FROG DREAMS
Walking On Water
Smashwords Edition
By Suzanne Montpetit
Poetry, Short Stories, Creative Thoughts
Copyright 2005 Suzanne Montpetit
What Is
Master, why do you say “pick your fruits wisely”? If it is ripe should not it be picked? The master turned to the student and spoke gently. Student is teacher too. To see the color of ripe is good but to feel texture is better. If you pick the fruit to soon, based on the outside only, you may find bitterness within. The student pondered what the master said. While the master smiled into the reflection of the pool of water.
Are we truly sea worthy, to traverse the seas of life? Will our sails prevail the storms that we will encounter, the structure of our being encased in a sense of security, that will keep us safe until we return to harbor?
Our compass, magnetic in spirit, heals a longing for direction and keeps us in the perfection of the moment of decision. Will our ship set sail in delight of an adventure, mapped out in our mind and embrace within it a desire to explore. Standing at the helm of emotion, opportunity awaits those whose belief is held tightly in the exploration of trust, compassion and love.
So, go ye men of frivolous mind, let go of obstruction and torment, think only of the treasure of flesh and flank. Traverse your ocean of contentment finding a paradise of not just future but of visible strength. Know that you are the hands that hold the wheel. The hands that set sail and lead the way.
Shall I tell you I am afraid? I find myself anchored within the destiny of the coming storm. I am damp within the colors of this lifeless moisture, encircled in the silence that has no face, nor name. This voice of contemplation sings deep within the depth of my soul. Each breath taken, a breath retrieved, so as if to save it for the last one, I would breathe. I try to see within this curtain of moisture, thick and dark, not one bit of light showing through, hoping that one could navigate the silence of nothing. If I dared I could put my hand through this curtain, but yet would I be able to retrieve it or would an unknown from the other side swallow it up? I dared not for I would not like to walk a man with no arm, only a stump to carry in a sling, or to dangle at my side in useless observation by others. I will put my thoughts to use as I await the breath of God to move me across the boundaries of this sea of folly. Where is the wind that will carry me across the endless waters, to the treasures I seek? Where is my Sun, which warms me in the coldest of nights, that heats my heart and gives me birds to follow?
This curtain of hell hides my abilities to see the stars at night, which navigate my eyes to the land that is beyond and the people that are as savage as the beasts in this ocean. I shall look constantly from side to side, as I walk my oblivion making sure these beasts do not creep upon my ship and catch me off guard. I do not choose to be a meaty dish for the serpents of this sea. Creature or bird speaks not a whisper, not a word uttered to guide this, my thoughts to insanity. I cannot take another minute of silence. “Hear me not oh Wind of Time, carry me by your gusts to the land of gold and possibilities. Where treasure is man, woman and all things gathered in one place. Where feasting is abundant and sleep is forever given to heal the hearts of all.” “Where is my torrent? Where is the peace I seek within the storm that can rally my sails and take me further? “I am nothing but a man, a man of thoughtless knowledge, hapless understanding of God and his vengeance. I will sit until Eternity awaiting my sails to fill with the song of forceful winds blown from the cheeks of Neptune himself. When will I see Mercury ride across the sky and Apollo; find his truth within the fire of the sun. My maps cannot guide; my compass circles me fruitlessly as I succumb to this bitterness I feel
.
Yet alas, I am free, free to choose my course in life, free to feel the salt upon my lips and the rough within my hands as I sail uncharted into what shields me from my freedom. I am halfway through this curtain of soft dampness that hides my ship from me. My masts are consumed, and my bridge floats beneath my feet. Yet I will not abandon my will and I will watch myself disappear, only to reappear on the other side, in completion of my mission. Without warning patience and trust do not abandon me, and do shout from the highest point of sight, as I can see fully the light and the blue of the sea. I cradle my chest and breath the air as it begins to circle around me, dispensing the clouds and allowing the sun to burn her insignia on my body. Once again I shall take my place at helms gate and steer my way, as a shepherd of this lonely, yet so vigilant sea within the veil of silence I contemplate the very reasons I am here. This is my ocean and I am the ship that sails guidance and me I call out to, to protect me from the monsters in my mind.
I have within my heart the very courage to help set sail into the unknown and find my way to the treasures I seek.
Questions
Where can I find myself if I am no longer here? When can I know myself if I have nothing in mind? How do I see myself if I am blind to a truth that surrounds me?
Who do I turn to? So I may cry out Tears of understanding? What can I do to release this tension? This burning sensation my soul worth identified By a number. Why do I care? If I am understood, Loved unconditionally And taught a language Of human compassion? Thoughts without reason Assembled Filed and exhumed, All for the world to read. For I am humbled by intelligence I am caressed by knowledge for life. I am just another one, of many people who live unannounced inside, a head full of antiquity.
