Confession

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

11/2/2019 All rights reserved.

I haven’t given up gathering resolutions. I have relinquished a resounding voice; moving on to disturb the mystery, in hopes the Spirit rises to meet us half way. 

Silence is a remedy. A modern day deserted course that digs deep to uproot bitter taste and indulge in honeyed foreplay. Patience chooses to swim in the sweet aroma of (inner) peace, contentment and fortitude than muck around the endless anger of politics.

Rumi says my thoughts eloquently.

If you could get rid of yourself just once, the secret of secrets would open to you. The face of the unknown, hidden beyond the universe would appear on the mirror of your perception.

Make peace with the universe. Take joy in it. It will turn to gold. Resurrection will be now. Every moment, a new beauty.

This post probably belongs on my new blog Soul Signs. But in my inner mixings and until the picture becomes clearer, there will most likely be double postings or a runaway thought posted here on occasion.

I am not new to spiritual things. As a child I was highly in tune with the unknown and invisible world. I am a spirit being, as we all are or can become. I am slowly working my way back into hearing the quiet cricket hour. Knowing I am practicing these universal truths, to not rush to and fro like a disobedient wind is a step. To be a calming breeze on a stormy day, a leap of faith.

Tell Those Mountain Voices

11/2/2019 All rights reserved.

Problems that remain persistently insoluble should always be suspected as questions asked in the wrong way. –Alan Watts

Witness faith
tumble those bitter blues
cherry-glossed lips
bubble up forgiveness
to the ghost
of you.

Sheltered to never
tell about the demons
who walk surely,
roam the core,
hidden for half a century
likely living ever more.

Until this abrupt stop
where the old breaks through
to bathe in hues
of plunged bedrock
and will remain
until you disappear.

Chasing Dreams

I belong
where earth invites growth.
Where shadow spreads
the coiled soul.
I belong
under a musing sky.
Under shed skin
of nimble cloud.

Yesterday I took a wonderful class walking a Chartres Labyrinth. It gave revelation besides the release of ill thoughts. Walking on clouds, back to my car, I reached down to pick up a set of leaves.

Which led to a new quilt being built. Last evening, I created a leaf template and cut out nine sets of Buckeye palmate, compound leaves.

Today I am in the process of appliqué, onto nine squares of gray.

What inspires you? What do you do with your musings?

Happy creating… Jeanne 🌊🐚🕊

Edge of Tomorrow

Almost is evermore
with loss at the door
knocking, I answer
“Who steps on my floor?”

Sheepishly, cloyingly
she plays with my heart,
dances and dazzles
one with the court.

Almost, a spectacle
rivets my eyes
on the ceiling she tempts me
her wisdom to tantalize.

Swaying and swooning
I taste being wooed
realize her folly fades
where tomorrow stands proud.

Reverie

She was helpless
to accept explanations.
To muck through algorithms
algebra explanations
on how dreams exist.

Her life was never meant to be
a static endeavor
to tweak her limbs
accordingly
was other’s wanting tragedy.

Instead of anger
she felt sorry for their indifference
and remembers them calling her
a peacemaker
in this storm.