A remembrance of love

You came here from another land
And we sat until dawn talking about the craziness
Of our world

Yours so humble and peaceful, mine aggressive
And often turbulent
But we talked on

The light shone through the glass door
And we noticed the sunrise
Neither of us tired

I couldn’t pronounce your name and you
Couldn’t pronounce mine,
But in a month we’d be married

Six months passed our lives broken
You went off to war
I stayed here and realized we
Would never be the same

a place for me

If I could live anywhere it would be in a place just like this scene of morning coolness; a chilled spray with slow, soft crashing waves of green nearing shores' edge, peaking in pink foam.

It would be a delicate sunrise of bright pink toned yellows, breaking forth in a lemony sky, oh my.

Would I share it or be alone? I think I'd rather be alone and drink it in; explore every sensory preception's reception.

The sand waits for each footprint to appear and just as quickly, to disppear; wet sand does as it is directed by a source we often forget. I won't forget this time.

The place I would live surely exists because I found a photograph of it. Can I find it? Yes, everytime I close my eyes I will see it and be grateful that I can still imagine beauty.

Just One Voice

“Just one voice singing in the darkness all it takes is one voice singing so they hear what's on your mind and when you look around you'll find there's more than One voice… “

Artist, composer, and lyrist, Barry Manilow may not have been the most popular musician in my high school, but I loved his music; I felt his music. Strangely I only have his first album, the others lost after so many moves with a running person.

I ran from every situation that needed confrontation, dropping my gift of love and leaving completely. Leaving friends and family wondering what was going on with me? I could never explain, but one day I stood still and let the world mow me down. Running was replaced by anger and hurtful feelings; then the loss of physical strengths. Hate came and it is the most devastating because it brings suffering, not only for me but for the ones around me.

So the choice was made to medicate me and I became a living zombie. I heard no one and nothing. For three and a half years I did not exist. One day I had a thought; A THOUGHT. The zombie finally had one thought; I would die, but how? Nothing came to mind. I couldn’t remember; how do people kill themselves?

Bargaining with the great silent universe I wanted to stop the non-existence I felt; I wanted to die. I began to starve myself, which created a medical problem of dosage versus body weight. Two weeks later I ended up in an emergency room, and the staff was going nuts trying to match the symptoms with a diagnosis. When I finally died at the hospital which tried desperately to keep me alive, I saw some of the most wonderful sites.

My youngest brother stood by my bed and I read his face even though my eyes were closed. He fought heard to keep his emotions unrevealed to anyone. With his medical background I knew, he knew. I tried hard to get his attention and tell him that I was going to be okay. I reached out with my arm but looked down at the sheet where my arm still lay. I knew his future, and wanted to tell him before I left. Just at that moment the golden “judgment box” reappeared overhead. I heard my brother tell his wife, “She’s dying and there’s nothing they know to do for her. They can’t find the problem.”

I lay back against the pillow having watched another “mirror of my life” within the judgment box clear; something had been forgiven in that instant. My brother and his wife stood before me and I saw behind them two great worlds collide and planets ripping apart. A large ship sailed out of the way and escaped the planets’ pull. No one else ever stood close enough for me to “see” what might be behind them.

A terrible medication accidentally got left at home, and left off of the emergency room history. No record of it anywhere. On the fifth morning in the ICU I awoke to a white, bright, clean room. Nurses and technicians fluttering about and then someone noticed that I was awake and sitting up. I had been without that one medication for five days. My mind was back. I no longer saw through a long dark tunnel toward a pinpoint light. It was as if I had been living in a dungeon and was seeing the outdoors for the first time.

I am not abandoning Barry Manilow’s lyrics. In my brief scenario above, someone was showing me great things, and if those great things help me find other voices singing in the darkness, then indeed I must sing, telling them what is on my mind. I’ve found more comfort re-listening to his music than in therapy where a person who’s had no tragedy like mine is telling me: “its okay.” Recently I’ve found many voices that have been singing for a long time of a way to heal through love, patience, and positive affirmations. I continue my journey learning from them and hopefully will one day be included in their collective ONE VOICE.

