A Labour Of Love..

Back to Love, (also known- experientially, as Black to Love).

“You wander from room to room hunting for the diamond necklace that is already around your neck!” Rumi
Back2lLove: Transformational, Inspirational & Beautifully told with Soul, Full of Heart..

Covid-19 spelling the above out very clearly & poignantly at this unprecedented time…

BACK2LOVE: AVAILABLE NOW!

Learn more: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1913479552/ref=cm_sw_em_r_mt_dp_TUtTFbMRGPEMQ

Please buy, like, 5 Star Review…My Whole Heart Served Up In This Book…

Peace & Love,

Denise James- aka, Light..💛

Nearly Here…

7th January 2021…Available to buy Now on Preorder at Amazon!

Sometimes we can- who we truly are can, get lost in the dust of our own raising. The world can write all over us creating all kinds of erroneous beliefs, life experiences and chances. But we are made from Awesome Material. We have a Power within us, that something inside us soo strong, to recover and reassemble our One True Self, which returns us Back to love, and in so Being & doing, helps us create bigger and better things for ourselves…way outside of the so called good opinions of others…

Creating bigger & better things in the face of a world that would have us believe is not possible, preferring instead for us to believe we are not worthy and are far from deserving of. My book, Back to love, Shows and Tells how I did just that for myself.

Writing, and taking up the Recovery & Self-Rediscovery Journey Back to love, was a labour of love I wholeheartedly took on and completed, not just for myself, but for my race; for my loved ones; for those who have never known self-love; for the world…

It is my belief that whatever hand life deals us, we are called to Live & Be The Light..

Lights Of The World

..in a world that continuously needs lighting up…more so than ever in 2020..

Peace & Love,

Light..

P.S…Here it is!

For the love of Love…

Today I was asking God why do certain experiences in romantic relationships keeps working out against me? And an intuition immediately rose up and whispered to me that this is how it must be for me: to go into the dark places of people’s hearts and put turn up the light of love there. And I thought, hmm, well, for that I don’t mind the hurt that oftentimes come with that kind of responsibility; I thought it to be a very worthy Cause…then I said, Okay, okay then; I get it, BUT PLEASE send a life partner soon to walk this road with me!!

I share the above before I share a poem that came to mind this week on a That Guy’s House Life Visioning meeting delivered by Karen Mills-Alston and offered to its authors. That Guy’s House is a publication company, where my book will be published- my first publication, though I have been writing since year dot!

My book, entitled Back to Love, is a testimony of my life journey, my healing, and my coming into fuller Expression & Being.

During this live Life Visioning Event, along with the other authors in attendance, an image arose of me dancing… I love to dance! It was a childhood dream of mines to be a dancer… but life took me off in other ways, where I got to dance – the Dance of Life-in more subtle and mysterious ways…

Anyway, along with the image of a care-free-spirited-young-woman dancing, I remembered a poem a stranger wrote and gave me…

I used to see him… must be 10-15 years ago…on the street: a lost soul using alcohol to self-anaesthetise. A black west Indian man, say in his 60’s. Though dishevelled, I could tell he used to be quite a looker in his time: handsome and slick. I always try to give some time to so-called “strangers” on the streets, who, what seems like, randomly chooses you to converse with…

I used to see him, on and off, over the years; then one day he says to me, I wrote you a poem. And I became a bit shy, like I do when someone pays my attention; when someone makes any kind of compliment…I mean, who was I that this stranger would write a poem for me, especially a stranger addicted and struggling. ..?

I said to him thank you. And he said something like he would like to give it to me some time…seeking permission. And I told him that he should; that I would be honoured to receive that from him…The next time I saw him, he searched around in his pockets eagerly, and gave it to me. I thanked him.

I saw him again after that, on and off, a year or two later, but like I said, that was some time ago. And a month ago, as I do from time to time, I wondered what happened to him…wondering if the alcohol addiction took him out of life’s picture…

His name was Aubrey…

Thank you Aubrey. I remember you! And thank you for the poem that keeps on giving and makes me appreciate the difference I unknowingly made in some moments of your life, where you got to taste, again, how sweet life in essence is! I continue to be happy that in the bitter there was the sweet; there was some momentary comfort & relief for you. And like in your poem, I am myself comforted imagining you plucking roses always with a smile-wherever you are.

If there is a morale to this story it is, people, don’t underestimate the difference (even momentarily) we can make in people’s lives, becoming in our kind actions, the closet thing to God, to love , that person has ever experienced & known- Love’s utter marvellousness!!

Here is Aubrey’s poem he wrote for me, typed out as written; written in that beautiful old school handwriting West Indians/people once wrote in (which I have been unable to recreate here):

A Poem

Written for someone I’ve been watching for sometime- of whom I know nothing about I’ve given this poem-a title ‘AN ‘JAH’ LENIA’ (A poem written in ‘Art-Form.’ By AUBREY

AN’JAH’LENIA (THE FLOWER CHILD)

I sat alone without a thought:

the wind came nothing it brought!

Is this punishment that I bought?

All the loneliness I did sort.

I sat here, have I surrender?

Is their nothing pleasing I can remember?

O’yes a rose, so sweet so tender.

So beautiful a rose, yet no sender!

The name of the rose, was – AN’JAH’LENIA.

Her smile she kept shy-

Her lovely composure 0′ my!

I think after her but why?

She was lost in my dreams

O’ yes she was a natural Gleam!

Dancing she was or so I felt.

Out of the door with my heart she left-

Roses are lovely the special ones you keep-

She is my rose! my icon! my fete!

anjahlenia, anjahlenia my sweet flower child.

I will be picking roses always with a smile.

anjahlenia, anjahlenia, my sweet, flower child,

there’s no invention in north london, that shine.

For you’re an icon, perfection in time!

 

Peace & Love,

Light…

On Children…©

BY KHALIL GIBRAN

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.

Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

 

Peace & Love,

Light..

 

Light..

God Blessed The Child ©

A poem:

The Child Within, a gift therein,

has been since The Beginning of our time-

before you, we, us became an I.

The Child’s Eyes Sees far and wide-

if you Let It Be your guide, it’s wise sunshine

will make you smile.

For The Child is both old and young,

a true champion that can make you Feel, instantly

revitalised and undone.

So if Your Child Inside lies wounded, denied, buried

in a shame that binds, heal its pain and regain re-cognition

through its Wonder- Filled Fountain of Youth-

Patiently awaiting You.

For you cannot enter into Self-Love’s glorious kingdom

until You first Come To Be as little children…

That is why deh mans dem so vex,

that A Gift so Heaven Sent, weren’t taught

to love and respect itself,

and as some wise soul once said,

“Hate yourself in the morning of your life

and by noon time, you’ll be hating everyone else.”

So, who God Bless, let no man curse-

and God Most Definitely Blessed, The Child,

so let us learn to Do and Be, Likewise.

Insperience, 2004

Peace & Love,

Light…