I am…

I am how I see the world
In terms of little things.
Blades of grass dancing
As wind-chimes play
Particles on sunbeams…

I am deep.
Deep as the ocean…
full of unseen mysteries
moving just below the surface. .. 
Hidden from view

I am dancing pools of light and being
Floating in total consciousness
In eyes of depth and grace and mystery
lost in a way of seeing
unfettered joys…

I am as infinite as space
and just as complex
Wanting to be discovered.
Waiting to be explored… 
A universe within

I am a world born of ideas
from swirling Technicolor dust clouds
of inordinate design…
lost in the array of infinite possibilities….
And bliss
I simply am….

Moments in the Mundane...

Here I sit
So much to do
So much
yet undone...
Slathered in sticky sweat
Air thick and humid
Craving
the slightest breeze...
Yet,
a moment
to sit
disengage
still
the day...
still
the mind...
a Temporal reprieve
from frenzied
hyper-drive
sipping iced latte
thru moments
caught in between
liminally cast
waiting...
waiting...
to begin again
midst the chaos
of traffic flows
and programed lives
so much
more to do...
but,
for now
treasuring odd moments
in the mundane...

I Think I Will Write Today...

I think I will write today. I don't know what about, but I feel the need for words. There is something cathartic in putting pen to paper and just letting it flow, the sweet release in digital rain of what has been held in, held on to for far too long. It is time to let go. It is time to clean house of thoughts and ideas collected and hoarded in useless abundance and no longer needed. It is time to cleanse, flush the mind, flush the soul of unnecessary debris and toxic thought that clouds and hinders judgement and the ability to live and be truly authentic. Mental clutter fueled by fear and expectations of self and others. Pieces of the past, hurts bygone, insecurities, obligations, should and 'ought to be's' snagged one upon the other like the hands of hell, tug and pull at the edges of consciousness, weighing me down...

So much there, but where to begin...

And yet, it is so hard to let go. There is odd comfort in their presence, something familiar, safe and comfortable. They are anchors to those things that shape identity, make us who we are. Connections, roads taken (or not), mementos and markers, hopes and dreams deferred, souvenirs collected over a lifetime to become dust imbued emotional clutter, a hoarder's hell physically manifested in the things I cannot bear to throw away. Symbols of great significance in the lives of those around me. My grandmother's dishes, important to her, but not to me; reminants of my mother's life, a set of glasses I never use, clothing I never wear and generations of accumulated physical connections to a past that no longer exists and I never knew. Haunted by their ghosts, if I let go, do I betray them? Bound to the baggage of other's, now made my own. The weight is crushing. I need to be free.

So much there, but where to begin...

In the free flow of words I start to sort through years worth of accumulation, layer by layer. In the end, memories and lessons learned are all I need... The rest is just 'stuff' left to burden and decay. So time has come to let go of the past and all its burdens and let flow a river of consciouseness and a life dammed far too long... Yes, I think I will write today...

So much there, where to begin...

Dichoto-Me…

Earthy                                            Spirit
Down and Dirty In the mud          Intuitive Visions
Rough around the Edges              Soothing variations of light
Momma in combat boots              Everywhere and Nowhere…
Warm dark richness                    Time-lapsed skies
Nurtured hope                              Dimensional Rivers
Healing Rain                                   Everywhere and Nowhere…
Warrior                                          Just Feel
Peacemaker                                    Just Flow
Goddess                                         Just Be
                  One Heartbeat….                        
                                    One Breath…                          
                                      Together in me….

Escape…

Anger and fear
Fear and hate
Imprisoned Within
Cowered in the corner
No hope of escape
No trust
So much anger
So much fear
A family drowning
In its pain
Slave mentality
In generational sorrow
Chained to the past

Hope lies in another vision
The window
In Plato's cave
Possibilities
In light
Hands reaching
lifting up
The way out
In new beginnings
True faith lies
In the goodness
Of others...

Escape…

Sunday Mornings….

I love Sunday mornings. I can't quite put my finger on why, but to me, they are more special than any other. As a child, Sunday mornings were just different. Maybe it's because I was born on a Sunday morning. Maybe it's because my dad was home and the family was whole. Things just seemed calmer, less chaotic. The world just seemed to stop.

Sunday mornings were about sleeping in with fresh coffee percolating, its aroma wafting thru the house to rouse my sleeping parents from their beds. Sunday mornings were sizzling bacon, the sweet smell of pancakes and the sound of football announcers droning in the background. When I was really little, I would snuggle up with my dad in his recliner as he perused the Sunday paper. When I was older, I would make proudly make him a cup of coffee and lay on the floor at his feet perusing the funnies. I always got the funnies. The Peanuts were my favorite.  It was our time together. I had always been a 'Daddy's' girl. Of course, I was also born on Father's Day. Maybe that was part of it. Whatever the reason, I always felt blissfully content on Sunday mornings.

As I grew up, things changed, as they are apt to do. Nothing lasts forever. My parents divorced. No more Sunday brunches, time with my dad. I was no longer a child. I started working. My Sunday mornings were now spent serving other people coffee. The only Sunday papers I saw were those I threw away when I cleared the tables.

I married, had a child, started teaching and Sunday mornings were mine again. Coffee now hissed through an expresso machine, turkey bacon sizzled and the sweet smell of pancakes wafted through the air as the TV droned on in the background. When my son was little we cuddled on the couch and watched Crocadile Hunter and anime. As he grew older, he lay on the floor drawing. We went to breakfast at Ihop and played tic-tac-toe as we waited for our order. It was time spent with my son. It was our time together.  I was again content.

Things again changed as they are apt to do. Nothing lasts forever. I got divorced. My son grew up and moved out on his own.  Sunday mornings now belong to me. They are still about sleeping in, the aroma of coffee, sizzling bacon, the sweet smell of pancakes, but now, it's time to myself. I am content. I will always love Sunday mornings. I still can't quite put my finger on why, but they are more special than any other. Sundays were always different. Maybe it's because I was born on a Sunday morning. Maybe it's because I am home, I am whole.

for Berenice...

 

Floating on Forever

She lies
In the liminal

Between Life

and Death ...
Final breaths

Flowing to places

Unseen
Beyond all existence
Beyond our knowing
And so she passes
Into time
Swirling
Kisses floating
On breezes
Caress those
Left behind
A gentle passing
Of a gentle soul
The child reborn
Dances once more
On sunbeams...