To All of You;
My wish to you is easy. It contains nothing more than a desire to know you deep inside your soul, to hear your thoughts as you read mine, conversing on a level of spiritual intention. To grace the pages of this paper with words that have meaning, Words that ring a bell of relevance, of purpose from your own perspective. I have no intention No deliverance to some unknown obligation, No mentorship. Only to be a guide, a light for you to follow, teaching you a way into your own soul, your own making, healing you, along the way. Eyes see only what they choose. The mind believes only what it sees. The heart knows only to give completely.
My gift to you is to understand that we are all complete, all unique creatures with passions that we have what it takes to achieve purposeful actions.
Drive your car freely. Never be blind to the scenery of living, and send those messages from the head to the heart. Smile when you get it.
Scenario
From somewhere in the Heavens;
Life began.
A human being born
Humanity,
Then begot
Tragedy,
Who begot
Remorse,
Who begot
Intolerance,
Who begot,
One man,
who was Difference a uniqueness of Spirit.
Who then begot,
Consideration,
Over Corruption
Acceptance
Over Denial,
Peace over Priorities.
The Heavens opened up
And rained down
A new beginning
Which begot?
Life holds no bars in which we are kept, there is no jail or incarceration, of a souls unique journey. We are now and have always been free to create and recreate our scenarios, always without bars, or boxes in which gifts are held, and not received. Just look out the window and see what gifts are given to us, then open your own wings and fly.
If you took the mathematical equation for what life is in essence of whom we are, and what it is that makes up our essence, it would probably go like this.
If A is the Body
(a sum of all parts)
B is the Soul
(a source infused of
Flesh and blood)
C, the Unknown Factor
(the collective self realized)
Does A+B ( C ) = Spirit?
Identify the concept of Balance
Where the Polarity of the unknown
Equals an Understanding of
The Energy visualized.
Sometimes I dance and I dream of letting my inhibitions go and move freely, uncontrolled in action or by the reaction to whatever is going on or possibly expected of me.
I want to “Fly like an eagle,” unannounced, and see the world from a different perspective. Writing gives me this perspective. I keep them like secrets in a diary, some get deleted, like experiences I do not what to remember, and sometimes they punch a hole in my head and allow the air to cleanse my brain. Sitting back I then re read what I have written and a sigh reaches my heart, as I believe it is the best therapy and it does sometimes heal the broken hearted. Many a day I wish for more and get less, many a night I dream and cry out in fear, only to awake in my bed safe and bewildered. We take ourselves to so many places and into many unwanted situations only to be relieved that it is not real. But what is reality? Isn’t it just the thoughts that cross our mind and we act on them? Acts of emotion, as we are drawn into a mirror and can see what we see. Depth has perception only if it’s wanted.
You can see into the soul only if you want the truth. Heart held adventures and moment-by-moment experiences will give all the completions and conclusions you need in this one lifetime, one of many a solution to whatever you wish for. If you remember that and nothing more you will be able to look back and smile at yourself, never feeling left out or denied whatever it is you have sought after in each and every day. I am always ready, always thankful for the experiences I have and the way they played out. Nothing more, nothing less I am full and satisfied.
Will you Dance with Me?
Will you dance with me in the shadow of darkness?
Take me in your arms
Bend me at the waist
Blowing kisses in my face?
Will you dine with me sharing our life in bites your finger picking up a morsel to feed me gently?
Will you sleep with me?
Closely analyzing my body,
Every detail uncovered
By the blankets as they lie beside us.
Will you talk with me after?
Taking a stroll through the park?
Hot summers night, where the heat still matches the fever of undoubting passion.
Will you sit with me even after you are told?
When your heart weighs heavy
And I can no longer raise myself
Up to kiss you.
Will you pray with me one last time?
While we say our goodbyes
And remembrances of times never lost.
Cherished in a bottle forever by your bedside
Will you bury me under mounds of dirt?
Ground rendered soft and comforting,
By the tears you have shed these last days.
Keeping me company on long winter nights
Will you wait for me in front of Heaven’s gate?
While I talk God into
Letting us be together, forever.
We converse about life and death but usually only on a superficial level, never in depth, never without parameters. I hesitate when asked the question of “what am I doing with my life?” It always seems too personal for me to communicate with others. Maybe because I am so unsure about my own predictability or maybe I really have no clue and do not want to express that either. I mean what person cannot answer that question with ease but there is a place in between, in which truth is not so truthful and fear is to be grateful that you have not been judged for your truth
.
Lately, I tend to go about my day without conclusion or a desire to inhabit an experience other than just doing; never truly reaching for the invisible shield that allows me to be finite in an infinite world. Choices leave me bereaved, as if it poses a death sentence on the other choice, so what do I do?
I try to create mirrors for more than just looking, mirrors like the ones that allow you to see into the emotions and not so much the mind. I place them there to see, my inner image, and what I have chosen to express openly in the face of an action. These are mirrors of the soul or subconscious, yet they are also the mirrors that I look into each day, in a physical way. Remember Alice looked into the mirror, the looking glass, and her world vanished.
