this is my opinion…

Church is poetry. Poetry is life. A life well lived.

I read this article…

Is this our world?

Here is my heart reaction, in words.

This is equally tragic as 9/11. The voices of those dead in Chicago cry out for us to take action. How do we react? We dissect each tragedy and look for blame. Is there blame? On who or what? Scholars divide the problem into money, race and gender. But i say the problem is time, compassion and heart. We are too busy to listen to the kids in first grade who open up and tell about their life.

Once trust is earned, the problems surface. These children are calling out for help. 

The little child tells me he will never make his momma sad and be like his older brother. He wants to read and learn. But then he enters sixth grade and they bully him into submission. Take his backpack and books and call him shame. “Shame on you for listening to whitey! They hate you. Dont you remember?” Those words echo in his head and dig into his heart. I scream in a whisper. “I care. I am white. So what? Can you not see my heart. It beats for every death you celebrate. Every life you snuff out.”

To the kids i knew at School on Wheels. I hope someday we hug in heaven. ❤️❤️❤️ Or even better we run into each other some where in this world!

Drum Circle

A new experience presented itself within a community to celebrate positive energy. This was most of the group’s first time being together. The hour started with rhythmic drum beats mimicking the heart’s life force.

There were 15 of us, each with a drum and another percussion instrument. This video is the third of four sets, each naturally lasting between 12-13 minutes. The group leaders did little to manipulate each interval of creative expression. They flowed as swiftly and gently, or vigorously and bountifully, as the Nashua River, deep in the Valley of Oxbow.

As the hour progressed, a golden hue encompassed us. We said farewell to the sun. Then to each other. Look forward to another drum circle September 12.

drifting dragonfly
heartfully-winged escapade
soaring fantasies

Mantled Baskettail

It is as if…

Where to start? It is as if my life is being lived in one day… with no way to slow down. Juggling between need-to-do and want-to-do and compromising. All this beauty is descending upon my head in rocket speed… the town i have moved to is bursting at the seems with poetry and dance.

Harvard MA was home to the Alcott’s and other Transcendentalists who started a Utopian Society at Fruitlands. I am in love with the philosophy.

All matters of life are to be sipped here.

I am gulping… famished from years of neglect. I am bathing in this community and coming alive.

To be continued…

Even the air… intoxicating!

Personal musings unleashed…

Generations. To profess belief in simple faith and be left to wander the perilous gate… held ajar, wide open. The future bleak… shall the narrow door shut in time… before utter and complete destruction.

Ideally, we all could get along. Some stronger. Others weaker.

The problem is truth cannot be relative. Either murder is wrong or acceptable. If it is wrong, as widely perceived, it is grace which is required among the equation. This, for the person harmed and the harmer, to love and begin again. To pave a way forward with peace and hope and faith. Love is turmoil when we fail to comprehend personal actions that harm others. Love without grace is the worst transgression of all.

camera

share your smile
let your voice carry
in silence, your whisper
burns in to my heart
i bury my life with you
saw the sun shine through
the winds… feel them blow
around us and we twirl

twirl until our wings no longer fly…

certainly no poem is ever finished… at least not until i am no longer able to change, erase, recite, replace

this view from my eyes…

personal musings unleashed.

thoughts from mid June 2018

As of late i have been thinking. Endlessly the wheel rotates and nothing new is generated. My therapist called it rumination. And typically rumination has led to increased anxiety.

My anxiety is spiked. Last weekend i ran to the White Mountains. Last night i ran to Prospect Hill, to watch the sunset over Mount Wachusett.

The end was fiery.

Soon those sunsets will be a permanent reality. Life is changing. Again. Hopefully for happier memories.

A new home is on the horizon. My phoenix. My vision ripening.

This home sits across the street from a working farm. Soon my mornings will be greeted by crowing and clucking and baaaaahing. Words i can understand. Their bleetings a welcome greeting.

And i will be taking music lessons. The past homeowners are leaving behind a piano. My mother always talked of how she wanted to learn to play. She was comforted by her regrets. I learned wishes are useless unless you move to make them real.

(All the photos were taken by my daughter while i drove obeying all rules. Unlike this poor fellow or gal.)

Update: i am moved in. On Monday, July 2, 2018, boxes of stuff were dropped off. Time to unpack. So far, my mood is stable. I am ridiculously happy…

July 2nd’s sunset. Mild. Predictable. Like clockwork… i am.

Songs on repeat…

Discovered The Avett Brothers with this song…

and now love sparkles through out
side streets not so lonely

which led to this song…

is your day starting
on a different note
with whiskey and rye
abandoned love
swirling ice

will senseless violence ensue?

a good day to listen to music
The Avett Brothers
instrumental to making this day grand! 🎶 🎵💜🕊