Maybe im wrong. Maybe my belief you could surface, that you could soar above the fray…
Perhaps a jaded person is only in need of time? To resurface, resurrect, reconvene, replenish…
What did your water dream infuse you with? Healing. Quiet. Fear. Dismay.
Good morning. Yes, it is morning where I am. Most likely afternoon and heading towards evening near you. May the days and nights for you be blessed and encouraging going forward this new week. And evermore.
At the moment, my creative life is a bit dulled. Im listening to books on tape to fill my mind with imaginative feasting. I chanced upon Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn’s The Gulag Archipelago 1918-1956 while reading a June 2018 article written in First Things.
Two hours into the book and several poems popped out at me. I love to listen 🎧 and take notes 📝. It helps greatly with my concentration and my comprehension. The takeaway from the first two chapters? Nefarious ideas in the wrong hands are dangerous. Every heart bleeds dark.
How to tell the truth.
the pottery, thrown from the cupboard
lay in pieces, a heap
to bury laughter of the past
they hurry you
to frighten you
their names
slip into insanity
forever vanished from blue sky
broken branches of a dying tree
shaking
dumping
the crunch of littered leaves under foot
notice the still orange flower
silent repression
without the freedom to rise
caught in light rays
turning future seeds into prisons
the passing of past into future
without a map
now becomes silent paths in the gardener’s hands
“If only it were all so simple! If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?” Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn
The heart is the door to your soul.
What doors do you require to walk through, to understand yourself? Your neighbor’s door? Your back door? A stranger’s door?
Jesus said, ‘I am the door’ (John 10:7) in order to make it clear that no one can come to the Father except through Him.
The church
of and for
and is
the people.
I am ill.
My heart is broken
in need of deep repair
and I wept at the sign
hung around my neck
that read “tired soul”.
Worcester MA has many beautiful church buildings. These church doors were closed so no inside photos. So why do churches lock their doors? Why do we feel it is okay to criticize these doors being locked versus locking our home’s doors? And to be fair, they posted a sign to try the doors on a side street. So when did I stop knocking?
Wesley United Methodist Church
Thanks to Norm 2.0 Thursday Doors for hosting all the doors weekly.
a path of voices
retrieve the warm clues scattered
your time approaches
I have never stayed with one theme on my blog for very long. This is my third consecutive week to post a “Week in Review: B&W”. Progress? Calm in my chaos? If nothing else, a personal record! 🙂
A week in review. A visit to Tower Hills Botanical Garden in West Boylston MA is always a treat. Especially when a greenhouse orchid show helps me resist a chilly Sunday afternoon.
The stack of books pictured are half of what I will be reading during Expressive Arts training. Natalie Rogers, daughter of Carl Rogers, is a big proponent of various art modalities as healer. I plan to spend my remaining time helping others find their voice in paint, dance, words and song.
It feels good to have a purpose. I find we all need to heal generational trauma. Whether abused or the abusers, we must stand still and look towards the sun. A new day dawns. Hope rises.
And ten years blogging? Wow! And it has been 12 years since my brother left earth. This blogging journey will go on until I too am released from gravity. 🕊
Looking ahead. I feel myself changing. It has certainly been a while since I have revamped my image. “Borderline Crossing” will reemerge as something new in the future. Even I will be surprised as to what becomes of this journey.
Send your favorites. Here is one of mine…🔗❤️🥰
Do you wanna be an angel
Do you wanna be a star
Do you wanna play some magic on my guitar
Do you wanna be a poet
Do you wanna be my string
You could be anything
Do you wanna be the lover of another
Undercover you could even be the man on the moon
Do you wanna be the player
Do you wanna be the string
Let me tell you something
It just don’t mean a thing
You see it really doesn’t matter
When you’re buried in disguise
By the dark glass on your eyes
Though your flesh has crystallised
Still… you turn me on
Still… you turn me on
Mmmm… you turn me on
Do you wanna be the pillow where I lay my head
Do you wanna be the feathers lying in my bed
Do you wanna be the cover of a magazine
Create a scene
Every day a little sadder
A little madder
Someone get me a ladder
Do you wanna be the singer
Do you wanna be the song
Let me tell you something
You just couldn’t be more wrong
You see I really have to tell you
That it all gets so intense
From my experience
It just doesn’t seem to make sense
Still… you turn me on
Mmmm… you turn me on, yeah
Mmmm… you turn me on.
(A picture of me as Pippi Longstocking exists. Somewhere. or Perhaps it is lost forever, thus really nonexistent. The memory carries on.)
Im a little bit everything
and all over the place,
mail in my purse
that hasn’t been sent
a list of to-do’s
certainly not to be spent
a knot in my hair from ’72
when mother gave up on my hairdo!
So incredibly complicated
with every new day
I am grateful I have nothing much more to say.
So, look at my face
realize this once
I have feelings, gosh darn it
so play with me nice!
I am asking 2020 be my year
to learn and love
dance and play as my heart needs
the score complete
as Mr Gull flies by
and in his pursuit
he finds I suit his curiosity.
So, off I go, to dream,
to see,
what my imagination, Mr Gull and I can scheme!
Goodbye 2019!
Love freely
someone today
sit awhile
starry eyes
dreamy skies
Hands held
boundless waters
ripple hearts
whisper secrets
spread blanket
Love freely
you and I
bound together
dance atop
never stop
Ever so alone in the world
you wail
years into days,
days on end a blur.
Time to dig the earth
find the roots of torment
as people weave within,
rattle my soul.
How does one understand truth? Truth was set in stone long ago. The greatest of commands, to love. Peace of mind blooms with watered intentions of serving others. Do not murder. Do not plant false lies. Do not appear as love with malice for others in your heart. Find your sixth sense and do not be fooled easily.
Often when we are hurt, our initial reaction is retaliation. The anger burns hot inside. Emotional self-discipline circumvents such reactions. I consider myself in-training. To find strength a cure.
Being honest but peaceful and forgiving paves a long road home with hope. Sometimes walking away, when possible, is best. Remembering to breathe.
Courage to exit and enter the world.
Disclaimer: This post is from three weeks ago. Whether i agree or disagree with these thoughts today or tomorrow… well, they happened. And i write them down, for good or bad. My words and I, we belong to each other, united in this marriage for the long haul. Good luck to me… right?
I know i am nothing to you. I am nothing and nobody… simply a body with breath that speaks timidly.
And i wonder, in my mind, why. Why i dont turn… run.
Run from this insanity. You could never know how pained it is to write, when writing pains me so. My mom insisted “Be a writer.” I can’t write. I object. Writing is a prison and my heart desires freedom. To dance.
I am a dancer. As i swim deeper, the ink sashays across the paper. A pirouette for me!
A vision of a knife carving in ice, the motions of my mind, drawn. Images to blind.
I Bleed. I retreat. I refuse.
I kick and scream… demand the cage door open.
Is death the only way out?
Death to potent dreams has already strangled this blood from flowing to the ocean floor… where darkness, lit by sun, is a home for all i cant speak. Or write. Or be.
So why tell you? I know i cant and so it soothes. Id run if you obliged.
And this, all a dream. A dream that stares from every corner. Mocks me religiously. And maybe
i shouldnt spill so freely…
splatter the whiteness of your eyes.
