justice.

Will humankind ever learn

to compromise, give in?

Cannot God intercede?

Or is it all part

of the greater plan?

The greater blueprint,

with sinewy threads,

binds us all

in the end

to Him.

Some days

I find it hard

to give my soul

up to Him.

Still trying

to control

that which I

cannot.

Yearning for

that ever-elusive

peace.

Lurking

It comes as a pulse,

lurking behind

my eyes, pounding

in a steady rhythm.

I tire of it all.

The expectations

I put on myself.

They are there

when I slumber.

Again when I rise,

slowly emerging through

a blurry dream state,

trying to refocus,

rethink my paths.

I cannot shirk

my duties but

give voice otherwise

to those who

will listen

to the steady

complaining rhythms

echoing

through my soul.

Light Switches

Light switches go on and off

in my ethereal brain.

Dysfunction rules the nest.

Discordant energies take over

where feeble solace has resided.

There is nothing left but pity.

The more I search for a peaceful haven,

the harder the journey’s climb,

attracting negative field forces

to fill the holes exposed between

the shorted emotional circuitry

of my unbridled mind/self.

Where is the control panel?

I lost it on some quest

for undeceived redemption

that knew long before I that

the payment was overdue;

a tardy assignment unrealized

even though contracted,

the time having run out.

A disconnected exchange sways

like a leery black cat’s tail,

sweeping back and forth

over the same blasted issue,

wary avoidance disguised in

its deceptive shadowy garb,

a decisive slap in the face.

These light switches will never

function as long as I continue to

eject the broken records left

lying out in the open

for all to unfavorably discern.

My lineage is distrustful of

another contract stifled by ineptness,

and rightly so, I say, rightly so …

Fly Away Home

Sometimes I feel

I need to fly away

from all the worldly

cares and woes.

Spread my wings,

leave it all behind.

Here, underneath

my blanket of rest,

I can already sense

the peace.

But then my eyes open,

and I am still here,

some unfinished

business my soul

must need to do.

But oh, how I wish

I could just spread

my wings and

fly away home.

Victimization

Who has been traumatized

more than the other?

It is the universal question.

Is the murderer’s heart,

hardened by years

of tortured silence,

any less the victim

than the one lying

prone at his feet,

an innocent participant

in his demise,

open and bare for

all to see and judge,

all of us who have

been the abusers

as well as the abused?

Who is really to

blame along these

interwoven tales of woe?

The universe weeps

for timely relief,

weary of repeated

patterns of sorrow.

Anger spent.

Anger coiled

for another strike

in another time.

Victimization.

In or Out?

Are you in or out?

I ask myself this question

whenever I feel the fear

well up inside me,

taking over my sense

of uncertain self.

It is a task

I do not relish,

answering that

perennial question

we all ask ourselves

at one time or another.

Are you in or out?

I hear it reverberate

down the misguided paths

of my past adventures,

left upon some hillside

for immediate reflection.

It is a task

I readily avoid,

shirking the work

required to find

that answer within

my defensive self.

Are you in or out?

I’m tired of

this gnawing interrogation

presented by self to self.

It may be time to take

it on full force,

a risk worth the

soul’s complaints.

Indigestion

Shades of gaseous emissions

lodged in my sore throat.

Leftover lies I’ve secretly

shared with my vulnerable