Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry

Static

Static
Church is poetry,
poetry is life,
a life well lived.

I once blogged about such thoughts as the meaning of life. So much stirs inside me these days, i cant possibly record words. Static electricity has buzzed my heart.

When words do find their way onto paper, i do not generally share. I am unsure of myself. Various reasons explain my absence. My emerging from life’s cave erratic.

I am most grateful to be here. Regardless of what i may accomplish. Peace. Jeanne
Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry, Soul Journal

Making Meaning

Pebbles

Honoring creation, realizing there are no mistakes. We are born whole, flung into the air, and immediately plopped into crisp blankets. Fresh fabric woven to caress our skin. The fortunate ones know love from the beginning.

The wailing ensues. Lost in the noise of moving parts. Who can understand the tragedy of dying?

I gather stones like bread crumbs. Each shape resembles a thought. Each thought encompasses a season. Each season of drought, famine, abundance, joy, grief, weighs heavy on the mind. Until. Until i lay my heart on the rock bed and weight the tears. I either sink or rise. And the vapor of breath becomes a fog. The inner vines of making meaning tangle up the process, and threaten my life.

One day at a time. Release the illness. Gather the rocks. Warm yourself with their captured sun. Notice the colors swirling within. Grays, blacks, oranges, blues, greens. Reds and whites too.

Posted in Musings, Poetry

Temporal

I love the idea of making meaning. Procuring symbols to represent my time here on earth. So I arrange favorite pieces in an alter space.

Music and rhythm touch an inner sanctum only I am privy too. No one, not even a trusted friend, can enter now. The notes descend the mountain and no echo returns.

Scents were like rain, or birds. They left and came back.

Erica Bauermeister, The Scent Keeper

Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry, Soul Journal

Do not despair

Sunny days are here again
darkness pervades air 
sheltering prayer covers face
one more night to bare

The greatest hazard of all, losing one’s self, can occur very quietly in the world, as if it were nothing at all. No other loss can occur so quietly; any other loss – an arm, a leg, five dollars, a wife, etc. – is sure to be noticed. —Søren Kierkegaard

Have you noticed yourself slipping into the quiet of thought? What can you do to keep yourself afloat? Who answers your call when you shout?

Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry

Not quite May

Waiting on Shore.
The tide 
heading towards the unknown
carries me out to sea.

Once monthly i feel an urge to connect with others. And explore the foolish thoughts dancing in my head. Picking up rocks is a favorite past time and i miss this place dearly. I miss you too.

Its not quite May. So technically i am rushing this posting. But conventional wisdom alludes me. Ive been jumping off the railroad tracks the past six months. And diving into drained ponds. With summer months approaching, im praying for rain to refill these dry bones.

What have you been doing with time?

Posted in Art, Memoir, Musings, Photography, Poetry, prose, Soul Journal

Unintended Consequences

I write to write. I paint to see.

How else do i explain my temporary insanity? Other than my thoughts overflow into print. And then i run with them, as a flirt to power.

Decipher 2022

I study human behavior as a hobby. I honestly believe we all strive for attention. What is my excuse? We would all be far better off climbing back into our suitcases and traveling on to a promised land.

Am I beginning to make sense? Finally? I took an Advil Pm 30 minutes ago. And instead of falling asleep, my mind started racing towards the finish line. “Don’t die yet? The best is yet to come!” Oh, how i dearly want to believe.

So i write. A love letter. A flirtatious epic to myself. With all the obvious jargon of the day. And i secretly stash it into a back pocket, hoping someone would come along and steal all the selfish bull crap ive stored. The letter now written, better explained as love hoarded for myself.

Which brings me to my favorite life artist, Van Gogh. He was not part of polite society. Yet he loved the world more than those who bothered to say “Pardon me.” to fellow men waiting in line for their stab at being known. Ironic that the most evasive was the winner.

Aesop understood human behavior far better than i ever will. And i beg to differ with him as well. I dont really want to know much. Just warming myself by the fire and reading the smoke signals left to inform me, i am still alive.

If you make sense of this, you are far smarter than me. Please explain to me how you know!

Into the Abyss
Acrylic on board. Circa 2020 or 2021?
Posted in Musings, Poetry

Twelve Years and Counting

Twelve Years…….and counting?

Hard to believe 12 years has come and gone.

Im not much with words lately. So this post remains brief. Praying for peace to prevail in the world. My faith has staggered for so long. My feet wobbly, my heart faint. I hope you are well. As well as you possibly can be in the midst of what our eyes see. And our ears hear the words so freely flow…. What do any of those words even mean anymore?

Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry
Coffee and thoughts shroud me.
The leaves
all fallen to the ground
except one.

golden leaf dangles
the dulled scissors make a way
potent thoughts preserved


The wonderment of stored thoughts
written on that lone leaf left;
collected nutrients to carry my body
through the winter months.

This picture was taken over a month ago, from my writing room, as electric company trucks rolled down our street, trimming lofty branches. This process of trimming secures our light for when snowfall or winds threaten to leave us in the dark.

I was working indoors, on my vision board, cutting out images. This process of scissoring magazines is a muse to a dormant mind. Freedom stands out as the most impactful map Ive drawn. To follow the freedom trail, entails not second-guessing any element of this vision. But rather flowing with the river’s current.

At the same time as my vision board, I put together a gratitude collage, on the other side. It feels wonderful to know where Ive been. It helps me realize that despite bad feelings, there exists hope.

And since I am superstitious, I won’t be posting any pictures of the boards. Lest my prayers fall short of the outcome.

Posted in Art, Musings, Poetry

My blog got me through

Watercoloring. 2021

Connecting with others here on WordPress saved me from utter destruction. And for that i am grateful. And in the process, i have returned to my first love. Creating is my lifeline and my grace to get me through to the other side.

Working Out my Angst. 2021

Growing up i was denied every aspect of self for the greater good. And as much as i love my family, to neglect myself was detrimental in the long run. I lost my brother to suicide. And i still have trouble understanding that relationship. We were very close growing up. Until we drifted apart. Friends until high school, when his sudden budding interest in girls, sparked a fissure.

I will never fully understand suicide. The thoughts of doing away with self, once gripped me too. For thirty some years i thought it through. Jumping from second-story windows, holding my breath under pillows, imaging myself driving the car off a bridge, and holding a knife to my neck while talking to my therapist. I had my ideas. Pills and razors, ropes hanging from rafters. They all presented peace of mind.

I have wandered through the ensuing fog. I have spent countless nights in tears. I sacrificed myself for the greater good all while dying a slow death.

I started practicing art in recent years. Whether photography, watercolor, acrylics, textiles, or garden seeds, i have found my inner sense of life. In my poetic words i have tried to let you see a bit more of what stirs inside. And even though i am unable to practice my first love, dance, i found a place to move internally.

So take your bow. 
See me stand before light.
You saved a life.
In disguise. 2021

Please do not use any of my photos without my permission. Thank you.

To John. 3/1/2008.
Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry

Finding Lost Thoughts

Go. Get some color on paper. What color am I feeling? It feels like no color could capture the past hours. The colors all appear so dull, uninviting, wordless. With no message whatsoever to speak with. No map to direct feet. No clouds or forests to hide fears.

What color appreciates mystery? 
Do you know?

The ribbon of blue
strikes the sky
boundless energy disperses
the crowd hangs low
and into eternity i ride.