July 24, 2017


Often for me, images and writing lie dormant for a time, between conception and their birthing. For reasons beyond me, this image asked for it's time of birthing to be now, in this dark heart of winter, though she was conceived in the flaming heart of summer. Perhaps she has come to warm my cold bones and remind me that there is also that time of vitality and shining, that will come again.

Radiance by Lucy Pierce

The Sun
I hide from Him,
terrified that He will burn me.
In the cells of my body the story lives,
that He is predator, adversary
and that my only chance of survival is to protect myself,
to contract and hide,
from the warmth of His radiant love.
He did not flinch at my fear,
nor at my rejection of Him.
He kept on shining His love upon me,
as He has every day of my living life.
The playful humour of His fingers teased at me,
wooing me to peak out at Him 
from behind my defended shroud,
a white woman in a black country,
fair skin, fair game.
I hid until the only thing left for me to see
was how farcical my own withholding was.
Once I started looking, I discovered in myself,
the threads and tendrils of the pathways 
that know how to say YES
to say I surrender and I open to you, 
magnificent love.
And in the opening,
the bones of my ancestors yawned within me,
the millennia of stories of persecution and brutality, 
the lifetimes of being victim to distortion,
let go inside my clenched cells and danced out,
down the inside of my thighs,
thundering through my loins,
into the tender light of His radiant shining, 
burning themselves home to love,
making a pyre of my body.
And all through the long day I danced 
between my fear and my longing, 
until the earth beneath me, 
dry and brittle, 
stick and rock, 
ant and spider, 
dry eucalyptus leaves crunching, 
became a nest of the most exquisitely soft holding, 
as I let go and let go, 
as He shone His love down upon me,
so that the clouds dancing in the sky 
became an extension of the sensations 
of Eros within me, 
the pulsing undulations of cosmic love-making
between Earth and Sky,
and me caught between.
And I was home,
and forgiven,
and held in the purity of this love,
with all my relations,
beneath the great dome 
of His magnificent sky.
And every gust of wind a caress, 
a raucous passion
as I let the golden light shine in,
to cleanse and purify
to awaken and ignite,
to conceive and unite,
to know of His love in my bones
and to trust the direction of His shining,
to remember His ever-presence 
and to calibrate my inner experience of life
to the vastness of my own lovedness.
Such a glorious homecoming,
through which I am safer to be more of me,
to trust the masculine as a great force of love, 
more enduring than any distortion of man,
is to feel that life is an experience in which to thrive, 
not just survive,
as I open each and every cell of my body 

to be nourished by His fire. 

Prints and Cards of Radiance available through my Etsy site www.etsy.com/shop/lucypierce

Text and image © Lucy Pierce 2017

May 10, 2017

When the Ungrieved for Past Besieges The Now

When The Ungrieved For Past Besieges The Now

Inside, deep, deep inside, there is the wounded one, her hurt so deep she has sabotaged all love in my adult life. She has been so hungry for something to come from the outside to sooth and to see and to attune and to somehow accept her and celebrate her, praise and validate her in a way she has not known how to do for herself.
And because this exultant claim of love does not come, or at least never enough of it, she has been filled not only with longing but also with rage, with bitter entitlement to some grand recompensatory gesture, some magnificent atonement for all the things she longed to have received but could not ask for, swaddled, bound, mute. 
She has been punitive and judgemental of any expressions of love towards her. It is never enough to appease the hungry and the rage-full one. And always she lives with the apposing centrifugal forces of the yearning for intimacy, immersion in a primal unified field of attunement, and a repelling of connection because it is not safe. She knows not how to trust what comes as love. Is it a wolf in sheep's clothing? The impulse to push away just as she pulls towards herself. 
It is her time now for me, I can go no further without meeting her in all her tyrannical complexity and narcissistic entitlement, and aching need and punitive protection and vulnerable longing for love. And it is no longer appropriate for that love to come from outside of myself, and thank the goddess, I've done enough work to know now that everything she needs I have within me. 

Enough of me knows how to mother and attune to other to meet her there in her deep dark cave, her shadowy crevices. I know my heart is a font of foreverness that is longing to flow to her, to retrieve her from the barren lands of her withholding. I have learnt enough about boundaries not to be subsumed by her. I can say no when it does not serve us for her to call the shots, but I can say yes to her longing and I can love her cleanly and true. 

I can wrap her and croon to her and tell her that after all she is okay, that she is enough, that there is a home for her here inside this body, that she is safe to grow from this infantile encapsulation, that all of me is safe for her to play in, to become. I can tell her that everything she needs is here within me, she need not be dependant for love on those who know not the depths of her longing. She can drink from me, from the vast elixir of star milk that flows through my being, from the deep primal vibration of our first mother. 
But I will also say that she will no longer make decisions for me in this life, no longer will she choose to put all her eggs in the basket of one who knows not how to give of their love. I know that she does this so that she can stay in the wound and perpetuate the pain and always have someone to blame for the lack, the poverty, so that there can always be someone there to play the role of the withholder, shaming and threatening and belittling her need. She perpetuates this for it's all she's known. Not any longer. 

