Sharings from the Heart cultivate intimacy and transparency and attune us to the Oneness.  Beauty brings us into resonance with Presence and reminds us of our true nature.  Gazing upon a painting or a flower, listening to the cello, reading a poem which touches us deeply or making soup or baking bread, these are ways to remember our sacredness and feel it palpably.  Our hearts open, we smile. We can begin to rest in the beauty, in the communion of our shared Being.  These are simple pleasures and sacred ceremonies of Life.  Enjoy!

PAINTINGS by Suchitra
If you are interested in purchasing a painting, please email suchitradavenport@gmail.com  All paintings are acrylic on canvas.

LEAVES AND DEVAS sold

THREE DEVAS sold

HEAVEN TO EARTH sold

LEAVES

GOLDEN DEVA

CLAIR'S DEVA sold

BLACK MADONNA NOW

FREEDOM sold

SPRING sold

MERRY DEVA sold

UNFOLDING NOW sold

SEEDS OF LIFE sold

RESTING IN THE HEART sold

BEALTAINE GODDESS

PRESENCE

RIVER ROSE not for sale

LOVE GROWS

EQUINOX SEEDS

SHE OF THE BEES

BLUE SHACKAMAXON BEAN GODDESS

COCOON

GOLDEN LEAVES

GROWTH

POETRY by Suchitra

Ironing  1.17. 2013

Breathing in the steam and the smell

of hot wool rising

from the ironing board,

I move the iron so not to crease,

but glide smoothly over the surface,

penetrating every cell of fabric,

And I know with whole heart

that this simple act

is no less an offering

than burning incense

at the Buddha’s feet.


And in this,

I am home on the earth

and blessed by steam

and smell and touch

and am at one with

the sheep who gave her wool,

the grasses upon which she grazed.

and the sheep farmer’s children, yet

unborn.  

******************************************

 What Calls 1.22.13

What calls me now?

How fluid can this body be?

Unshackled by tasks,

free,

open to emergent streams,

breaking into unknown space…

what is becoming

from Being?


Now, this.

Simply this.

Watch for greed

and grasping.

Accept what tumbles

through the crack.

Embrace and kiss what comes,

let it expand like

a bubble, iridescent,

fragile,

transparent

and soon to disappear.

Every breath rises and falls.

And this fluid body, too,

in perfect timing

will fall back through the crack.

And that which calls, which is forever

becoming,

this free and open Being,

will still live. 

**********************************************

Truth 3.3.13

Now I know why Truth is called the

razor’s edge.

It slices so precisely to the bare bone of

what has been soft, fleshy illusion, hazy

corners of comfort and pretend.

In one sharp instant, the blinders fall

away and the crack from what falls off

is deafening, shattering and yes,

freeing.

Freeing, after the pain of realization,

After the pain of seeing what falseness

has been lived,

And what has been spent to keep the

untruth alive. 

And isn’t the alive untruth the same as

death?


After that, there is the breath.

Breathing into the hard stuff,

slivers, strands, grasping,

losing it, how elusive it is…

then grabbing hold again

and pulling it four-square into the

Heart.


Into the Heart, a holy womb, where it

can gestate and be and then…

And then, the breath that feels new.

Fresh air, softer, more spacious.

Coming alive to Truth is like being born.

It’s learning to breathe in a whole new

way.

Whole, new, yes.


And the afterbirth?

What comes after

now that this dark part has been dug up

into the light

And seen, and felt?

What repercussions, what loss and for

whom?


In the blinding Light of Truth,

In this new way of breathing,

anything that may have cared

dissolves,

and there is nothing but space

breathing.

freedom being.

A silent hallelujah.

Immediacy  1.22.13

Immediacy,

the moment opens

and seeps possibility.

Life,

magic,

wonder,

revelation.

a feeling of yes,

of resolution,

of birth,

of connection.

Breadcrumbs dropping

following

aliveness resounding.

Here it is.

Simplicity.

The crack open to the Light

The unnamable, unspeakable

here, never not.

So listen.

Dance.

***********************************************_________________

Doing  1.22.13 

Doing is not the problem, but doing

from the

crystallized structures

 of mind and shoulds and lists is

the way of the walking dead, the

mindless Borg, automatons as

busy bees, building whose hive, really?

And where is the honey?


But doing from Being, ah, now this is

aliveness itself,

Fluid and free, surprising, walking into

and out of the mystery with hands and

feet fulfilled.

This is joy and sweetness.

sustenance and art.


Put down those soapy dishes when the

poem starts alive in your mouth.

Twirl through the park,

When moved by something melodic and pure.

Worry not about those who are dead,

gawking and pointing.

Be, Simply be.

Flow, let the spigot of life flow and

do you.

Be absent in the doing

and marvel, just marvel, at

what gets done.

******************************************

Hard Labor

3.8.2013

Craving, wanting arises,

Fear of doing the wrong thing,

Sitting with all,

Wrestling with the angel,

Night and day,

Breathing into,

Pushing away,

Breathing into,

Running scared,

Opening

Contracting,

Yes, birth is happening,

But what am I birthing?


And then this morning,

In the blur of soft snow flurries and hazy

light, I see.

Addiction to connection.

Addiction to having everything in order,

All in its place, nothing chaotic and

unresolved, all the loose ends tied up

neatly.

Grasping for resolution, some hard and

fast something to cling to.


Ha! Seeing it, my heart opens,

The body becomes soft.

Letting it be, breathing into letting it be.

Wanting nothing except what is.

Pure simplicity.

Nothing at all to do.

not doing from a pure and simple Being.

All wanting dissolved.

All judgment, all fear gone.

Nothing but now.

Now nothing.


I see, I am birthing no-thing.

A zero.

Lightness of Being,

Even the turmoil of labor and birthing is

dissolved in That.

*********************************************

Waking Poem, The Joke   9.14.2010


Being a Portal

Is being empty,

Like a zero,

But the One and the Many,

No-thing

Full to overflowing,

Enso,

The Mystery manifesting as everything.

Toenails and trees,

Babies and planets,

Silly thoughts and treatises.

Everything and Nothing

I AM the eye of the needle,

Empty space

The Black Hole

A vesica pisces filled with stars.

To be nothing and everything,

Empty and full,

This is the Cosmic Joke.

Maniacal LOL,

Simple peace-full smile.

Still smiling.

Now we know why the Buddha always

has that little smile~

He gets the joke.

There is nothing to get and He gets it!

Hahahahahahahahahaaaaa!