In the thickest silence


I sat amongst the trees that fell
soft and moving back into the earth
trod upon by faceless feet
the smell of damp and decay
filled my senses.
The light was dimming yet I was not done,
not with this moment
and not with the thoughts that I came to leave behind.
I stood, feeling each ache move through
and I smiled because I could
feel each ache and call it by name
from when the moment happened that
it became a part of me,
a tiny part of the whole that forms
this solid body,
and I blessed each area
beneath that setting sun and turned
slowly in a circle with arms high
praising the space I had found,
the moment when I could let go
and just be one
with the thickness of the silence.
A cracking sound above somewhere,
in the distance a falling branch
unseen
yet heard by ears that knew
this is how it would go
as the tree below under my weight
sunk further into its being
and became one with the dirt
where it had called itself home,
again to return
into the earth.
I leaned down and gathered the dying branch in my hand
as it crumbled into brown red pulp
moist and watched as the tiny bugs moved,
felt the coolness and lifted the mound
inhaling the life
teeming within.
This was the peace I had to find,
the growth and death of
each temporary thing surrounding me,
the part of me that I have become one with,
the element of this moment
here and now.

I had no photo, being techno free in the forest so leave you with my door greeting teacher of peace. Namaste my friends.

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The sweetest life


This sweetest life we live
heart shaped world of happy days
the scent of childhood drifting through
the cracks and crevices
of our yesterday driven minds,
peanut butter cookie moments
sweet and smooth
befitting nothing more
than a cold glass of milk.
Thoughts drift back to days gone by
the dairy down the street
the scent of cows in meadows
muching grass to make the white goodness,
and the glass bottles with cardboard caps
sitting in metal cages on the porch
delivered before dawn,
to see how this life is changed
no longer the joy of a door stop delivery
but stores filled with choices
overwhelming to behold
when we just long for the simplicity
of days like we had found
back then.
Aprons and potholders made by tiny hands,
mismatched and ill fitting
but loved none the less
and the plate left cooling
in an autumn window
where the breeze pushed the flavors in
filling the house
with the sense of happiness.
Those days long gone
no children have I to teach,
to bake the sweets that I recall
except for the occasion that arises
when the need to deliver to another
a simple gift to welcome
a thank you or hello,
nice to see you and a thrown together sweet
for you to enjoy
and that maybe you too will remember
those days of your life
when life was simple
and lunch bags carried
a cookie or two,
made with love
by mothers hand.

Sitting at lunch reminiscing of when I was young and how the aroma of home made cookies would drift through the house and how now every variety can be bought off a shelf, but it’s the love built within that really matters, by hand and not machine, time spent to say hey, I care and here, have a cookie or two….or three….with love,
from me.

yummy photo found at: http://www.createdby-diane.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/01/Homemade-NutterButter-Cookies.jpg
and the recipe too. 🙂

Like falling waters


Places of the heart
between the trees of memories
stands the home of falling waters
rushing back to carry me
through endless dreams of beauty
and visions of peace swirling through.
I know of you here
in this place where ghosts know secrets
the heart has shared
in sleep and waking I walk
amongst the ashes of yesterday
searching for answers
to questions buried in shallow ground,
amongst the rocks underneath my feet,
carelessly flipped up
to expose the earth below.
I place them one by one,
to build my path across the stream
and balance perfected
I venture slowly across
with tomorrow in my sights
leaving the echo of loneliness behind,
I come to receive a drink
silky transluscent blues
of clear joy and light
that falls from heights above,
rippling down the face of stone
to carry me away
back home.

A house I’ve always connected with since when I was younger studying the beautiful forms of architecture, this place calls to me like no other before and no other after.

Cutting words


Emotions move from light to dark
Words you say cut sharp like a knife
And I feel the weight
The venomous hate
And I think to myself
Walk on and away,
To step outside
The merry-go-round of life
A battle of ego
I cannot, will not relate
As this is beyond the fare of peace
And I cannot dwell
In the drama found there.
He came for me
In the depths of dreams
And I walked beside him
In a euphoric state
But the others came
With their hate filled lies
And I felt sad to be there
In this world where forgiveness is forgotten
And the pain is held too tightly
Like grasping the poisonous viper
I let it go
I set it free
And thus have found the well within me
Full to overflowing
The bounty of goodness
Washing over the evil
That I never understood.

Thoughts on why drama thrives on and the people who have forgotten that by forgiving others, they will save themselves and free themselves to find the peace they crave. Just meandering thoughts….thanks for listening my friends.

