Another poem-circa 11/17/09

As the sweet madness unfolds-
There is a story to be told
Whispers slipping from willowy lips–
Bottled ale bubbles, silenced sips
Proclamation with provaction from the Bold
Now leeft out in the cold–
From afar under the same star
We are;
From there to here we hold so dear–
Clouds lift,
the Heavens clear
So far away–with sublte cheer.

Some Poetry

Circa 2009-Summer

Rumi: “Sadness is but a wall between two gardens.”

I found myself amongst two gardens
each pleniful and etheral
each intoxicating and exhilirating

One where I was not sure I belonged
And one that was welcoming me Home.

So I stepped into the garden of Belonging
Cultivated years of maturation with roots that have long been established–
a few stray seeds blew from the other garden–penetrating the rich soil that I toil

Yes–you did belong–this after many years
and the tears that flowed from the uncertain–
a veil lifted another curtain–

I wandered between the two
Stood a minute amongst the morning dew
Moonlight glistening toward each path
Yet ther is only one to sow.

I stood at the chasm of silence; of sorrow; of love-
I stood at the wall-wondering if I would fall

If time were not stamped I could enjoy the fruits and plenty of both–

The love I have for each garden reaches far beyond the confounds of time;
this will stay within the confines of my mind–
The darkest, deepest place in my heart;
For love is Infinite; not so easily tamed.

Love transcends the confines of Law;
Yet the reprecutions of enjoying both gardens
eclipse at the point of the wall where
I stand between–

So I venture back toward has held me safe for the yesteryears and years to come–
Always thankful for the reminder from the other garden
which quenched my wonders–was it love or a blunder?

For it is love between two gardens
I tread upon on ancient stone
Steady footing among the moss; soft and velvet on the soles
Sunrise–
Eclicpse–
Sunset–
Moon–
Wind–
Rain forthcoming–
Showers of delight–
Rays of light through crysalized drops-
Prisms-
Beauty-
Life-
Love-
Eternal Life-

I reside now whole and complete;

Not just one bountiful harvest–
Different lives–
Different minds–
Familarity of the Soul and the only Truth knowledge knows–

For what is truth?
Love unuruly, wild, love is never confined;
Love undefined–
Only hints and glints that prism in the dew drop that blinds the eye
And
She Drops–
Yet again the net of safety
Falling into the famalirity of belonging
Hours spent tending flowers known by heart tended without sight;
with this new light above-
True Love
Hearts are infinite-
Undefined by the confines of time-
Venturing out of the mind-
and hopes dreams may caress the path
to find the dress–she left behind in the other garden–
She was revealved-
Vulnerable,
Open,
Yielding toward love–
Unruly, undefined songs of the heart-
infintie miles to chart;
Yet–so close–so close
Undefined space and time of a heart that was once mine.

Ode to the Divine–We are all One; all in the same–
Dawn–
Noon–
Twightlight–
Witching hour–
The prelude of dawn–birds tear slience with a song

One and All–we do not stand we Fall.

Love, Life, Time, Death

Everyone has their own concept and philosophy of love, life, time, and death.

My own personal philosophy is that my concepts of love, life, time, and death change as I evolve and age.

For now, here is where I am at:

Love: From A Course in Miracles”–love is the absence of fear.
From Bob Schnider “the world of love exploded around me.
These concepts drive my philosophy. I believe Love is never ameroliated; never canelled. It is infinate and there are different levels of love such as a love for a child, spouse, partner, family, friends.

Now onto Life. What is the meaning of life? That is a central question that drives our existence. Life is a lesson. Life is vibrant, an expression of creativity. Life is transient. Embrace life and learn all you can.

Time: does not exist. It’s a social construct that we must abide by. I can get caught up in this mess. I panic when I am late. But I breathe (or try to) and remember time does not exist. In the metaphysical sence.

Death: a process we all go through like birth. Not an end but a transformation. Energy is neither created nor destroyed. As a co-worker said: “I know one thing for sure, I will not leave this world alive.” Too true!

16 th wedding anniversary flowers

Enough said : )