There is a desire to believe we are right without negation, when really there is no right or wrong, just an experience for growth and absolutely never to admit that we could have challenged ourselves to see it differently.
Life is about choice and the choices that are made every day. In a way it’s the act of participation that makes it all worth it.
I believe that we not predestined but have predisposition in our thoughts prior to the act or action, and can stop at any time re-choosing the words, or actions we are about to take on.
Thus it goes on and on and on Writing helps me to journal those perspectives into a place of endearing, compassion and rebuttal, always finding truth, a little peace and some comfort.
The spirit wants to soar. Yet we tend to weigh it down with wants and desires, some unobtainable, some requiring new equipment to get to make the flight easier. . This is my interpretation of experience. You see we begin our journey with light pockets, and along the way we begin to fill them with “stuff,” like feelings, emotions and thoughts of how to get it done in a certain personal way.
This in turn makes flight heavy and we have to take time to stop and refuel. Refueling is the experiences that once again make flight obtainable. So off we go again into the wild blue yonder, until we have another delay due to a condition that stops our flight. I would like to take you into my bubble, my airplane where I fly uninhibited and joy-filled.
The Bubble
In my bubble
I am champagne energy
Floating in a liquid essence
Of light filled particles.
I am encased in a crystal palace
Of my own making, basking on a sea of intentions.
In my bubble
I am perfectly present in a non- thinking way nowhere to be found except right here.
In my bubble
I am blues and greens.
I am purple and pink exchanging interchanging, on a canvas of life offerings.
Holding a brush of color
I paint my life.
In my bubble I am unique,
I am Immortal, serendipitous and creative.
I am a viewpoint, an expression, of life’s eternal form.
In my bubble
I can roam the universe
In a blink of an eye,
Always returning to a beginning
Different from whence I left.
Remaining curious,
Of what the next will bring.
In my bubble
I am nothing more
Than a element of chemistry,
A notion,
An opinion given to thought.
Often reveals an exchange of elements.
Expression:
Expressing a thought, creating mindful actions based on something thought about. I guess we can all relate to expressing ourselves, sometime or another. For me, expression is a passion, a poetic justice for a mind that tries to balance itself. I know I have a soul. A soul that calls out to me, that talks to me in many ways. It has names, like an imaginary friend, or the conversation written down in my journal, it becomes very effective in the way this soul wants to be recognized. When I feel lost in time I try to reveal parts of me in my writing; little bits here and there, yet still wanting to have that security by not revealing all of it.
Brings me to a question of who am I really.
Inside
I am hermaphrodite
Man and woman intertwined.
Face in the mirror portraits
While the other sleeps in remission, a cancer hidden beneath bone structure.
Turn your back on the glass
And see a new picture
From behind a nuance
The feet fleeing into the closet to hide among a wardrobe of clothes among suits for all occasions
Underneath a passion for life
Silk and undefined.
Shoes made for walking
Enhanced by buckles
That notch into the skin tender and soft.
Neutrality
Projections of parental reaction
Focus on the day
Taking notes in a journal
Inside the bedroom
Of insightful vision
Safely understood
Only by me
Biological at Natures calling
Fears intensify an adrenaline rush
When the mirror falls to the floor
Shattering what is seen
Undoing what has always been.
Sometimes the sounds of silence can carry a message farther than the vocal cords can. I relate to my heart through what I choose to say, forming words, within strength of voice.
Sometimes strong, other times soft and refining, I am in constant use of how I feel through this means of action. My voice can cause much reaction to something that I hear or am involved in. The voice can sing a lullaby to a child, comfort an elder in their last days, or softly sing the radios favorite tune. So much can be accomplished by our voice. What happens in silence?
We use our eyes to see more intently, more vibrantly attuned to what another can see in ours, we hear without difference soaking up each tone as it reverberates upon our senses and makes us feel something without the use of voice or words. Silence takes away the emotion of situations and helps us to see differently, conveying thoughts that soon take shape and become the next step we decide to take. The decision to hold onto nothing more than a smile on someone’s face, the beauty in their touch, and communication on a higher level is choice. Tuning into one’s own volume can help us understand those without voice inhibited by nothing more than a gift to translate in another language,
Language
Sunflowers lined the broad path,
Smells of a sweet perfume waffled
Between the buzz of bees and numerous birds,
In flight to nests in pine trees, local restaurants or roof top abodes.
Her feet shuffled along
Absorbing the hum of the beaten road
While ants moved furiously underneath fresh ground.
Vibration from the ground below energized her from toe to ankle,
While Nature migrated to the tune of the wind blowing softly.
Sparking eyes filmed each frame
Her smile filtered out
Unwanted verbs
Expressing an eagerness to dance
The body delighted in exchanging places.
Ideas recognized without conversation.
