REIKI ÉTERNEL, AMOUR ET LUMIÈRE

11/13/2025

11/08/2025

“She Rides for the Ones Who Couldn’t”

She does not ride for glory —
she rides for memory.
For every grandmother whose footsteps
were erased by dust and history,
she lets the earth feel them again
through the hooves of her horse.

Her daughter rides behind her,
small hands holding the past,
small heart learning the future.
Not afraid —
because a child raised in courage
does not learn fear,
only direction.

Feathers trail behind them like comets,
carrying prayers too ancient for words,
too sacred for silence.

She is not fleeing,
she is not chasing —
she is returning
to the place where every Native woman
was once a constellation
the world forgot to name.

11/08/2025

Help us wish our founder, William Lee Rand, a joyous birthday full of Reiki blessings!

11/02/2025

“The Woman Who Speaks to Water”

She kneels beside the amber tide,
where sunset weaves its final thread.
The world grows quiet at her side—
for every word she thinks is said.

Her hand, a prayer upon the stream,
her heart, a rhythm soft and slow.
She does not stir the water’s dream,
she listens—she has learned to know.

The river hums its ancient song,
of journeys deep, of loss, of birth.
It mirrors back her strength, her calm,
the spirit bound to sacred earth.

Her dress, the dawn in woven hues,
her eyes, the dusk before the star.
She carries all that time renews—
the truth of who we really are.

No crown could make her brighter shine,
no temple holier than this grace:
a woman, water, and the sun—
three souls reflected, face to face.
🎨Artist and narrator: Elvis Becker

10/28/2025

“Where the Wind Calls Her Name”

Sometimes, when the wind moves through the pines,
I hear her voice — soft as the morning rain.
My mother, the one who taught me
that love is not spoken, but lived.

She walked the earth with gentle feet,
each step a prayer, each breath a gift.
Her hands were soil and sunlight,
her eyes, the calm before the storm.

Now she rests within the ground she loved,
and yet, she is everywhere.
In the cry of the eagle,
in the rhythm of the drum,
in the warmth of fire that never dies.

I close my eyes, and she returns —
not in flesh, but in spirit,
whispering through the leaves,
“My child, I am still here.
I never left. I became the land.”