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This time you will mentally shape the thoughts for this poem.  You will remember the child you were at heart and the times when the world became a fairyland.  We all have these memories and we take them out when the world becomes brittle and sharp.  With these memories,  few that they are,  it becomes malleable again and softer.  Wear with splendor these memories.  They warm you when nothing else can. 

You Washed The World . . .

You washed the world
with my love
and took it and made
a valentine of my heart.

You washed the world
with a blanket of snow
and lace formed on my eyebrows
and made my lashes
heavy with snow.

You threw me down
and I made an angel
with wings outstretched
and I stood in my finery

and it never faded nor melted.

Shared Silence

In rereading a journal entry of many years ago I wrote with little editing, ‘that my husband of more than a half century went out the door this morning with little communication.  Though there was little talk, there was a communion of shared history in the house.

I think that has replaced talking, being more a feeling than anything.  Not preferable, but the status.

The feeling is that we are what we are and there is no changing at this time.   It was a matter of love me as I am for I can be no other.

It is not that communication would not be welcome.  But even that I really don’t know.  Growth is singular and individual, depending on the soul’s need and intent.

There comes a time that is past communication.  There is a time for silence.  Silence , I would suppose is a time for Being.’

(I add this thought today,  ‘a time for Being, not like in closing shop, but Out Of Time, meaning outside of Time.  Elsewhere.  A soon time.)

Shared Silence

It is a time
past the time of talk,
past the time of argues.

There is a time of silence,
a shared silence,
a time to accept,
a time to simply
slip into old slippers and Be.

No matter the world,
this time is ours.
Maybe not to fill
all the empty spaces
but given time, blends them

into a communion of shared silences.

artwork unknown

Sometimes I look upon past work and see a new perspective, a new meaning.  And sometimes I cannot remember the person I was who wrote the poem or prose.  It is someone who has made up a portion of who I am and I bring her to the work I read today.  And I am all who I am, what I was and who I am becoming.  That someone I become will surprise me I am sure.

There will be more differences noted not only the physical ones all see.  The subtle changes may seem minute but large to me.  Glimpses are given embracing memories long faded but now gaining form.  Life lived with dedication to commitments leaves few regrets.  And what were considered obstacles now become mountains that have been climbed successfully. 

We are in the midst of a vast universe.  Vast.  And we are more than what we appear.  Our connection to All That Is is real and wondrous.  I bend at the knees easily.  In Thanksgiving.

Because It Is. . .

You cannot dream things that never were
for in a sometime and a somewhere
they’ve taken place and left their indelible memory
on your mind.

Only to be remembered when a slim shadow
casts its spell across your life
and causes you to bring forth a relic,
a piece of the dream that had its substance
in a far time when love was pocketed
near your heart and brought forth to heal
a wound, to make life complete.

Never to question why or why not.
Simply because it is.

Not Fun and Games. . .but in communion . .

My eldest in a conversation at one time spoke of the torture of those given knowledge in the inner journey.  He said there was no one with whom to share what has been given so they drag in nobility aspects of it.  He was a young man then and he was right.

The need for physical arms around one is not lessened in the light of cosmic awareness.  If anything it points up painfully how few there are who share or can share in this journey.  It points up even how very few there are who know of what we speak.

The desire to clasp hands across the table with a like mind is so intense that the desire is quickly dismissed with uttered arguments.  Yet they are just moments.

One learns to walk in communion with invisible friends and these times do make the empty house full.  I walked through those rooms with warm woods and the empty house was full.  The voices of long ago loves occasionally break through and ears ache from pressures of invisible friends.  There is a convocation of saints and the company of good minds still present.

I can throw back my head and laugh at a thought co-mingling with mind and know the presence of a kindred spirit.  You have too and to the questioning glances of those standing by explain. . . ‘a thought just struck me funny’ . . .and wish they were such good friends with themselves to be able to laugh out loud.

I can weep with unstoppable tears at ancient anguish hidden within centuries of genetic history.  I am given love and have the capacity to love the Spirit within me and to love the Spirit and struggle of the Other.  I am pieced and peace-d.

And in the company of those who love, I rest.  It is a way station.  The journey is unending.

The Welcome. . .

Come, we walk.  Take my hand.
Lean on me for a time to gain
a respite for a work unending.

I stand by you, ready
to catch you if you fall.
My arms are steady and ready.

I will not stumble, so do not be afraid.
It has been a hard journey
and you tire.

I’ve stood the watch and marveled
at your tenacity, your perseverance.
Though you faltered, you stood upright

without hesitation.  Now breathe easy
for a job well done.  No one
could have done it better.

Welcome to the winner’s circle.
It was worth the run. . . .don’t you think?

The miracle of life is that though we all hold different perspectives on everything,  each of us, beast or human,  we seem to hold an anchoring desire which is survival.  And that desire somehow is enough to keep us afloat for however long. 

When we fail, we all fail and go down the tube together.  And pick ourselves up and begin again.

The differing perspective is matched every once in awhile by another in part or whole and when it happens is met with a startled ‘we know each other don’t we’?  thought. 

The heavens do not look kindly on such alliances because little work would get done when relief comes with much fun.   Which is why isolation is often the state of the differing souls and loneliness the condition. 

Once recognized as a chosen state,  life becomes a dedicated ceremony.  And the celebration often at the end becomes the enlightenment knowing the party just begins. 

Forever is Happening Now. . . 

Was it a thousand years ago
or just yesterday when you stood
at my front door as a guest for dinner?

My eyes caught your
brown wing tipped shoes that
I recognized from another time.

I followed the path to your face
and there was an electric moment of recognition.
I wanted to say I know you, don’t I?

Followed of course would be to say
good to see you again, yet knowing
we were new to each other.

It was another time in a place
of no name now but it was a time
locked in forever.  I knew then as I do now

that time is a happening for this place
with the Earth names we’ve memorized for ourselves.
But it is a happening still

as all things are all the time.  We do not escape
who we are.  A quantum leap into the present
is our stance for this moment

but forever it is all happening now.