The needed gift


I was angry.
I was so angry I could spit nails and I wasn’t happy about that fact.
I am peaceful
I am Zen
And here I was like a dark storm that later came into being
But now, at this moment I was just plain old pissed off.
The dogs had run off while my back was turned and I thought they were being supervised by the other half, but they weren’t.
And I could feel my mellow mood escalate
I could feel the pressure rise
And the clouds grey dark above me and within me
And I walked.
I walked through the forest calling
Listening
And I was not in control
And I was angry
Because I wasn’t in control
And the winds picked up
And tree branches snapped and I knew the storm was coming
And I so badly wanted to lash out,
To kick a tree
To yell at the world
To spill my venom on the universe
And I couldn’t find them
And I was afraid
Of the what ifs and such
And I knew the moment of the highest point of mood
And found myself at the lowest
And I stopped.
I closed my eyes and. Just. stopped.
Find the middle, yes, find it.
I looked at my feet and there was a dainty feather
A bit mussed but I stroked it gently and a smile came from within.
More I said, I want more to the air that had become still
And I took a few more steps and here was a larger black almost perfect feather.
I bent down and looked at it, at its beauty and laughing out loud proclaimed,
Surely you can top this. I want one more.
Ten feet later a turkey feather lay below a tree.
Perfect clean, and gorgeous. I gently picked it up and held all three knowing I was ready.
I turned and headed for home, feeling that peace wash over me as the pressure subsided and the sky waited for me to stop and pick some plump blackberries, tasting their not quite ready sourness but enjoying the gifts regardless.
I had lost the anger.
I had found the middle.
The dogs sat on the porch out of breath and waiting, excited to see me.
I don’t know where they went.
I don’t know where my mind went for that short dark time
But we were home again. In the middle where we belonged.
As the door closed behind us, the crack of lightning filled the air and the rain fell like a thunderous waterfall. Winds forcing the water in and I turned the knob to the windows and I left them slightly ajar, not yet ready to lose the freshness, like my thoughts, letting the clean air in while pushing out the dark dank bitterness that slowly seeped away like the rain that ran like a river, down the hill and away.

Solitary souls (universe moments)


He sits in walls held by memories
Surrounded by the trees that talk of yesterday
He holds her blue heart gently in his hand.

Tales filled with pride and the native man
He understands and speaks silence
As it is his way.

She swings below the summer moon
Black and white world
Broken by the cardinal totem
That flits in her path
Bring color to her days,
As she holds his black stone close to her soul.

He holds his sacred ceremony
Returning to the past to find
All he left behind
His feathered guides bringing him safely
Home again.

She gathers the feathers in wooden drawers
Speaking to the stars of loss and love
And spinning round she wishes for more.

Timeless spaces
Two worlds spinning
Converging
Alike yet so far away
Orbiting closer
To tomorrow when paths shall meet
Collision of the universe
That keeps moving around
To bring forth all that needs to be.

Photo found on Flickr

The winter of an old man


Then:
I remember the man in black
breath seemingly frozen
falling out in steam as you
came in the last time.
Rifle hung on shoulder
old and grey though still youthful,
and the words now lost
and really, it doesn’t matter anymore
because I watched as you turned
walking away
head bowed
defeated perhaps
but I was too young to know
what really goes on in the workings
of things between adults.
You had gone, not returning again.

Now:
I hold your Bible in my hands
older now in years than when you left
and I feel nothing as I page through,
gazing at images that you as a child
may have held in awe,
with your name in the cover
gifted to you from someone I do not know
and I have no use
for your pieces of history,
for your books holding your name
and I will throw it in the box
with the other useless things
left behind when you walked away
that still linger in the empty pool
of my thoughts of you.

Tomorrow:
New moon brings letting go of much
and I release you to the winds
that carried you away
and I set my mind on other things,
the things that remain,
the things that matter
and you are gone
and you are the leaf that fell
silently and unnoticed
in shades of brown and red
as blood that sits in air
too shall fade with time
as you have
in my mind.

This photo reminds me of my father who left when I was five. While cleaning out my books, I came across two of his bibles, one a childs edition. I was told by a customer at the garage sale that I should hang onto them. I found it a funny thing for someone to say who does not know me and I told her that they mean nothing to me. They still sit out in the barn waiting for disposition. I know the idea that blood is thicker than water but I do not always believe that. Choices made cannot be made undone 43 years later no matter if you want them to (which I don’t). I feel nothing really and the right was given up so long ago to lay claim to any piece of my heart. But coming across this photo, with the new moon at hand and the move to better places, thought it appropriate to let it go.