Can you fix me?

I want to explore without getting lost
My missteps add up, a burden with costs

Love is a goal but I’m never hot
My travel feels cold, rejection my lot

My mind swirls in time and I lose my way
My closet awaits, more prayers will I say

Temptation comes near, a dangerous feel
I laugh at my frailty, but know that it’s real

Mysteries plague my end-less repentance
Unbridled lust and reverse of my senses

Life is much more yet I am here pleading
To be what I am; I am here for the reading.

The want to know people and not invite fear
I read and I write all the words that are dear

A place to belong

A place to belong...
Tis heaven's song
When asked to go
Make sure you know
That in your haste
You leave no waste
And love abides in every space.

watch out for THAT tree

THE spider sat in a tree watching the small fly twist and turn and struggle against the silk. Pretty soon the spider came down and sat next to the fly. “If you would relax just a moment the web’s suspension will stabilize and you’ll feel better.”

The fly looked up terrified, “Who are you to capture me and hold me here?”

I am the master of this place and you have crossed the boundary that I set years ago for the children of all species. You have invaded my domain.”

“I am a citizen of these woods,” spoke the fly, “and I have never heard of any boundaries set before the children of all species other than: ‘be fruitful and multiply.’”

The spider chuckled to himself then openly laughed into the face of the questioning fly. Large eyes, small brain, thought the spider. “Well, that is quite an old saying but not meant for the modern era.”

“T-t-the modern era?” asked the fly.

“Here we eat first and ask questions, inquiries, and resumes, later.” And the spider reached over and took a wing from the fly who winced in pain.

“What are doing? You have no right to do this to me. I am a free species,” cried the fly.

“RIGHTS? You lost YOUR RIGHTS as soon as you flew into the tree of knowledge,” hissed the spider, who sat licking his lips in anticipation of the other wing.

“No, no, not both wings!! Please, I made a mistake. I’m supposed to be in the tree of life, not the tree of knowledge. I must have gotten lost?”

“Puh-lease, you and everybody else alway scream the same thing; wrong tree, wrong tree!! Well too bad.” And the spider ate the second wing off the fly then left him alone in the dark.

The next morning the poor fly continued to struggle and free himself from this terrible tree of knowledge, as if he knew something worse might be coming.

“Good morning there, ‘fly-ster’, and how are you this fine morning?” snickered the spider.

“I am sore and a bit hungry and I suppose it would be an imposition to ask for something to eat?” asked the fly.

“On the contrary I have a bit of wing left?” The spider laughed out loud watching as the thought of eating his own wing registered on the fly’s face; priceless.

“Blaach, don’t you have something more in the veggie line?” asked the fly.

“No, but a friend of mine has just what you’re looking for. I’ll have him come over.”

In the afternoon a large praying mantis appeared in the fly’s vision. He gave him tiny pieces of bamboo shoots coated with honey and a bit of week old bar-b-cue sauce. Gradually the fly began to feel health returning to his life, but what life would he have without wings? Once fed and bathed the praying mantis lifted the fly onto his back and began to carry the fly away out of the tree of knowledge.

“Where are you taking me?”

“We are traveling to the tree of life.”

“Really, I was supposed to go there and not to the tree of knowledge, “said the fly.

“We looked for you until all night. This morning the spider said he had one of our recruits. That spider, nasty business, but he’s got an incredible web; you’ve got to be careful.”

“Will the tree of life restore my wings,” inquired the fly.

“No, you will become an emissary for ants and other smaller species; they’ll feel safe.”

“Why?”

“Quite simply, because you will no longer be able to fly off with their food.”

“Wow, I had no idea I was doing that to other species.”

“Ah and thus the reason for why you flew into the tree of knowledge first; now you are prepared to carry on with your next true mission.”

“And what is that?”

“Preparing peace and unity for all species,” hummed the praying mantis. “Hummm.”

