the drought

You know when you want to cry, but you can't? It goes on for days and days, building up pressure, waiting to explode. But you won't because if you do, you might never stop. Sometimes I feel that if I succumb to my weak feelings I will somehow insult the universal abundance of gifts which I know I am fortunate to know. This is what keeps me from melting... until I pass a sweet little kitten in the road, laying on its back, struggling to move a forearm, in some delirious effort to escape the road... which is now to be its grave. For this I can cry.

Watching a little boy beg for a toy from his parents- just a cheap little truck.  The parents who are half-filling their carts with the biggest box of inexpensive laundry detergent they can manage, and some Kmart sales rack apparel. There is nothing I want more than to go pick out a REALLY nice truck and give it to him in the parking lot. But I don't... I just slink into my great car, close my eyes and fight back the tears. Half way to my big, beautiful house I realize that a few drops have quietly rolled down my face, reminding me that hurt was there.

How is it that I have learned to be thankful for the abundance of things such as the flight patterns of hummingbirds or the sparkling light filtered between leaves, or the the glowing halo of colorful light that hugs the hills' tops once the sun has set? How is it that I have learned to be thankful for what has come and what has left, yet feel so blue when I am alone in the magnificence of a luminous morning?

Someone told me today that when we embrace abundance we have nothing left to want. I'm afraid that if I hug it any tighter I'll squeeze the life right out of it. You know, when I finally get to take a walk in my hills I think we will be like lovers who have not touched, but for our yearnings, over time too long to measure. Why is it that I always crave the magick I cannot see? When is what I have going to be enough for me?

Is there something wrong with wanting? I'll bet that little kitten wanted to get up and run right out of that road, or away from the car which must have struck it. I'll bet the little boy dreams of trucks and cars and maybe someday he'll have a real one of his own. Me? Well sometimes I would just like to cry and feel sorry for myself, instead of transferring it to someone else. I don't know if this avoidance is an effort to work on my gratitude and positivity, or just an underlying desire to cling to my misery.

It's time to wake up.

I AM Laura

Thirty-two days into my hiatus of hoping...

Thirty-four days since my heart has hurt. As with anything that I choose to do (and I can do anything I choose), it's just a matter of wanting to. So I granted myself six months in which to finish healing my body and regaining my strength, unleashing the bold energy I've been harboring inside of my hurts and disappointments.

This serenity is like a blanket of fog- cool and refreshing, engulfing me in an anonymity that blocks all entities that might tether me. Free to be alone in my own wonder. Free from all expectations which are merely limitations of bliss.

Waking in the morning to see nothing beyond the faint silhouettes of my soaring pines, I no longer pine for that which would stifle me. Now I join the morning's magnificence as I breathe in all of this quenching water, the conductor of energy so electric... the connection between me and the bliss, the wonder and the source.

There is nothing left but to be grateful for the love I have been given. Not bitter for what I don't have, but blessing that which will always be with me. I send love and light to that which has made me more beautiful.

As the sun rises in the sky the light between the water's molecules brightens and my energy glistens as the glow intensifies in both my eye, my spirit and my body. But not even the sun can burn through this thickness so quickly. This is the moment where I wait for nothing and its wonder carries me to a world which I have not known- and I am finally home.

I am
the wonder in the light
I am
the song of tapping rain
I am
the joy within a giggle
I am
the ocean's crashing fury
and the moon's mighty sway

I am
the night's bright twinkling
I am
the morning's rising way
I am
the tears which quench the wanting
I am
the air we breathe
and the life in the seed

I am
a tree's bough reaching
I am
a bold heart beating
I am
the magick you are seeking
I am
the cry in the night and
the warmth of the light

I am

Seeing red

Long day
worked hard
did some good
loved some people
laughed
cleared some clutter
opened my heart again
listened to the quiet
adored the setting sun
felt the moon rise
the days filled with
the simple things
are the ones most
wondrous,
the ones that feel
so good
when I lay
my head down

It's no secret... it's life

Tired of this dull little lull that makes me want to go bye.  Got some red nails, all 20 of them and a new red dress that was oh so pretty. Maybe I'm done feeling this way. Maybe I'm not. I guess I'll see again tomorrow. Time to rest...

