At first, I hear nothing. Silence, I think. Like taking a breath after the tornado passes.... then life seeps into my realm with the gentle whispered "tick tock" from the kitchen clock, introducing more gentle noises of morning. The sweet bell dingles from the bird's cage as he playfully maneuvers for some attention. A steady little slurp keeping time to the clock while the dog cleans himself at my feet. A dull "white noise" of Chris' computer, blending the easy sounds together while I sip my creamy cup of java, hopeful of a great day ahead.
This time is mine. It fills me with joy, like the sugared cream I pour into my coffee. Hopeful of sunshine, whether it be rainy or not, my heart rests...knowing my boys are off safely into their days (well, as far as I can tell...there is always that "momma's worry" tugging in my heart)...yes, this time is mine.
Before I pick up loose ends and the scurry and bustle of the morning, I just sit with my coffee and "be." Just be. This is my time, where I can put my thoughts out onto the table and sort through them quietly, at my leisure.
There are always the thoughts of my children...falling or fallen away from me like leaves from a tree. My thoughts of Caleb are all I can strengthen him with by now... the blood running through his veins is his own now, whatever strength and wisdom and love I gave through it, are independent of my umbilical cord. My thoughts are all I can give him. I always hope he got enough of me before he drifted from my branches.
And, Seth, my dark little elf, still filtering strength while his heart gathers to leap... my thoughts are of more concrete things. Making parachutes for him with notes to teachers and grocery lists for his still-growing body.
Then, there comes, inevitably, the comforting ever-present strength I draw from my husband...thoughts of him are just like mist, wrapping about me in a constant cover. There is mostly gratefulness and peace in my thoughts of Chris. The "Chris" card on the table of thoughts is more a melting and powdery thing that enables me to carry on without fear or panic.
This is my time to spend with my thoughts. I spread out the cards on the table... my friends who need "prayer" for themselves or their children or their lives. I cannot separate my thoughts from prayers, and wonder if they are the same things? I acknowledge each of them separately, until it gets too much...too many... and I worry that someone or something will get missed.
That is when I know "my" time is ending... when I worry that something will be overlooked...when the world starts pulling me back to unmade beds, unsaid prayers, and ringing phones. I sigh. Shake the mist a bit... I so relate to Luna Lovegood from the Harry Potter characters. I do what she would do... gently try to dissolve and blend two worlds together, until life becomes real, in a magical way. Time to go make some beds.
****
In the real world, we are bound by time
We are bound by solid gravity...
In the real world, the laws of nature rule.
But in my mind...mist swirls, ideas grow
Without form, without reason
In my mind, there is nothing concrete.
Prayers are floaty things, heaven bound
Thoughts clinging to each prayer stickily
not trying to ground them, but to fly with them...
Friday, March 26, 2010
Thursday, March 18, 2010
After St Paddy's Spell....
The unicorn flew, a sprite in the night;
trumpet proclaiming, spirit in flight...
With wings made of rainbows and horn made of gold
bearing might on his back to the gates of Mehlode.
Mehlode opens wide, its arches of love,
the beauteous beast wafts through from above.
His mouth made of foam from distance trevailed
muscles a-tremble, all worn with assail.
Pouring forth a dispatch of danger and war,
stout-hearted he pawed, resting no more.
His rainbow-wings twitched, eyes full with dread
the thought of a foe filling Mehlode with dead.
Bursting forth from the ground with vigor anew
all plans have been made, Mehlode will pursue!
The unicorn held a gnome-king astride,
with a star-riding army flying beside.
With love for their land possessing their hearts,
fury and strength grow on their march.
Glowing with pride, stars harness the sky,
"Forward to battle!" the troopers all cry.
The unicorn surges ahead of his league,
a flash of his rainbows, with gnome in between.
His sinews are churning and nostrils are fire;
onward he burns, battle inspired.
Streams of light in his wake, the star-riders flow
drawing nigh to the evil, nigh to their foe.
Weapons are flourished, trumpets have sung
Battalions thrust forward, stars ever lunge.
The voice of the thunder as universe cracks
is lost in the battle, bound by attack.
Mehlode flies its banner o'er blood thirsted ground
the battle is brief, the death cry is sound.
The army all gather to count all their heads...
the strong who survived, the brave who are dead.
The unicorn sinks, slowly to earth,
the rainbows are hid by the sheath through his girth.
The gnome-king descends, all covered with blood.
"Mehlode is now safe, let us clean off our mud.
Some wounds may not heal, some lives may soon fade,
but Mehlode has the children...the future is made."
He knelt by his friend, the unicorn brave
and cried gentle tears for the life he now gave.