Ears tuned into hearing
Spontaneous to record speech
Listening intently to the world
As she passed silently into her own,
Discovering that in her words hands painting a picture articulate and sincere,
Her voice remained unused voided of a commitment to speak orally.
She molded her fingers
Into a language of verse
With no vocal cords
Mouth without tones
Words made a voice, quivering with emotion.
Appendages performed miracles
Shaping passion within movements stating
fact and fiction without reading the mind.
Her emotions a series of messages
Written on note pads,
Newspapers and dirt lined paths in the park.
Mimicking a mime
Reaching out to an audience
Only touched by inner worth
Details described by smiles.
She consumed her life
In absorption of activities
Listening intently
Visualizing more
Than her eyes saw daily
Learning to understand her silence
With each beat of a heart
Filled with fingers
Moving in advance of her own grace
The path continued to be her vision
Birds flew above unrenowned her checkerboard picnic in a land so plentiful.
She knew and it was ok.
Brother Bird
A brother lay dying
Clear of all charges
Laid against him
By Mother Nature,
Featherless,
Unable to find protection
From the elements
He is breathless no longer burdened by necessity.
Pine cone coffin
Under nettles nest
Unleashed by wind
Torrents of rain,
Unable to stand guard
I am helpless.
No Medic
No Mother
No notion of survival
I walk away in pain
My wings won’t fly.
I too am lost in the emotion
Of a birds brain,
Seeking safety
I am hoping to find my own connection to an early education.
A bush for refuge
Behind apartment stone brick
Calling out to anyone,
Bleating tones for Father
No cat to sight me first.
My brother I did not know
No flight to set us free
I can only believe the road ahead
Will not be the same for me.
I am a passionate man, yet my illusions are many. I carry passion in my pocket, my heart on my sleeve and my thoughts inside a box at my side. My clothes are worn and tattered and my home is a cardboard box, the one I carry at my side. I am invisible to most and some see me as clearly as they see their own shadow. They want nothing more to do with me than to run away, like the sun on a cloudy day.
I treasure nothing, except the generosity of others as I beg for mercy and a handout on any corner. Can you walk a mile in my shoes? I suppose not for if you did, your feet would hurt because my shoes are full of holes, like the holes I have in my heart. Sometimes I wonder how these holes got here but then I remember, you have put them there with your stares, your unwanted desires to have me fade away and return no more. I am not you, nor do I want to be like you. So why do you hate me so. I ask for nothing, except that you fill my hat with coin so I may eat. I would tell you a story if you ask but you don’t even want to know my name.
I am your deepest fears, I am your anger, and I am your judgment of how I got here. One day I may be you, and you may be me. I am a passionate man I am passionate about you, and your love for me. Helpless I am, my life is nothing more than this empty box that I carry. My belongings left behind in a heap of agony that I can only carry, and heal. I believe that I am, and that someday I will be more so, because of your strength and the wisdom that you carry in your box beside you.
Just as you came you will also end like me a man, with no shoes, no belongings, just a soul that too leaves this earth and finds his heaven.
Illusions
Window reflection
she danced a passion
Nurtured by the enthusiasm
Of a lone violin.
Silhouettes made faces
On panes of glass
Squares enhanced
The number of participants
Looking like triplets
Dressed the same.
The music engaged a
Strength for survival.
Movement towards
An ending with applause.
Muscles tired and sore
From repetitive frames.
Her feet numb with the pain
Of rehearsing
Took steps in preparation
Of a recital
A chance to be beautiful.
Shoes tired and worn
Wood splintered from practice
Ribbons torn at the ends
Still carried the pride,
Of the child in her world.
One last whirl around the room
Brought conclusion
To pink satin.
The sun shined rays of appreciation
For an audition,
The first to acknowledge
A smile of courageous effort.
The understanding of a little girl
Who now stared back through
The same window.
Dreaming of the day the music
The people,
And hands clapped in her honor
Of a passion
for the dance.
I love the rain and the way it feels on my face. The clarity of thought as it washes away what I am feeling and helps me focus only on the beauty of it falling from the sky. The thunder and the lightning, it’s symphony, showering reverence on the ground while speaking boldly with each sound it makes. Bold and electric songs play from the heavens, as she plans out her revenge, or is it just unconditional love?
My totality is embraced in this moment as I sit down and reach within the darkness of the clouds.. My bodiless, mind exposed and ready for detachment I can sense nothingness and more. My spirit soars into an unknown and then when I come down, I spread my wings and I am amazed. Within the drops of rain I am mirrored, distorted, yet beautiful. The prism of the spirit is contained for a moment until it drops down upon something and breaks free. Then once again the rain stops, the sun comes out to dry the ground sending moisture back into the heavens to begin again.
Rain
Can you hear the rain?
Their voices knocking
On the wooden pieces
Crossing intersections
Of square glass.
