Music, Art and Writings
of Nancy Joan Brighid neé Muire

Music, Art and Writings of Nancy Joan Brighid neé MuireMusic, Art and Writings of Nancy Joan Brighid neé MuireMusic, Art and Writings of Nancy Joan Brighid neé Muire

Music, Art and Writings
of Nancy Joan Brighid neé Muire

Music, Art and Writings of Nancy Joan Brighid neé MuireMusic, Art and Writings of Nancy Joan Brighid neé MuireMusic, Art and Writings of Nancy Joan Brighid neé Muire
  • Home
  • A Prophesy & Covid-19
  • Blessings, Prayers & Song
  • Tales & Teaching Stories
  • Contact Us

Hope for Change

A Prophesy and then Covid-19

 A Prophesy


Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, "Behold, the dwelling place of God 

 A Prophesy


Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, "Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. (Revelation 21:1-3 ESV)


I bought my home in 2012, which I since had to sell in 2018, in southwestern Colorado in piñon juniper woodland in the country halfway between Cortez and Dolores. I bought the land based on a prophetic vision I had while I was in prayer...


As I have the vision, I stand on the rock looking over a valley and sing my prayers. I see to the north....-A small, healthy, intentional, green community based on sustainable practices. Gardens spread out in the valley below the rock I stand on. Scattered family homes are rooted into the ground as though they belong on the south-facing hillside across from me. I hear chapel bells ring the hours. People are in the valley, tending to a vividly green, beautiful, and healthy garden with diverse vegetable and herb species companioned together. There is a refectory where bread is baking and that smell of that home baked bread fills the air. The scene is very peaceful. 


Then, I soar above this scene and see several such communities like points of light, with lightly traveled narrow roads flowing between them. These small communities are like beads on a rosary. Each bead is an action prayer of peace ascending to heaven. The roads hold all those action prayers together as one. Communication and the specialties created by each community flow down these roads and are shared by all who have that need. This vision gave me great hope for the future. 


This vision is unlike the apocalyptic visions that I had as a teenager, of cities burning into rubble as people flee from them. In this vision the way is shown to a peaceful future where people living sustainably in small, healthy communities that are networked together. It is like humanity has the ability to make a different choice than the destructive one to which we seem to be so currently committed. I hope all who read this may focus their prayers and actions so that this peaceful vision may become a reality......


And, then eight years later 


The Covid-19 public health crisis happens. Everyone shuts themselves in their homes, mostly by government order. Millions lose employment. Hundreds of thousands grow so sick that they die. 


Is this our chance to do something different? Something where we choose sustainable, regionally based living, instead of a global economy where the haves exploit the have nots?


The level of suffering around us right now is heartbreaking. Yet, perhaps the suffering is the price we have been forced to pay. This may lead us to learn to coexist sustainably and in harmony with our miraculous home, our mother earth, and all the beings who live upon her.


Can this now become our before?


What Are We To Do?


How do we change

So all of us 

Are no longer

Choking in

The shifting sands 

Of our desired comforts?


We machine obsessed 

Time Clock run

Big Industry 

Dependent people 

Close our awareness

To those 

Vulnerable 

Souls around us.

 

We shut our minds


To people who slave

In stifling foreign factories

To sew the clothing

We put each day

Upon our backs.


We deaden our thoughts


To those who toil long hours

In hot mono-culture fields 

Drenched with -cides

Each time we put

Food mass produced 

On broken lands

Into our mouths.


We turn our backs


On the multitude of our 

Furred and Feathered

Brothers and Sisters

Who are displaced

Each time

We deploy our machines

To build another set

Of the palaces

We call our homes.


We forget

The sea creatures

Who choke on our 

Long lasting refuse

Every time we buy

And then throw away 

Another plastic container.


We blind our eyes


To our Mother Earth 

Who is stripped 

By coal mines

Every time

We flick on our 

Grid-fed lights

In the darkness.


We deafen our ears


To our migratory friends

Who can no longer

Wing their way safely 

To their northern

And southern homes

Every time

We start

The engines

On our cars.


We turn our heads


Away from the multitude

Who lose their lives

To violent death

On our crowded, fast

And noisy highways

Every time we enter 

Those we’ve built

To get ourselves

And our things

From here to there.


We cling to the comforts

That stifle our very own souls.


We poison the water

That we drink.


We murder the soil

That produces our food.


We heat the air

That gives us breath of life.


This is calamity

We can no longer

Afford to ignore.


As rivers of refugees

Flee the results of

And seek asylum from

The choking hazards

That we desire.


What Are We To Do?


And This Our After?


Advent Season Dreaming


The snow floats down 

Lazily from pearly skies.


Pine tree peaceably accepts 

Her white and rainbow cloak 

As she gracefully dreams 

Her winter thoughts.


Chickadee forages 

His winter stocks 

Of dried berries 

And insects caught In tree sap amber.


Brown bear 

Ambles to his door 

To sniff the air 

And taste the winter snow.


Beaver turns 

And curls around her pregnant belly 

On her couch of sleep 

In her twig built home 

Within the safety 

Of her carefully wrought dam.


The pace of life 

Slows to winter stillness 

And mostly indoor activities 

For we scant haired 

Two-legged souls.


Our opposable thumb hands 

Busily repair and sharpen 

Growing season tools.


And weave 

Warm woolen garments 

For our loved ones.


As the trees 

We dream our winter thoughts 

While fire flickers on the hearth.

And snow settles on the roof 

Of our Advent season home.


Through the pen of:

Nancy Joan Brighid neé Muire


Copyright © 2022 Nancy Joan Brighid neé Muire - All Rights Reserved.

Powered by GoDaddy Website Builder