He knew in his heart, the little king gnome
that rainbows when weary won't make it alone.
The unicorn smiled and whispered so clear,
"Mehlode is my home and no price is too dear."
The horn once so gold has faded quite pale,
and the wings of the world will never more sail.
His eyes were now shut and he said to the gnome,
"This is not the end, there is more than one home."
His spirit ascended, translucent with light
the horn ever gold, his rainbows in flight.....
*******
St Patrick's Day was yesterday, and it means so much more to me than drinking green beer and wearing green shirts. I tend to go deeper into my head and my soul ...back into what "Ireland" means to me in my imagination. I have a most romantic vision of the Emerald Isle, and I think of it as in memory of a long-lost previous life. Silly, I know, but to me it is ancient and something medieval deep inside...where thatch covered cottages and vine-covered castles are kept cozy with fireplaces and families. Where sheep wander the roads, and bicycles bling their little bells to get by... mud and rain, and smiles and fields...drinks in the pubs where the hobbits dance on tables and sing.
I grew up in my own little world...to this day I live inside stories and words that nobody else can hear. I read Tolkien over and over again, thirsting and hungering for more, feeling myself falling deep under his spells... Enchantments that keep me secluded ...and deluded, I know. It is a fine delusion. I can have a really cool accent when I talk to myself in "me" head. I am always longing for the curly long red hair that graces the young women in my imagination. Somehow everything is nicer and happier and truly magical in that place. Can you blame me for digging down to stay?
My poem of the day is a reflection of my frame of mind this morning... I feel bursting full of olde stories, full of grand magic and mist... trying to bring it with me to my solid and everyday world. Maybe I can find my own source of magic to share?
trumpet proclaiming, spirit in flight...
With wings made of rainbows and horn made of gold
bearing might on his back to the gates of Mehlode.
Mehlode opens wide, its arches of love,
the beauteous beast wafts through from above.
His mouth made of foam from distance trevailed
muscles a-tremble, all worn with assail.
Pouring forth a dispatch of danger and war,
stout-hearted he pawed, resting no more.
His rainbow-wings twitched, eyes full with dread
the thought of a foe filling Mehlode with dead.
Bursting forth from the ground with vigor anew
all plans have been made, Mehlode will pursue!
The unicorn held a gnome-king astride,
with a star-riding army flying beside.
With love for their land possessing their hearts,
fury and strength grow on their march.
Glowing with pride, stars harness the sky,
"Forward to battle!" the troopers all cry.
The unicorn surges ahead of his league,
a flash of his rainbows, with gnome in between.
His sinews are churning and nostrils are fire;
onward he burns, battle inspired.
Streams of light in his wake, the star-riders flow
drawing nigh to the evil, nigh to their foe.
Weapons are flourished, trumpets have sung
Battalions thrust forward, stars ever lunge.
The voice of the thunder as universe cracks
is lost in the battle, bound by attack.
Mehlode flies its banner o'er blood thirsted ground
the battle is brief, the death cry is sound.
The army all gather to count all their heads...
the strong who survived, the brave who are dead.
The unicorn sinks, slowly to earth,
the rainbows are hid by the sheath through his girth.
The gnome-king descends, all covered with blood.
"Mehlode is now safe, let us clean off our mud.
Some wounds may not heal, some lives may soon fade,
but Mehlode has the children...the future is made."
He knelt by his friend, the unicorn brave
and cried gentle tears for the life he now gave.
He knew in his heart, the little king gnome
that rainbows when weary won't make it alone.
The unicorn smiled and whispered so clear,
"Mehlode is my home and no price is too dear."
The horn once so gold has faded quite pale,
and the wings of the world will never more sail.
His eyes were now shut and he said to the gnome,
"This is not the end, there is more than one home."
His spirit ascended, translucent with light
the horn ever gold, his rainbows in flight.....
*******
St Patrick's Day was yesterday, and it means so much more to me than drinking green beer and wearing green shirts. I tend to go deeper into my head and my soul ...back into what "Ireland" means to me in my imagination. I have a most romantic vision of the Emerald Isle, and I think of it as in memory of a long-lost previous life. Silly, I know, but to me it is ancient and something medieval deep inside...where thatch covered cottages and vine-covered castles are kept cozy with fireplaces and families. Where sheep wander the roads, and bicycles bling their little bells to get by... mud and rain, and smiles and fields...drinks in the pubs where the hobbits dance on tables and sing.