Droplets of moisture
Compressed into tiny bits
Of tear shaped diamonds
Invisible eyes
Looking into your life.
Washing away the grime
And unforeseen dust,
Fingerprints pressed
From hands wanting notice
Presenting themselves by five fingers.
Falling freely
Sliding slick below panes
Onto sidewalks below.
Sneaking into cracks
Feeding insects that breed.
Drinking in the food for thought,
Increasing in size as they bond together
Into an ocean
Nestled in a dirt drive.
Compressed into a puddle of clarity
You can see yourself walking by.
You smell the scent of grass, flowers and soil.
Cleansed of muddled footprints
Hidden beneath rock and stone.
Running off into distant woods
Furrowing into crevices and drainage ditches
Rooting down into trees,
Rising once again into the atmosphere.
Heat builds as the sun graces itself.
And bows politely
To the blueness of the heavens
Red globe, head held high
Once more peeks
From the clothing of cloth clouds.
Round and round
The weather patterns her,
Cognitive action and reaction
To beginnings when tears dropped from the sky.
Onto the window of your house
Curious of life inside.
She fought for a freedom her soul desired, one that she longed for and sometimes did not even know. The jungle was hot and her feet were tired of walking. Where was she walking to and how long would it take to get there? The sounds of the ferns as they swept by her made her nervous and she was very attentive to the quiet of her mind. She wanted answers and she knew these answers were going to be hard to find. The days she knew were numbered and the money in trust was running out, so now what was she to do? Who knows, I know I don’t but I will keep on trying until it all runs out. She reached up to enjoy a fresh banana from the tree as she continued to walk on by completely oblivious of the creature that followed her, silently.
Her heart heavy with the aches and pains she thought she left behind and now has caught up with her, she envisioned her life differently. If only she had done…, her mind jolted out of the past by a thud in the trees next to her. She was completely alone here and did not even bring her guide. She had not expected to walk so far, only to do some thinking, but obviously had extended it to far. She was in a part of the jungle she had not gone into before, and now regretted allowing her temper to get the best of her.
Why had she not just smiled and let it go instead of keeping it inside. She knew that the bureaucracy was what it was and nothing more, and that she would eventually make it work no matter what decision that they came up with. The truth is she was scared that all these years of searching for the truth were gone, and the truth was now about to stare her in the face. Would she ever find what she looked for or had she run away and gotten lost forever in her mind. Science is exact, discovery is factual. What was she? In the corner of her mind an object created itself. In the corner of her eye she could see it coming through the jungle. She was about to meet her maker and the death of her. She envisioned the devil and the angel all in one.
She saw the width and breath of her life unfolding in one blink of an eye and then stand still in that same moment. Her mouth opened wide, yet the voice could not say a word. She saw and believed in one instant that she found her truth. Her search ended in this moment as she came face to face with her destiny, the one being that could save her now and forever. She smiled and offered her banana to the one who stood between her freedom and her search for the truth. She did not move but accepted in faith that she was here for a reason and that reason stood before her, and accepted her offering. The breath she held she expelled with a deep sigh and opened her notebook and began to write. On this day…..
A Dance with the Devil
In fruition
She fornicated
Energy she held
Deep inside.
An essence of emotion
She has held onto for eternity.
Rupturing inertia
Into molten lava
Of monumental proportions.
Her undoing
spewed uncontrolled,
Shaking herself
Into another dimension.
Unwontedly influenced
By a creator infinite.
She bleeds.
She heaved volumes of tears
swept into Rivers
of non-sympathetic cries for help.
Her body caved.
Crevice exposed.
Ravines of muddied impurities
Made her feel dirty.
Her heart turned to ice
Frozen over from centuries of
Unkind and malicious efforts
To reach her center.
With no given notice she switched sides
Her maleness prowled upon her.
Feminine rose from the southern portion
Engaging in a battle of equals.
One moment of anger
Released by her own sexuality
Made peace with sorrow
And she became quiet once again,
Tempered and vanquished
She sighed in relief.
Finding freedom
In a explosion of Compassion
for a world gone wrong.
“Make peace with yourself on a daily basis.
Try to understand your wants and desires on different levels of consciousness.
See the difference this makes in the way you make life happen. “
Because….. Life happens,
Make believe, that heaven has sent you a flower, a design for life and see how it feels to carry it around with you. Would you look over your shoulder and desire another person’s flower, or wish that God had given you one prettier? Or could you be happy with the way it is? This is making peace with yourself, accepting what you hold in your hands and healing it to the best of your ability. Sometimes we are over sensitized and reason to much within the circumstance and sometimes we place too much motive on the notion that we know exactly why we are and what we are to do. It was fun when I was a child and everything to me was a miracle, the unknown was a mystery and there was no reason for why it happened, it just did.
