Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry, prose

The road arrived.

Life is lived on levels and arrived at in stages. —Edwin Louis Cole

Good morning. As the turning of days and as the grass sprouted from winter slumber, I found myself at a point where I realize I can tarry no longer. I must be courageous and serious. I must be willing and full of hope. I must grasp every word that spills from my heart and wring them dry, until I no longer see the darkness inside. What then should I do when the light allows too much room for curiosity? The despair I roam within ebbs and throws me into oblivion. I must be willing to try and write what I set out to create. Even if I fail. I must no longer tarry as if my days are endless. Grey is as good of a place as any to either brighten the world with hope or darken it with tragedy. I hope my efforts will lift us to hear the galloping of freedom drawing ever near. That heaven’s promises of long ago will not cease to keep heads from drowning under the growing storm. I sense the road has arrived. I cannot deny my calling any longer. I cannot be a child of milk and cookies. I must be willing to learn and sift knowledge. To discern the day’s signs and the evenings quandaries. To be, is my last attempt at fulfilling my heart’s rhythm. The beating lasts but a few days more. I am ready to accept my fate. Let it be so.

If we fail
fail to see the wind
coming at the break neck speed
of a metal horse
on tracks,

If we fail
fail in our comfort
food, shelter and clothing
scraped together with goodwill
given as scraps to wild dogs,

If we fail
fail as foreign spies
on fellow citizens
drumming up grievances and rounding up heads
rolling in wooden bowls
we ravish our own hands.



We fail.
We won’t change history any more than armies before us.
We drip in mother’s blood
and scour our bodies of father’s filth.
We bury bones in rags
doused with our enemies vapors. And cheer.
Cheer our own demise as we beg for freedom from our own ills.
Posted in Poetry

Moth Wings

Dedicated to a faithful friend.
My eyes flicker in the light.
I venture closer
to find you quiver
pencil lines draw a smile
where my lips once drew life.

A beam shines behind you
me dressed in blue.
We watch our dance
in front of a door
hinged by crafted iron
while shoes fit for horses
don our feet.

We gallop off
to find refuge
in silk threads
and pray our faith shelters
a promise made
a few days before
the doctor diagnosed
our heartbreak.
Posted in Art, Poetry

Dreams and dreamers

What is it 
about time
that keeps you
from taking hold
the reigns of your mind?
The dark alleys
exposed in the changing
seasons forevermore
demanding you move along.
He stands

waiting.

She loves the flow
of his words worn
around her neck, bent
from past love obligations
and surprisingly -he

understands.
Posted in Musings, Photography

Diamonds (Originally posted Feb 18, 2018.)

Please read to the end, even if you are not in the mood to be cheery!!!! I truly care for you…

🌟 Possibilities exist in every shiny thought.

Never allow yourself to be squared in to a corner without a circle. Be adVenturous! Find a star and start running.

Even if it takes a lifetime to catch your star, realize you will have lived a full life chasing it.

Don’t pay attention to your neighbor’s faults. Work on your own. Once you realize no one is perfect, you will find inner peace exists.

Turn the other cheek. Forgive. Love. Move on. If your enemies follow you, hooray. And if they disappear, too bad they missed out living life along with you. Hopefully, and i sincerely mean this, i pray everyone can discover and name their own star to chase.

Just never stop chasing your star once you find and name it! 🌟 J

(I do not write this lightly. I have been depressed and suicidal. It has taken 50 years to reach my pinnacle. I have swam through snake infested waters, mosquito-riddled forests and felt unloved by the very people who should have helped me in life. I get the pessimist. I was one. Life seems to be turning for the good and i rejoice that i endured and can speak hope today. If you turn from this post because your hurting, reach out. There are people who care! I pray you find your star!)

Posted in Musings, Photography

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.

Posted in Photography, Poetry

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.

Posted in Art, Music Video, Musings, Poetry, Quilting, quotes, Soul Journal

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 🌊🐚🕊

Posted in Musings, Poetry

Barriers

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.

Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry, prose

Found in the Lost Pile of Civility

The year 2018 is locked away. The key, fiery hot, so as not to entice people to hold on. Look back.

I look forward to 2019. My prayer focuses on the war of words, which has reached a feverish pitch. I honestly hope people’s superiority complexes does not burn down houses; leave room to erect new powers and diminish freedoms.

I smell the fires burning and there is little relief. In our condemnation, humanity in one fell swoop, dresses outlandish lies with mixed-up truths.

Only the tree is honest.

Seems to me
as we slowly decline,
we beat around the bush,
contemplate how to survive.
Generations realize this drift,
on a sail-less boat,
the cloth wrapped around our bleeding hearts,
words confessed on bended knees,
misses the sliver in private eyes.

Same old, same old story.
The beginning is the end.
The terror in other’s minds now belongs to us.
Realize hungry is, as was,
and nothing eaten ever satisfies.

Measure our words against ourselves
need I stand upon a soapbox,
add my rhetorict to humanity’s misery?
As ash buries the smoldering coals
are we aware we are wandering,
found among the lost pile of civility?