I grew up in my own little world...to this day I live inside stories and words that nobody else can hear. I read Tolkien over and over again, thirsting and hungering for more, feeling myself falling deep under his spells... Enchantments that keep me secluded ...and deluded, I know. It is a fine delusion. I can have a really cool accent when I talk to myself in "me" head. I am always longing for the curly long red hair that graces the young women in my imagination. Somehow everything is nicer and happier and truly magical in that place. Can you blame me for digging down to stay?
My poem of the day is a reflection of my frame of mind this morning... I feel bursting full of olde stories, full of grand magic and mist... trying to bring it with me to my solid and everyday world. Maybe I can find my own source of magic to share?
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
...The Lost Way to my Destination...
"Let's just turn here...and see where it goes." Inevitable words spoken by me or my sweet husband, as we journey in unknown territory. It hasn't always been this way, and well into our developing relationship, I believed something horrible would happen to us if we ever got "lost." Following maps, following rules, following directions seemed to be part of my nature that took me safely on routes well-traveled. Completely at the mercy of technicalities, I always completed projects on time, and intricately by-the-book. Fearing ultimate disorder and chaos if I did not adhere to "the right way."
I have always been most comfortable with limits, in a lazy sort of way. It is safe, and one can always find the way back to repair or rebuild or rework a certain junction in our life by following "the map." But it is really, somehow, more difficult to read the map backwards, and often not worth the trouble.
My husband, Chris, has been so good for me, and I owe him so much. I owe him my joy. Right from day one, I noticed he didn't really use a map, or even follow directions. If I would say, "you can't do that..." or "you can't go that way..." he would look so surprised, and I almost felt ashamed to have spoken. He always would say, "why not?" and proceed to forge ahead as if to verily prove me wrong. And prove me wrong he did...over and over again. Not in a mean way, either, but in a gentle, hand-holding, guiding way that led me beyond my borders into a new direction, while showing me that we could still reach our destination.
We laugh now, and always go the "lost way" in our journeys. I have found so many beautiful, funny, interesting things along those ways that I would not have known existed if I hadn't learned to "just go." And we always find our treasure at the end of our journey... especially if we reach our destination...and we always do... with added joy and fun.
************
I owe you joy
************
I have always been most comfortable with limits, in a lazy sort of way. It is safe, and one can always find the way back to repair or rebuild or rework a certain junction in our life by following "the map." But it is really, somehow, more difficult to read the map backwards, and often not worth the trouble.
My husband, Chris, has been so good for me, and I owe him so much. I owe him my joy. Right from day one, I noticed he didn't really use a map, or even follow directions. If I would say, "you can't do that..." or "you can't go that way..." he would look so surprised, and I almost felt ashamed to have spoken. He always would say, "why not?" and proceed to forge ahead as if to verily prove me wrong. And prove me wrong he did...over and over again. Not in a mean way, either, but in a gentle, hand-holding, guiding way that led me beyond my borders into a new direction, while showing me that we could still reach our destination.
We laugh now, and always go the "lost way" in our journeys. I have found so many beautiful, funny, interesting things along those ways that I would not have known existed if I hadn't learned to "just go." And we always find our treasure at the end of our journey... especially if we reach our destination...and we always do... with added joy and fun.
************
I owe you joy
************
Monday, March 8, 2010
On Bended Knee...
It appears that spring has arrived in Apex. I shook off that cloak of winter, when I saw the sun, because I could not wait to feel the warmth that comes from its face and not from my furnace! It could not come soon enough for my little family.... healing from a long year of transition and adjustments. To my surprise, closing on our house last week was like an elephant off my back, and shedding winter was the next step that just seemed to happen... I felt a lightness in my feet again, and had to skip around on the soft spring grass a bit before I could settle into the day!
I grabbed my garden tools, and using the rake that was made most faithful with a nail holding its metal fingers in place, I dug in. Wow...I LOVE uncovering my sweet, full, tender bulb shoots that have been buried under dead pine needles and leaves all winter. It was like uncovering sunshine itself! Feeling the warm sunshine on my back, and a little start of that raking blister that wakes up on my thumb...(and reminds me to find my gloves...)...it is what I imagine heaven to be like. A little pain, a little sweat, to keep me remembering that I am alive and glad to be human. The world seems a nicer place after time in the garden.
For me, like a good hard run, gardening is my prayer-ful place. My spiritual place where I commune with my God. I find myself thinking of my friends and my family, and just falling in love with them all over again. I love my friends, and I love my family...and I love tending to them like my garden. It doesn't matter what politics, or religions are, or are not,...I love them. Tending them becomes my prayer, too. Prayers are people too... LOL...