Can I do so now? There is lots always going on in my world and I would like to say I could take a step back in observation but I guess I am only human and can only try and play along. So let’s move around the room and pretend, pretend that life is once again a mystery and in really does not matter which way the world turns or the wind blows, it just does. Let’s join in the game that the universe plays with us and find out what there is out there not based on any one notion, belief or circumstance, only knowing that we tried our best and let it go at that.
Yet, we have to remember we choose to partake in the mystery and learn that we did make a choice, and the next time we could use this one to navigate into the next. I have many faces, so do you and when we smile it is the best one yet. So take the flower that you have been given and smell it once again for the first time, look at how brightly it shines in your eyes and feel the love you have received from this gift from heaven.
I am a soldier of fortune, and do feel fortunate to be just exactly who I am, as hard as it may be and I am on a souls journey to find what it is I am looking for. Will you be my Daisy?
Healing Hands
My hands washed the dishes left over from supper
Cool breeze carried my thoughts to distant places,
Each plate a glance into a future of feminine virtue.
I am the face that I wear without make up
Without fancy dresses and social atmosphere.
My heart carries the dreams of another generation
Each of their backpacks filled with nutrition
For the body and for the soul.
Books read at bedtime gives time
To embrace age equal to no other.
Takes me back to my own childhood.
My body hurts for everyday life
Issues of want and desire mixed
In a shake of thought and proclamation
To what does come next for me.
Hot baths soothe the soul each night
Before bed and candles flicker a holiness unspoken.
My feet walk miles for others and for self
Which does come first I usually question,
Over conference with other female spirits
Compassion and unconditional gives way
To the interference of a summers day at the beach
Or a book read instead of washing dirty laundry.
I wear many faces, each one mine
I have them in a bouquet of fresh cut flowers
On my dressing table, near my chest of drawers.
I pick one daily each time my emotions
Send me running for safety and a quiet place to sit
Or when my feelings go crazy in love with who I am,
What I do and how I make it all better
For those that I have in my life.
This is the color of my skin,
The shape of my miracles
The special place that I call home.
I would like to say that there is no indifference in what roles we play, only that we play them well.
Choices
I would like a destiny of unforgettable syllables
Symbols of characters in reference.
A book I could open in diction
As a dictionary spells out life in a nut shell.
I wish I could paint myself a picture
Of self indulgence of the things
I like to do, shadows of self.
A penciled in drawing that I can erase
And redo whenever I please.
A magician and a clown
For those dreary days
When conclusions were not asked for
But given anyways for whatever reason.
No doubt that I deserved them.
Pen to paper journal idiosyncrasies
Rants from a souls journey from a safe haven,
Heaven to hell and whatever I can find in between
To make me believe this is all worth living for.
No sarcasm intended
No limp excuses for being me
Just to take up the baton
And orchestrate the moment
Dictate the decisions made
And realize who I am
Is just another great effort
To walk in my shoes
Some days I want to be famous.
A Crusader of truth, lift your banner high.
Let the colors of your passion fly into the night as you walk you path to freedom.
Let others stand not in your way but help you lead the way, giving you the desire to change the way you hold leadership in your heart.
How do I lead and adversely find myself at the back of the group, to also follow? Can I observe the picture as a whole unit of one truth and not many? Yet, we are many with the voice of oneness unique and in a commitment to serve. Did I create this crusade? Or have I picked up the wrong banner, one that does not hold my name but another’s? I want to fly high, to create my own truth in which I can relate, to my existence in a world of so much turmoil, so many reasons to not be or be kind to myself. I want to stand among you, honor your endeavors, to be prepared to serve and to lead, in whatever way I intend. As long as Truth follows, as long as Love persists among the darkness, and as long as I continue to see the Light in the darkness I will be free. I will paint my picture on the cloth that is before me and make the colors bright, like my heart’s journey.
I will ask for guidance once more, not intending to hide under the nearest rock, nor lead with a vengeance, a vengeance that controls my mind, but do insist on the heart to make way. Your song is my song and the verse contains many tunes, I will sing to the colors of my day and unite with the spirit of this journey and know that this is my crusade. My glory is the sunrise and the sunset, the beauty of the vision and the word of faith.
I will someday……..
Someday
Someday I will take a chance.
I will look me in the eye and not blink.
Someday I will breathe deeply
And not linger, but exhale completely.
Someday I will remember to smell the roses
That grow in my garden with many more varieties
Picking some for a bouquet and another for my friends.
Someday I will move the rock that I hide under
And realize the sun does shine all day long
Willingly choosing to bath in it’s light
Finding warmth from its glow.
Someday I will remember who I am
How beautiful I have become
Not an ugly troll that children laugh at
Or one that adults look the other way
Because they do not understand me.
Someday I will choose to receive the gifts
That God gave me,
To teach others about compassion
Forgiveness and love.
I will show them the colors of my rainbow
Let them feel the energy that runs down my fingers
And into heart center,
Unlocking doors to new choices.
Someday I will go home
Never retracing my steps but finding new footprints
That fit my feet so well.