The little fly began to ‘hum’ also and almost vibrated himself off of the tree limb. This will take some practice… thought the fly!

Great Feelings

Great feelings begin with the acceptance to serve others:
Give to ones that need sun to shine for them.
Find a moon to cast a shadow across the land.
Prepare a pool to catch tears for the one who is lonely.
Follow the Jasmine on the night breeze, and find the lover who waits.
Receive warmth by the fire, crack-ling, his-sing; scent, ah.
Longing with heart treasure to share; weep wisely.
Walk through cool morning dew; the feet are chilled.
Cut sweet fruit, juices flowing over the face; a sticky joy.
Watch the sky filled with blue, the ocean comes to visit the sky: blue!
Above clouds chasing, each chasing clouds, and a bird flies over.
His song awakens the morning man.
To great feelings.
To great feelings!

Do the crime, pay the time!

Fannie, Freddie, Merrill, Bear, Sachs, Morgan, and all the rest of you liars to the American public need to see your day in jail. What's so special about you to avoid some time for your crime. Think Martha Stewart! Do not collect $200, but go straight to ...jail.

Abolish the Federal Reserve, a privately owned company; not USA federally owned. US Congress and US Treasury should return to doing THEIR job, according to the US Constitution, to control money release, etc. Pay the debt; it’s in your hands to do it without taxation. Or have you allowed Fort Knox to be emptied?

Inventory Fort Knox. No more lies, please.

Through the portal of electric thought

Through the portal of electric thought...

There, just through the trees my light waited, I ran

My life would be touched by the accumulated voices, spoken on a wind of wire

I closed my eyes for a few moments and a soft male ‘voice’ whispered:

‘Enter; walk past the three trees and then stage left.’

I was too new to understand ‘why,’ but followed his voice past the trees,

Breathing in an ad.dict.cious air; I felt enthralled within

‘Stand here and wait for it,” he spoke and the warmth of his confidence inspired my own; I waited a while, humming, or was that my CPU acting up again?

Presently he withdrew a notepad from his pocket; the size of his palm pilot impressed me

Quickly I looked away, feeling the blush takeover my face; wow, portal hopping was going to be tough

A golden layer, like the gentle web of the writing spider appeared; widgets of gold flickered in the gray borders that sat at the edge: a beauty I had never seen before this moment

‘What is your name?’ He was texting again.

‘Lots,’ I answered.

‘Good, then draw one and start walking.’ His brows arched.

‘Wait, what will I need to take with me?’ I asked

‘Common sense,’ oozed the warm ‘voice’, growing less audible by the moment.

‘Great! Seeing I have none.’

The ‘voice’ last words: ‘Click here; travel the light, good byte.’

SIGH.



The saga will continue… what will the naïve wire-bearer find next? Stay tuned.

Burning Down the House

It’s hard to sit on my hands and not ‘speak’ when I see the government and Federal Reserve burning down the house. ‘The Fed’ as it’s called is a private banking institution, contracted by the US congress to do “their” job. We were sold in 1913 to ‘The Fed’ a company with it’s own interests at the forefront.

Now you know who owns you until they sell you to another. But they’re taking their time to make sure they leave no commodity untouched, while… burning down the house! Our house.

The little empire that could...

This ~ from an article about a medical center being bombed, but the police station across the street was protected by concrete barriers!

[In Kufa, al-Sadr supporters carried banners, including one that said: "We won't accept Iraq being an American colony!" Another said: "The suspicious agreement means the permanent occupation of Iraq."]

Maybe we’ve forgotten our own history, or have we ever heard it? America fought hard to secure her freedom from being a colony from England. We continue to make our ‘ancestors’ mis-takes?! When will we be done “taking people” from their environments or blowing them up where they stand?

What does the government want that overrides the wishes of another sovereign country? And what rule justified the Germans of yesteryear and don’t we get tired of hearing that tale? And yet here we are at crossroad, possibly in the crosshairs of somebody else who can eat us for breakfast.