wake up you sleepy bear

wake up the morning’s here

the light shines through

that cracked old door

and sprays across the dusty floor

wake up Rumplestiltskin

wake up- the day is new

the coffee’s on

the eggs are done

the table waits for you

wake up, sleepy head

wake up before it's night

the sun is warm

outside we’ll run

wake up and feel the light

9.10.11, the winnable war

We speak many languages 
but we are all of this earth
We call our god by different names
yet we all seek goodness
We construct our own rules
for we all love our children
Sleeping in mansions or huddled against buildings
we all touch this earth
We drink from the same sky
and splash in the same oceans
for we all thirst
We must all survive madness
We must all feed our families
We all crave laughter and love 
We all crave kindness and understanding
No matter where we are
or what we call it
or for whom we love
Goodness weaves us ONE
blanket of love
ONE body of caring
ONE thought of hope
to win this war


If in this hour of remembrance if we focus on the injustice, the anger and the pain, not only are we antagonizing old wounds; we would also be murdering the victims again.  If instead, we let go of the ick and celebrate what we have learned, then we honor the lost with our gratitude.

So many people choose to blame and harbor hate against Muslims for what was done on 9/11. Islam is a religion which encourages morality, an adoration of nature and peaceful living. Sin is defined as forgetfulness- because we are all good, but sometimes forget to be.  Hating Muslims for the despicable terror of 9/11 is as silly as hating Catholicism for the degeneration of a few pedophiles, or for despising patriotism for the lunacy of Timothy McVeigh, or hating all Romans for the slaying of Christians. The aberrant ones are not representative of their associations. They are the forgetful who cannot see the good.

Many have gone before us and many more will follow.  The majority of people whether Christian, Muslim, Jewish, atheist or otherwise are good.  They all have their reasons for following a set belief path that encourages living a life of integrity.  We all call it something different, but it all boils down to goodness, regardless of its naming.  The important things are to continue in our goodness, in spite of the wrongs.  To learn from whatever life teaches us, and to move forward in a spirit of caring for our brothers.

We speak many languages but we are all of this earth. We call our god by different names, yet we all seek goodness. We construct our own rules, yet we all love our children. Some of us live in mansions and some huddle against buildings in the cold night- yet we all touch this earth. We must all survive madness, feed our families, and we all enjoy laughter.  We are all in this together, no matter what we call it.

So this day has come, the day that we knew would hurt. Ten years ago we were raped of our dignity and our security. We thought we were the untouchable giants who could have it all. But we lost so much and its cost was beyond measure. If anger remains our only paycheck, then we still lay in debt to the force which harmed us. Quietly we must lay down our venomous conceptions to become the most worthy opponents of our adversaries, of ourselves- when we embrace the wonder of what is and what is in each other. Then, and only then, can we win this war.

A quickening

I caught a butterfly today and held it in my hand
flutters of its wings warned me so still, to stand
Cupping it within my hands, I could barely steal a peek
and could not see its wonder, its color, its freedom

How can a butterfly be beautiful if it is not free?
Can love mean something if you choose not to give to me?
Can something be what it longs to be
if I dare to impose on it that which is me?

Can beauty live enslaved in want?
or color beam even when choked by dark?
Does the earth still spin if I hold my breath?
Or does beauty entice us in spite of ourselves?

gift

Roaming the earth with
scorched and blistered feet
Face burned by the sun
hands filled with dirt
filled with air

We had so much to learn

and when comes the night
with its dark, soothing cool
we will feast on the stars
hearts filled with the light
filled with love

We have so much to live

090511

I don't know how to do this.

Where is the madness, the screeching, the wind?

I don't know how to do this.

The only thing sweeter than a hilltop view is watching the dry hills drink the rain.

This I can do.

More beautiful

Dreaded daylight's dimming
quiets remnants of the light within
when dark descends and steals from me
what I thought would be my dream

No words to bless this emptiness
no touch to feel this dwindling bliss
the dream I stoked throughout this day
is closing its sleepy eyes to rest

The wonder of  this fire within
consuming what's been sorely missed
has burned a deeper dream so sweet
which whispering winds have promised me
 
But oh- another night and one more day
have now come to fruitless pass
but tomorrow brings another hope
for the brighter light I yearn to know as

The mares cross night time's burning hills
their thunderous pace in silhouettes
against the flames that are scorching these
fiery dreams whose heat can free the seed

of sweeter dreams, more beautiful