She will no longer sabotage my initiations of power and emergent creativity, I will not believe her anymore that the world is not safe to share in, or that I am not safe to give of myself. I will take from her hands the reins of my power and evolve beyond her pain, and the great stuckness of her grief. I will reclaim from her the parentified imperative. She will receive her age-appropriate care so that she may return to her place in the line of my evolution, she will always be there but not as the wildcard that covertly governs the strings, but as the one, that received late, but not too late, the things she missed when she needed them most. 

I feel this great inward turning, an impulse to be still and to meet this one, for she is mine to meet and I will never be home if there is a part of me that believes my salvation dwells outside of my own being. So much longing and grasping and hungering and removing myself from the needful one. I am turning now to meet her, with all my heart.

Prints of the image available at my Etsy site.

Words and image © Lucy Pierce 2017

January 21, 2017

Prayer for Unity

Prayer For Unity                                    by Lucy Pierce

When I go to war with that which diminishes me, when I blame and shame and turn my back, when I take up arms and attack or retreat into bitterness and resentment, I make myself less and I stem the impulse to evolve through the tension of apposing forces, that great fertile ground where opposites meet and collide in a fecund hotbed of confusion and misunderstanding. Those who appear as my enemies are actually my greatest teachers in disguise, and when I seek to annihilate them I rob myself of my own awakening. I walk from the testing ground where understanding and respect have not yet flourished, where what is tender and fragile has not yet been seen underfoot, where the impulse to care for that which is other to us has not yet managed its own cultivation. 
How do I stay with that which triggers my pain? How do I tend to the rifts that dwell between those who have hurt or misrepresented me, so that growth can happen? How do I honour myself and also stay open to teaching the other of how it could be different, of what it is my soul aches and reaches  for in the night? I look at the world around me and I feel so tired of the rending apart of the fabric of life and family, of tribe and blood, of man and woman. I want to stay when my pain is screaming hate, I want to learn what it might look like to come to love that which has transgressed against me. 
And when the shape of our lives have become such that a part of our innocence of expression has been thwarted or crippled, by those who in their unconsciousness knew not the preciousness of our vulnerability, how then do we lean into the shape of that wounding so that we can again embrace the unique shape we have become, and give of ourselves with fullness and purpose, so that our wounds become our gift rather than the excuse for our withholding from what we are? For is not the inevitability of life's capacity to bestow pain as well as joy, only made toxic by our contracting around that pain? Is it not the holding on to the belief that we are not safe to offer our giveaway, where the true poison lies? How do I cultivate such a profound practice of self love that I cannot be belittled or betrayed for I am pristine and incorruptible, answerable only to myself? 
After the great dismantling of 2016, and as my partner and I enter a new year together, I find myself asking many questions. How can we weave a robust fabric from our lives, that will carry the bundle of our children into the future, that they will know that loving has less to do with compatibility and more to do with tenacity and the capacity to hold multiple truths in hand at any given moment, it has more to do with forgiveness than grudge, more to do with human fallibility, with wounds poulticed and bruises salved, than impeccable execution in the first place? 
The love between my man and I can be rugged and fierce, it has at times been a battle ground and there have been times when I have so wanted to make him wrong so that I could be right. How now do we stay with our hearts deepest truth, with our longing and hunger for each to be more than we have ever learnt to give? How do I ask for miracles of love from us, with our wounds and hurts? How do I honour the grand call to unity and intimacy and connection from my own battle scarred heart that has learnt so fiercely to protect itself from those it is supposed to love? 
How do we put down arms my love, and sit together, with the bloody carnage all around and learn what it is that peace might look like, an embrace of diversity, a growing into the qualities that we are most resistant of within ourselves, a courageous laying bare of the most tender of scars, most annihilating of fears, most punishing of illusions, and learn the deeper lesson, the great and holy grail of loving, the places that once were unlovable, caring for the parts that are most in neglect, severing our attachments to the most entrenched mechanisms of safety, burning on the pyre the illusion that  we are victims to one another, and seeing ourselves instead as great allies in the transcendence of pain, and the seeking and slow finding of belonging to our own selves in our own skins, belonging to one another in some mythic and also mundane way, but maybe most importantly belonging to this great cosmic movement of alchemical transmutation of suffering into blossoming, of separation into unity, of fear into love.

Cards and Prints of the image Prayer for Unity available on my Etsy store. www.etsy.com/shop/lucypierce 

Words and image © Lucy Pierce