Church is poetry.
Poetry is life.
A life well lived.
at the end
of every truth
a handful of stars shine -die.
The same person -born
new thoughts and old
intermingle within our DNA.
There is always something worth fighting for. Some times those things are greater than ourselves. Other times, it is ourselves we fight for. When we are able to simultaneously fight for all these things, we triumph.
Personally. Collectively. Battles.
Currently I am reading a very short book Sacred Geometry and set out to notice shapes and patterns in my photographs. Actively identify the photo’s composition, that was not purposely planned out, retracing my whimsical approach to life, intentionally finding what was pleasing to the eye.
This flower sums up life. Do you recognize the flower able to bloom wherever it finds footing? Often called grounding, it is connecting with ourselves, whereby one is able to calm the soul. Learning to thrive in a foreign land set against you, name the battles.
Notice the petals, some tattered, are not symmetrical. The space is full and empty. The rocks worn smooth from salty waters, leave stained memories. Immersed into the green, jagged leaves, symmetry unfolds. Layered upon each other, they peek from behind, nourishing each other with their varied position in time.
Odd. Count the petals. Twenty-three. One petal missing, to make it an even 24, or is this space purposely left open, as a fill-in-the-blank? This question remains unanswered, teaching us to be grounded while going along, while the tears flow.