Nothing to take away from the World Trade Center fiasco, but that was supposed to be a “message” according to the admin. Remember? They had fifty warnings and still let it happen.

So what do you want for breakfast? Do you like sushi? Or maybe a bit of the old world charms cuisine? You need to think this through some more. We’ve practically stocked the entire world with enough weapons to blow us up! Wait for it. What’s that you hear? That is a pre-emptive strike that we think is ‘our policy only’: do we have sole rights? Who knows; maybe that’s the end-intention of the ‘admin that is.’ Secret agreements: wait until you hear about the new embassy in Iran?

We are finally as ignorant as we are arrogant.

If you disagree it won’t be the first time. Think Hiroshima. Japan agreed to peace but we bombed them two days later anyway. Where are we now? We’re making deals with one of the ‘axis of evil.’ Yesterday is such a fleeting moment… the war on terrorism must go on even if we have to cut a deal with an evil neighbor.

If Only You'd See

I’ll not charge for pleasure
I give you much treasure
More than you’d measure
If only you’d see

My heart in the right place
The head is a bit spaced
The love for this human race
If only you’d see

The stars bid me home
Don’t stay here alone
And hear yourself moan
If only you’d see

I’ll not be a lover
There’s no need to hover
Why run for the cover
If only you’d see

It was a dark and lonely night...

It was a dark and lonely night, not unlike any other except I bought a bag of cheetos to munch on and distract me as I walked home in the dark and lonely night.

Off in the distance the sound of an animal growling and scratching against something that sounded like wood; ah, Scruffy, the giant poodle was still awake and sensed my approach to his master’s humble abode.

The sky was so, so, so gosh darn scary looking and it didn’t help that I stepped into a hole and was now staring up into the trees. Snarling, tree limbs… no that was Scruffy snarling; I really needed to get my cheetos home. I was grateful he was in for the night as he would have chased me for those yummy cheetos. He also likes the crunch.

The wind crossed my neck and the hairs stood up. No, really there were a couple of rabbits on the sidewalk and they stood as I passed by. I disarmed them by tossing a few cheetos. With those teeth there was some serious crunching going on.

Ah I finally arrived at my building, my humble dwelling on the fourth floor, but there were no lights on. Hmm, had the power gone off? Had Mrs. Farley forgotten to pay the bill again? Of course the elevator would be out too. I started up the stairwell and suddenly a scream: “SURPRISE!”

As fourteen flashlights blinded me I tossed cheetos everywhere. The poor dear from second floor replied: “I didn’t know we were supposed to bring snacks?” Almost every one in the building was in the stairwell waiting for Mr. Heely to arrive and celebrate his 63rd birthday.

I hacked up the mouth of cheetos that threatened to choke me and said, “Friends, his birthday is Tuesday and if you surprise him the way you surprised me, it will be his last one!”

(Next Tuesday? Next? Tuesday next? Next Tuesday… that’s in two days.)

It was a dark and lonely night, not unlike any other except I bought a bag of cheetos to munch on…

Restoration~updated version

Their power lay before them in land they walked alone
The gracious G-d would see their plight and lead them back to home.

History will bear them out and to the kingdom due
The people without number will closely follow through.

Musicians play their psalms, while shofars bid them come
The children dance, the peace is felt, and shared with everyone.

The land is many colors; it waits the one last change
The heavens open brightly and life is all arranged.

For G-d who has sustained is waiting in this place
And we are there to praise His care and know His loving face.

The Glory Stair

I want the sun on my face
And feel the power of grace
I want to share this place
With those who care

I want to open the skies
Erase the sighs
Let love give rise
To those who dare

I long to write anew
Mis-takes be few
And take another view
Of my own fare

To have more light and learn
The meaning of discern
And may the humble climb
The glory stair

The Graveled Path

I came in spring to look around
The birds were making lovely sound
Summer bade me linger
By autumn’s end I hit the ground

The graveled path in all light gray
Provided sight to see a way
Without much light
I chose to play

The wind would sweep and off I’d go
While people bundled up for snow
As time was going fast
And never more to know

A child stooped down to have a look
Then placed me in a memory book
I’m very old and yet
Glad to be the one she took.

