My life is carved
not into stone
but flesh of my flesh.
Have you ever solidified and made your intentions known? Writing them down helps. Going a step further and creating a vision board births their reality.
My greatest trouble in life is to stay focused. This is most evident in my writing practice and quilt-making. Heck, even my new found love of painting and felting, and my renewed spiritual life, take a beating from my scattered heart.
I love everything and nothing is outside my attention. Yet, if I am to be successful in my desires, I must align my head and heart. My greatest weakness can be turned into my greatest strength!!
How do you stay focused?
Some say it best not to say everything that passes through your mind. And while I agree, I object! Take for instance the risk of keeping the peace versus being known. Walking on eggshells is painful and inhibits personal growth. I need to roam and if my choices disturb you, well guess what I will say!
Sorry. Yeah! My go to phrase when I am feeling bad. So I drink up! Coffee has been known to be both good and bad for your health. Go figure. It certainly has gotten me in trouble before. I wake up to see nothing in the world has changed since the beginning. When will we learn?
So I get on my soapbox and preach. I can be preachy!
That is me in my preachy mood. Pulling up my big girl pants and telling the world how to live. What do I know? Lots. Like I know that love makes joy makes peace. And couldn’t we all use a bit of grace in our lives? Lord knows I forgiven much. So go be happy! I will too.
you and I
(From about a year ago. Oh, how time can change our attitude.)
When boredom sets in
I grind the wheel,
sharpen the blade.
A slice into misery
cleanses the soul of food gone bad.
Cold showers only waken the dead.
Random good thoughts spill
like what is the bird thinking
perched outside my window?
I find myself wishing to set sail
and dream of doing,
while I remove my wings so frail.
It is a slow morning
that i watch the old dog pant
as the embroiled sun bakes the ground.
Did I sell my soul too
afraid to drink the water
and recoil at the company in town?
If I could tell you of red
I would sing to you of crimson fire
burning through brush
as my heart pounds joy into flesh.
I learned to love to paint. My hands trembled the first time I picked up the brush. The lack of color left my thoughts white and afraid to be coated. Today, as always, I question what my paint palette should be. I wonder what color fancies my heart?
I once dreamed of names for my children in high school, thinking of a man I would marry. So why can I not decide today, what color suits my mind? Does not Calvin weave water into ice cubes and Raina forever lick salt from frothy cheeks? Then my heart should beat blue and spill red.
“Color directly influences the soul. Color is the keyboard, the eyes are the hammers, the soul is the piano with many strings. The artist is the hand that plays, touching one key or another purposely, to cause vibrations in the soul.”
As I watch a day progress to the blackness of mourning,
I sit trembling
horsehair brush in hand
tickling my heart with story
and dreaming of my friend.
Come! witness my dance,
Van Gogh swirls attracting light,
ruminate on everything and nothing.
Rush to the calm! Savor community.
Our wholeness, friends,
gives us flight.
If I stop for a moment all bad will cease. Perhaps I should never move again. Those were my thoughts after John passed. Nothing in this world can replace what he meant to me. But I move on. Reluctantly I accept reality. Yet, I do not believe in endings. Much more will arrive tomorrow. The promise to never cease breathing, as I once chose to die. Every rise of my chest is the testament of mountains. And every slumber the peace of contentment.
Ever feel so heart broken you wish you could fly away and never look back?