Strandings…

img_5348.jpgThere is no imagination even

to find the journey

with lovers, dance and sacrament.

Evening shadows of vessels block the shore, the portals.

No tides, no swell. No circles of sun and moon.

Just flatland -well calculated, illustrated, dramatized and over spoken.

The daily grind , the inland

of forgotten life and being.

 

 

Image with gratitude via “Capturing The Imagination” WordPress.com

 

Catching Light

rhyncholaeliocattleya.jpg

She knew beauty from inside out

flaming life with gentle sparks

When death like cancer found her heart

beauty breathless cried for help.

She died too early for spring’s warmth 

beneath the surface broken, hurt

with hopeful lilies by her side

and dreams of color catching light.

 

-For Janice.

Looking Out

img_1174-2.jpgLooking out with weathered views I find there is much seen from places away from where I stand

The other window,  past the trees where the wind blows from the north is something else

     if I close my eyes and listen closely – I shiver and know.

I am blind though to the color of the eastern view from my western space

Looking out with simple delight– only with framed views I fear.

Photography via Julieallyn wordpress.com

On a limb

autumoct-25-2016.jpgI really depend on problems.  They engage my intellect. Energy flows best in me while in the “problem solving” mode.

But it’s killing me.

I spend hours intellectually solving the emotional crisis created in make-believe power struggles to right a wrong. I tune in preferentially to the oppression of wrong thinking, ready to push back.  My eyes notice first the thing “wrong” with the picture.

I was educated to do this. My skills honed to fix the broken.

I have the mind of science, dissection as discovery.

Did I mention it’s killing me?

I use the quest for perfection as motivation to create. I think and talk and type until my voice is heard.

I yell louder –  and over power.

I think deeper – and over intellectualize.

I focus harder-  and over work.

It is killing me.

Can I just hang there?  Can I hold a view on the edge that accepts the death of needing to solve the moment?  Can I then live within the fall of mind to heart?

Can I live in the pain of brokenness, of autumn’s peace and beauty and know season’s change is not my call to arms?

Can I just die a bit in the strain of change without the torture of failure?

 

Image courtesy of Brenda-meditative journey with saldage.