Three taboos

The three taboos in discussion are religion, money, and politics. I’m sure sex is in there somewhere. But when I was a kindergartener my mom phrased it as “religion, money, and politics.” I wasn’t ready for the full meaning of the sex-concept discussion.
This lesson came experientially, not the sex; but how the discussion of religion and the trinity ended up with a punch in the stomach and a visit to the nurse’s office.
Me, with little formal education was arguing an age-long debate about the trinity with a classmate of mine. I stated that the trinity was all of the same; how could God be God and have just one Son and be seperate from his Son (and resultant children–we, as the children of God); and who is the holy spirit anyway? The trinity was One; and not seperate. That discussion resulted in a punch in my stomach. The nurse’s office. And a phone call to my Mom. To save me the trouble; she emphasized avoiding the following topics with people: religion, politics, and money.
Very wise advise I wish I had known before the punch in the stomach; but very applicable concepts with the physical consequences.
So, as an adult discussing religion, politics, and money and the 4th unmentioned sex; what do I believe? What will I share?
Religion: all Paths lead to One;
Politics: struggle for power; that is why there is war and inadaquacy in our society; I am a pacifist and have studied the inequalities in our society through book knowledge–sociology; and through practical knowledge; the job I am blessed with in Disability Determination Services. That is a whole other realm that deserves a blog of its own. “War, what’s it good for?” Unfortunately it has always existed and it is prevalent in the present day.
Money: Aren’t we are all basically broke? How to manage money, etc. that can be sticky subjects. The number one cause of divorce is financial issues. So shouldn’t we be discussing money more in our relationships?
The majority of the population is unemployed, under-employed or have just given up in the job searches for our economy. I am grateful to have the job I have; even though it’s like pulling teeth at times to stay for a full 8 hours a day.
Sex: That’s a complicated subject for such a simple biological process. Enough said.
So, when I got punched in the stomach regarding the Trinity; I was initiated into the realms of no discussion.
But shouldn’t we discuss these topics more? Or we already do and it’s divisive.
Shouldn’t we realize we are One; that we all want to close our eyes at night peacefully within in a domain, within a safe place; comforted; knowing our breakfast will be there upon awakening? Shouldn’t we go to school and work and carry about our business without fear of terror or war? Shouldn’t we live in a place of abundance? Not necessarily monetary abundence but spiritual abundence? Why are we so divisive about these subjects? Once again it is power and a sense of belongining. I was known later in my school career as “hippy girl,” Peace, Love, Harmony.
Even though I got punched in my stomach in kinder regarding the Trinity; I still retained the notion all Paths lead to One; that war isn’t necessary; that there is abundence abound in our society; both monetary and spiritual; and sex; the 4th tenent not to discuss–well, I’m not going there with this essay; but it’s necessary for Life.
We are all connected. Not just through the Trinity but through complex yet simple ways.
It does help though not to discuss this so you won’t be punched in the stomach; or worse.

“Come, come, come as you are…and come again.” -Rumi

“Come, come, come as you are…and come again.” –Rumi

This is the place I am at right now; returning to God. As I say on my FB profile regarding religion: All Paths lead to One.
I truly believe that philosophy.

I don’t practice a formal religion; although I need to expose my daughter to church. I didn’t grow up with a formalized religion. The positive is that I have been open to many religions. The negative is I don’t have a foundation in Christianity. I see Jesus is a caring social worker in addition to what he is known for. I know and practice the Golden Rule. That is my experience with Christianity.

I am reading a Christian based book right now, “How to Pray.” It is the most instructive book I have found regarding prayer other than “A Course in Miralces.” It reminds me we are all God’s children. We come as we are. We abandon our experience with innocence. We admit we are helpless and know that we are taken care of–Faith.

I have heard this concept many times; but now I am ready to internalize the practice. I am one to avoid admitting helplessness. My ego traps me into the false belief of self-reliance. To spiritually grow, I must abandon my ego and open to God.

I am coming around again. “Come, come, come, as you are…and come again.” –Rumi

I wouldn’t be a Mother without Natalia

Dear Natalia,
Thank you for being my daughter. You are a beautiful and talented little girl that is growing so fast. I cannot believe you are six years old already. Has time flown-tempest fuget.
I remember the pregnancy test and sharing the excitement with David.
I remember listening to your heartbeat; so fast like a humming bird.
I remember listening to meditation music everyday and hoping it would calm you as well.
I remember you dancing in my womb while Beastie Boys and Prince played on the radio.
I remember the excitement and nervousness I felt the day you were born.
I remember standing at the end of the hallway at the hospital and holding onto David stating, “I can’t do this.”
I remember my first look at you; cross-eyed and hoping you weren’t retarded; I would love you the same no matter what.
I remember Dr. Diane practicing Spanish as you were born.
I remember her commenting that you tried to crawl back in (I had a c-section).
I remember how small you were in the carseat; swallowing you up.
I remember taking you out on your first outing to Burlington Coat factory to buy you some more items.
I remember the nights we slept in the recliner and watching Conan O’Brian.
So many memories of you through the years.
Thank you for blessing my life.

