Bone chilled cold
feeling the force of the day mid winter
I apologize to those tall and green
standing alone with promises of spring
I don’t know their grain within
holding promises that warm
resisting the frozen cover of ice and snow.
They call it a march for a reason. A military maneuver really.
I am not inclined to walk in such a way.
But I would like to stand gracefully aware in defiance of a body politic.
In truth, I prefer to dance.
Moving in rhythm with cycles, life cycles–Unashamed and unharmed.
I prefer to dance.
Leaping with full turns, legs stronger than his arms.
I prefer to dance.
Stepping high above the platforms built by sad battles.
I prefer to dance and be captured in full swing by the pulse of divine love.
I always remember my dreams. They reset and reframe the truth lying just underneath my daily life and struggles.
In anticipation of 2017, my sleep brought the terror of a whirlwind. Being swept away by the forces of nature, I woke distressed to say the least. This unsettled mood lasted through the last day of 2016.
I woke this am, however, on a journey abroad in the company of family and strangers . I was advising others on how to pack but also reorganizing my own bag.
Perhaps I am ready to move on.
Lock the door on your way out.
of my little girl that smiled believed I could silence the hate in the world as we watched another sinking sunset or moon and would listen as another memory of beauty got clicked to remind where we had been to teach her a lesson life is short so never pretend inhale the beauty like I […]
via In memory — Jay
Looking 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
I 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.