Awash in beauty

Life moves forward, twisted bumps and turns exhaust

the feelings of uncertainty- here we gather in single formation,

buds on the line weathering storms created,

as indecision inspires the muse of words, spinning out of control she bleeds on parchment and weeps for the skies.

In the middle of nowhere the song rises, reaching ears in prisons without walls, flying high to gather safe,

One bird, two bird, ten come forth to mock as life unfolds,

Minutes, seconds, ticking by in their haphazard way-and I watch before drifting into afternoon slumber, the flowers unfurl from rest,

Uninhibited by the goings-on of us mere mortals who cower, afraid for the invisible madness that may or may not strike, perhaps it is we that now gaze in jealousy of a young cardinal on the line who sings a song,

Flying high and away, things we can only dream of in this hour.

I am watching the unfolding of creation and have found a sacred peace as witness to that which I had forgotten.

I spy greatness in the Orchids, and thus, I am alive to the forgotten calling of allowing.

Steady solitude

Arms move back and forth
slow and steady
tai chi rhythm sweeping
the underside of blue.
Skies sit quietly on sidelines
restless mind clears with each movement,
thoughts of diffusing bombs set aside,
the awareness while dreaming
noticing the hues behind closed eyes.
We create our own words
religions set aside to embrace
the loveliness of the whole,
beneath the edge where we no longer see
we lift the corners to sweep away
the sadness found that drains energy.
Words and images of our creation
built like castles raised and torn down
we are the destiny we make
with hands that ache
and each stone touched to know
the silence of the wonder
as we heal while rubbing the wound erased
with kinder words and knowing
in our solitude we are not alone
and the atoms of our creation stand
emitting the frequency
of the likeness of souls.

Beautiful image by: Indian Ocean, Zanzibar by Ramin Hossaini on Flickr.

Thoughts I had today while vacuuming the pool of a few leaves under a beautiful blue sky. Dreams last night that I was diffusing bombs, slow and steady work and then becoming aware that I was dreaming, seeing colors behind my eyes, shades that changed from purple and then to green and feeling myself smile as I gazed into the gentle colors. I love when I have vivid dreams and actually remember them upon waking.

Swaying mantle of silence

We move in and out,

mere breath like wind through open windows

sill waiting to catch a bit of the morning light

while birds of a thousand feathers scatter

as the cat treads stealthily through the grass.

There is always that sense nearby,

the underlying lurking of things unsaid

and moods cast aside with unintentional force,

we become specters of self as feet move

tired in the damp and musty air.

Where has the cool wind gone that I recall,

night of dreams of eagerness through fear

as the words are lost in the shuffle of paper

and we suddenly see we are drowning in our quest,

taking charge before a hundred waiting faces

we close our eyes and slip away to the shadows

wondering where the ideas had come from and gone.

The lighthouse waits to show the way,

penned by a soul I know not well

and I will know her words for I am drawn

into the waves of passing days

and a continent away foreign and unknown,

I will come to know across this space and time

through yellowed pages of a dime-store book

left behind gently used

eager I will learn

what it is, this ghost of form

that called me to hear the wind of yesterday.

Strange dreams came calling last night and today by chance happened into a thrift store and bought a dirt cheap copy of Virginia Woolf’s “To the lighthouse” to read at my leisure. I have not every read any Woolf so looking forward to what I may find within the pages.