************
A prayer is an intimate thing
Quiet or noisy, with tears or with song,
tucked away in the "closet"
Or wide open, flat on the ground...
A prayer can be soulful and longing,
filled with moaning and groans,
A parent in mourning
Grieving deep in their bones....
A prayer can be a run in the sunshine
Giving all glory to God,
Feet pounding the pavement
or digging deep into sod...
A prayer can be sung to the skies
and cried out to the clouds
And it is good to be whispered
or even sung to a crowd...
My prayer is my gardening
and digging down in God's earth
Setting free tender shoots
and planting seeds' hopeful worth...
I don't always pray
with man's interpreted words,
But in actions and deeds
are how they are heard...
However we pray,
to whomever we speak
I wish you enough
whatever you seek.....
I grabbed my garden tools, and using the rake that was made most faithful with a nail holding its metal fingers in place, I dug in. Wow...I LOVE uncovering my sweet, full, tender bulb shoots that have been buried under dead pine needles and leaves all winter. It was like uncovering sunshine itself! Feeling the warm sunshine on my back, and a little start of that raking blister that wakes up on my thumb...(and reminds me to find my gloves...)...it is what I imagine heaven to be like. A little pain, a little sweat, to keep me remembering that I am alive and glad to be human. The world seems a nicer place after time in the garden.
For me, like a good hard run, gardening is my prayer-ful place. My spiritual place where I commune with my God. I find myself thinking of my friends and my family, and just falling in love with them all over again. I love my friends, and I love my family...and I love tending to them like my garden. It doesn't matter what politics, or religions are, or are not,...I love them. Tending them becomes my prayer, too. Prayers are people too... LOL...
************
A prayer is an intimate thing
Quiet or noisy, with tears or with song,
tucked away in the "closet"
Or wide open, flat on the ground...
A prayer can be soulful and longing,
filled with moaning and groans,
A parent in mourning
Grieving deep in their bones....
A prayer can be a run in the sunshine
Giving all glory to God,
Feet pounding the pavement
or digging deep into sod...
A prayer can be sung to the skies
and cried out to the clouds
And it is good to be whispered
or even sung to a crowd...
My prayer is my gardening
and digging down in God's earth
Setting free tender shoots
and planting seeds' hopeful worth...
I don't always pray
with man's interpreted words,
But in actions and deeds
are how they are heard...
However we pray,
to whomever we speak
I wish you enough
whatever you seek.....
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Don't rock the boat, baby!
All I want, nowadays, is "enough." I used to want "more" and tried going with "less" and in the wisdom of this age, I am happy to be content. We closed on the house in Wisconsin on Monday. I never thought I would recuperate from letting it go, but after just a itty bitty shower of tears...I am actually reveling in delight. I feel as if I lost about ten pounds and ten years (I didn't, of course, but I felt so light)...
We are gaining so much more than we "lost" and I have to admit, my delight surprises me. It does not ache at all like I thought it would. The prospects are delicious, and now I can do more than dream about the things on my "after-the-house-sells list."
You know what it feels like? I think I must feel exactly like a serious artist, who spent years creating a masterpiece, who actually fell in love with their own work and lost sight of the whole world outside of his painting...and then, the artist sells the artwork, which has become part of his soul, ...knowing he created the art to sell to the world but not counting on how hard it would be to part with it. Now there is a new canvas in front of him... and the possibilities are endless. I don't want to create another work of art like that one...I am in search of something new .... How exciting is that?!!! It is freeing.
And I am in a new town named "Apex" which is known as "The Peak of Good Living"....wow... how appropriate. How did I not see that before?
So.. I need to sit and just look at the page awhile, because I am overwhelmed with a confusing fireworks of inspiration....I will have to try a poem in a little while.....
We are gaining so much more than we "lost" and I have to admit, my delight surprises me. It does not ache at all like I thought it would. The prospects are delicious, and now I can do more than dream about the things on my "after-the-house-sells list."
You know what it feels like? I think I must feel exactly like a serious artist, who spent years creating a masterpiece, who actually fell in love with their own work and lost sight of the whole world outside of his painting...and then, the artist sells the artwork, which has become part of his soul, ...knowing he created the art to sell to the world but not counting on how hard it would be to part with it. Now there is a new canvas in front of him... and the possibilities are endless. I don't want to create another work of art like that one...I am in search of something new .... How exciting is that?!!! It is freeing.
And I am in a new town named "Apex" which is known as "The Peak of Good Living"....wow... how appropriate. How did I not see that before?
So.. I need to sit and just look at the page awhile, because I am overwhelmed with a confusing fireworks of inspiration....I will have to try a poem in a little while.....
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