Do You Care?

Do you care
I have fresh air
Water’s clean
A place to preen

Food not sprayed
With all that stuff
A nest displayed
Constructed rough

Do you care
There’s no more eggs
So I can’t feed
The mouth that begs

Do you care
About your own
Would you dare
Deny them home

Entering In

Periodically I go through the paces of reflection and growth. I take the time to read back over the monthly journal I keep, housed in the smallest wire notebook I can find. Little notations from blogs I read, quotes, and items of research and interest fill its pages. Is this the month I’ll find myself worthy of standing before the Creator’s gate, thinking of entering in?

Phone calls from family and friends, and what I’m supposed to be celebrating during the month, occasionally dominate a few pages: “what birthday party? Was I supposed to be there?” (See page 28.) Who needs assistance with groceries? How many pairs of pants will get the kid back to school? Returned calls and follow-ups get a big red check-mark! But does my charity count for something or am I being arrogant to think that giving is the way to open the gate for entering in?

Most days are a toss up as I computer-dive or catch documentaries on subjects that peak my interest. I love to cook and often take two-four hours of prep time to ensure some fresh stuff gets consumed. Tuesday mornings are strictly reserved for viewing art shows; capturing techniques that assist my own sling of acrylics. Wednesday is “Godmother Day” and I look forward to visiting with the 84 year old mentor who thinks I “hung the moon.” (Please don’t tell her otherwise.) But are those interests aiding my goal of approaching that wondrous gate and entering in?

It is a profound experience to enter my “prayer closet” and lay down the people, places and things I would, but can not control. My list at times goes on and on, as I try to earnestly remember who needs what? (It’s hard to read that small notebook in a dark closet.) My committing things to memory often fails and I conclude that maybe I wasn’t supposed to ask something regarding a people, place or thing I’ve forgotten. As always I find myself in a small heap remembering that I am supposed to be there to listen, as the Creator knows what I have need of before I go in the closet. Yet in all of my repenting and praying for a world that hungers, do I accumulate faith that grants me passage through the gate and entering in?

Years ago I found some scripture from the KJV 1611 that sums up what I believe.

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not unto your own understanding. Acknowledge Him in all your ways and He will direct your paths.” Proverbs 3:5-6

Many years have passed and as I stand before that gate, time and time again, I am prompted by my mind to force my entering in. The words from Proverbs said I should use my heart to trust, acknowledge the one who knows my turn, and let Him direct my movement. I reflected on the reasoning, purchased three new notebooks, and wait on the omnipotent plan for arriving at the “right” time and entering in.

The Beloved

A tiny statue holds a tiny bird
Who used to speak and he was heard
Immortalized in grey-white stone
He flew away and left my home

I bid goodbye, revisit pain
And long to hear his song again
But I am sad without his tune
And will some day regard his room

Another bird might take his place
To give new song, poetic grace
So I will look to find the one
That gives me warmth, returning fun

Time will move as I research
A feathered love to end my search
The hunt involves the life I live
To help me know what I can give

~the new beloved

A Healing is Forthcoming

A healing is forthcoming if repentance is our goal
We ask our higher power what things will harm our soul;
And He is just and merciful to guide us toward His land
Where everyone is conscious of the love He shares with man.

But His ways are not our ways as we stumble to succeed
To bring about our own ideas of what each country needs
He asks us to consult with Him before we make our trek
But we are much too stubborn and refuse His guidance yet.

How long will we travail and not produce the peace we seek?
Each country offers up their thoughts; some filled with hungry greed.
Catastrophe it seems must always happen first
We find ourselves surrounded by our deeds that cause the worst.

So if you want to know His ways and what His thoughts have wrought
Then listen for His voice and become one who is taught.
Upon the things that you would change and things you would replace.
A healing is forthcoming when we seek His bless-ed face.