“Life is what we make of it, it is the journey someday made, someday journeyed, someday voiced and smiled upon.” Serious is as serious does, candy for the mind. So how about ice cream for the heart.
Smiley faces to make us laugh, especially in the face of fears. We cannot resurrect the dead but we can surely put to rest the emotions that cause us harm.
My favorite days are those spent with the people I love, reaching out to find what is behind the bushes, playing hide and seek with my destiny.
This is my concept of living large. Heart to heart that is large; laughing heartily that is large, especially at our misgivings that are large. Loving unconditionally that is also very large, and with the gift of large we can offer so much compassion to those less fortunate than us. Although you will find those same people will tell you they have more, it is they who see the light of day and truly understand where grace and power come from.
Words express something more than we will ever know, a gift for all those that read or can hear what is said. Let’s, feed the folly and then let it sleep forever.
A daisy in her hand
She walks through fields of dreams,
Lavender sachets bound in golden rod
Ivy creepers making a green railing
With stone steps to follow her all the way.
One petal for laughter
One petal for pain,
Running down a hill of soft clover
She landed head over heels
In silken blankets of lily of the valley
Their bells chimed joy into the surrounding woods.
Where participants played along in the shadows.
She wanted no glory
No distant future of responsibility.
She chose to dance with the fairies,
Butterflies held color in their aura’s
Embracing her as she twirled in her own music.
Hands held in heavenly gesture
She welcomed the angels who watched her nearby
Asked them to join in the fun.
Gifts given by entities to people
Most common the gift of love
Gifts received by many who offered
Their own spirit
As one little girl sat in a grove of daises
And wished for nothing more than herself.
Did you know, Dragonflies are the coolest creatures on the face of this earth, and that I am so mesmerized by their unique beauty and their subtle nature. On a hot summer day by the lake I long to connect with them, listen to the buzz of their wings as they fly by in their own determination to get somewhere. What is their mission in life, why are they here? These are questions that wizards also ask. They quest the knowledge a dragonfly can give. They are the mentors of the butterfly, teacher in worlds we have not shared in yet. See what I mean what glory to be a dragonfly, a creature of wonderment. I cry when I see one die or one already dead.
It seems so useless to leave them there on the road or by the pathway to the beach. They are the monarchs of the land and should be treated as such. Butterflies are the handmaidens; each one has a special duty to the dragonfly. I bet you did not know this. Butterflies to dance for them, to bathe them in the beautiful energy they carry, bring them flowers to eat and water droplets to drink. Their world is also very challenging. They have to make sure the regular flies keep up their duties of cleaning, while the bees collect the honey for sweet smells and tastes. They may be smaller than their ancestors but they are still mighty in the community of flying creatures. I would like to tell you a story about the dragonfly, a beautiful fairytale; at least that is what I am told. I will tell you more because this is a true tale, one that the Wizard told me a longtime ago, as we sat by the beach lit by the night sky with fire and he told me everything he knew about the dragonfly and its beginning. So are you ready to believe, open your heart to the magic that exists there, free yourself from what you think may be and find out what you do not really know? Let us begin…. “What Ye know is nothing, nor reason nor want to know. Ye are already a believer.”
I am a dragonfly princess. I make my home inside a cave of rock and stone. No one knows I am here because I hide from everyday life. Why is that you ask? Well because I am magic. I bring magic to the land and sea, and where ever I go I am another. You see no one knows the dragonfly, for she is the freedom that speaks to the wind, she is also the light that helps the moon shine at night. She is gypsy and she is queen to all the butterfly nations.
I bet you did not know this. I am not imprisoned but choose to stay and live in this place. I can leave when I choose and will one day fly and never return but this day is written in the books of old and I am to find the wizard who knows the words written and how to read them. Do you know this wizard? Would you like to see my room of colors? It is the place I go to find the words to ask about, to find out about, the wizard. Maybe you can help me. You will like this room; it holds diamonds as bright as day and green emeralds that the human kings long to find for their queens. Ruby red for the magic sticks of all magicians and of course the blue tones of the jewel of my own making. I have a special spider weave the blues from my own velvet body and burn them with the other minerals of my ancestors and you will see its rare beauty. It gives me a vision of what the wizard looks like. Maybe you know him.
I think he is for the woman wizard voice calls out to me and I talk to her. I have a friend who chaperons me wherever I go and we will go out today to find this wizard. He is known as the Wizard of Not, because unless you know him, he too is not what he seems to be. Funny how that goes, it seems that there are a lot of people out in this land I live in that are not what they seem to be, that is a funny conclusion I have come to. I see farmers who are really healers in hiding, I know maidens who help balance the world by cleaning house all day long and there is one special person that I know that also hides within his own personality, he is my friend. Most will see him as a crow that sits upon the shoulder of an old woman, we beg on street corners and behind shops, but as I have said we are in disguise. I think I can hear you asking me to tell you more about us, but I will let my story unfold and you will begin to draw yourself a picture of who we are and what we do.
I will make you use your intuition and your own guidance to help me solve the riddles that I am to solve and in the end complete the book I carry with me always. Help me find the Wizard of Not; as of course we do not know where he is or what he wears in his own cloak of darkness. I use the word darkness not because he is dark or uses evil potions but to give you an adjective of sorts. He hides so no one will find him and the best place to hide is opposite of who you are. Agree? I will take you back a few years when I first began to understand what it is I am and of course what I am to do now. Before the day of announcement I thought I was a typical fly, one larger than most, but just another type of nature’s creature, an insect that flies around all day, by the fields and the ocean keeping life under control. This was and still is my job, for I am still in hiding so I must remain cloaked as another and continue to do as I do. Dragonflies are unique, there are not as many of us as you like to think there are. We are magnificent to observe, for the act we are different but we do have a job to do.
I think I said that and I do hate repeating myself so let me get on with my story, because as soon as I get the background out of the way we can begin our adventure, for we, my friend and I, will surely need your help. Now where were we, oh yes I am telling you about me and how I began to realize something is not as it seems with me, and how everything began to change one day. As a little girl I played like any of you would play. I played carefree and unconcerned about who I am or what my parents knew would happen to me. I did not care that I could do magical things, they just happened and I laughed when they did. I am sure you do the same no matter how old you are; remember when you saw a color come out of nowhere?
That’s what I mean. Anyways, childhood was a normal experience; at least I thought it was. I met my friend, a black feathered crow named Darkness, about that time. I think I was about seven. Darkness came to me one day as I sat under my favorite tree, trying to nap under the willow tree in the back of the meadow.
It was my place, my very own haven from my parents and my teacher, who by the way may be the one I am searching for, that I will tell you why later Darkness and I would sit under that willow tree and believe we were other places and other animals. We would play games of chance, where I would pretend I was blind and he would help me see without my eyes. I sometimes would hide under the earth and lie as still as I could, awaiting people to walk over me so I could learn to sense them. Sensing is what my teacher called it, using your intuition, a feeling in your stomach or the place between your eyes, to understand another.
Energy finding is what I called it, my teacher would say let’s look into the soul to find the light of spirit, and they we would sit very still and close our eyes until I learned to see through the darkness and like a light torch find what I guess I am suppose to see. This took me many years and now Darkness and I do this to keep busy from being bored. It makes us laugh a lot and then when we are through we get hungry and run back to the house my father built for cake and drink. This is fun to remember because I try not to remember much, to stay focused I am to link myself only to the now. I am to find my wizard and then I will find my purpose here. So here I sit in my chair of dreams, with Darkness at my side. We will journey tomorrow outside, where I believe all is to be revealed as I walk away from the comfort of my home to the world of many wonders, in search for my destiny and the Wizard of Not. To be continued.
Crystal Angel
Crystal Angel
Prisms of light held captive,
Dangles by a thread.
Nailed to a wooden peg,
She has soldiers at her side.
Captured by the beauty of color
She twirls in all directions
Spun from a golden gaze
Released from your eyes
As they are caught in rapture.
Butterfly monarch
Wears a brocaded velvet jacket
And floats motionless on vapors of air.
Watching in wonderment
An act so innocent.
Gods breathe filters love
To those who pass by.
Standing in awe,
Their own reflection multiplied
A thousand times.
One second the heart stops the journey
The soul takes a second look.
The spirit nods in approval of thoughts
Made in heaven on a cloudless day.
In the moonlight the crystal angel
Can be seen by those envisioned
Winking at the star filled night.
Patience
Patience is a virtue
One I cannot find
Until I realized I have none
To offer myself lately.
My mind wanders in incomplete circles
Searching for a familiar piece of ideology
A thought or a feeling I can hold onto.
It’s not there and I find myself
No longer in control of reason
Or a reasonable effort to continue
Without aggravation or agitation,
Finding nothing full filling only annoying outbursts
Of a mind out of control for no reason at all.
Peace is a pie made in heaven
Realizations that time does not matter
Patience is not only a virtue
But is something I will try to find
And when I do, I will keep it in my pocket for later.
The Middle of the Road.
If I would stand in the middle of the road, what do you think would happen, I guess there are many scenario’s but eventually something would happen. I would advise no one to stand in the middle of anything and feel safe, eventually something will come along and move you, like it or not. The intention has always been to walk across to the other side, and not remain in the middle of anything, yet this is where we are at most of the time. In the beginning there are questions asked, realizations, and inspiration that help begin the journey, the process of” moving along.” The road can be seen in the distance and through experience and circumstance it is approached with due care and attention. Sometimes steps are missed, movement is overly controlled, reason gets in the way and even though we feel the timing is right, we visualize the destination and begin to reconsider the movement.