Twinkle Star has Burned Out

So my daughter turned six. For years I have sang her “Twinkle Star” and ended it with “I love you just the way you are.”
The last few nights she has refused Twinkle Star; a new era.
I remember my mom used to pop my butt with a towel lovingly when I was a child stating, “Kid Rabbit.” And there came a day I resisted the whole routine.
It’s growing up, a new era.
What else do we grow out of? Old loves? Clothing? Interests?
It’s a growth toward a new being; a new way of existence. It’s an evolution of our personalities and our spirits. It’s a new phase of life. What will that bring?
Think about it, ponder it for a minute, what have you grown out of and then grown into? What is the new phase of life? What is cherished and beloved in the past; but not so much a part of your life now?
For me, I have grown out of my skinny pants and am ready to embrace the life change for better health. I have learned compassion for my body. I made a list of traits I love–my eyes, hair color and hair cut (natural blonde); my overall shape; the fact I have two legs to walk; arms that move; lungs that breathe; eyes that see; my mental faculties; well=for the most part. A practice of self compassion rather than self sabotage.
So remind yourself that things change; nothing is permanent; and to not only practice compassion toward others but compassion toward yourself. Sometimes that is the hardest thing to do; self compassion. And we are all along the line of personal growth, transition, and sometimes the twinkle star will burn out to beget a brighter star.

I’m back again

A little rusty. Haven’t posted in about a year or so. Trying to say hello again. More again later tonight. Natalia is still up and we are watching Kitchen Nightmares. A tip my friend shared with me–never fry bacon naked. I’ll take that advice for sure.

Writing Exercise–My Childhood Home

My childhood home was demolished the summer when I was thirty three. Structures are temporary but memories are forever. Even if I become demented in my older days I still retain the first twenty-five years. So here are the earlier memories of my childhood home where I spent ages four through eighteen; the longest residence in my life thus far.
Mom has a gift of manifesting residences that fulfill her requirements through visualization and letting the Universe taking care of the rest; opening the opportunities of reality. We did not have much money; she was the sole provider the majority of the time; especially in my early years; Dad did not hold a steady job at that time. We had to move out of our house by the river that was a rental. We moved into a house on River Road just outside the city limits; formally known as Hueco Springs; German for yellow river.
We moved into a hundred and fifty year old structure that was a yellow house. Yellow has always been a theme in my life as water has been a theme in my life as well through the street names. Hueco Springs, River Road, Cane Street, Atwater, Yellow Jacket Lane and the current address, Golden Gate Road.
The original structure consisted of two rooms constructed of wooden-peg, an old style that (get the definition from Mom). There was a smokehouse as well that later served as a storeroom and utility room for our family. Our hallway was a dog run. The room on the left was my parent’s room. The room on the right was the living room with a vaulted ceiling. Throughout the years other rooms were added on and every doorframe was a different size. Anyone over 5’6” had to duck to enter the living room and bathroom. My uncle once walked into the bathroom without ducking his head and nearly knocked himself unconscious.
The house was owned by an air force Colonel that wanted a family on the premises to pay for the taxes as rent. Very reasonable price as his brother-in-law kept his cattle on the twenty five acres filled with mesquite and ancient oaks; another tax break.
Not only did I grow up with cattle, we had rabbits at one time that multiplied, well like rabbits. We butchered them and feasted on them as we had little money. What was considered a delicacy in France was our main staple for a modest income family. I remember the rabbits peeing on my head when I stubbornly walked under the cages. I remember my father hanging a butchering apparatus in the tree and slicing the body down the middle and spreading the carcass; scooping out the innards into a bucket. I held the colon and squeezed out the round pebbles of poop that resembled my favorite cereal, Coco Puffs. I was fascinated by their anatomy rather than frightened our horrified.
There was one particular rabbit that I was fond of. The black one with the white foot. We later cut off the foot and kept it as a good luck token along with a few other lucky feet from a brown rabbit. Morbid most people would consider our way of life. Normal for me. Each time we would sit down at the dinner table I would curiously inquire, “Is this the black rabbit with the white feet?” Then I would squeeze ketchup onto the dry gangly, meat. Mom didn’t prepare the succulent Julia Child French version. There wasn’t enough time nor resources.
The farm also housed chickens in a chicken coop, at one time a turkey named Henry, goats, Red Nanny was my nemesis. A cranky ol gal that knocked me off the trailer once when we were playing King of the Mountain. I still have the scar among many on my legs to comemorate that incident. Probably not the smartest idea to wear tap shoes surrounded by cinder blocks.
I witnessed my first birth as Red Nanny squatted and moaned and a little goat surrounded in a fetus sac fell to the ground. It resembled a balloon. I was well aware of how life began, babies were born, and the birth process all at the age of five.
At one point we had a horse named Token. An unruly, spirited horse that my mom attempted to tame. I was led by a rope on Token to the second pasture and we would visit with Marvin, an older man that was exactly seventy years my senior as we shared the same birthday.
He was a widower and was some relation to the Colonel’s family. He had a pear tree that created a plethora of pears that dropped to the ground. We had sacs of pears that would be transformed into pear pie. A favorite dessert my mom still prepares thirty years after her first attempts.
Across the street were the untouchable Borchers. They were wealthy and their house was on a luscious green hill sheltered by an expensive fence. She was a lawyer, he was a successful rancher. I never saw the couple in all of my eighteen years. I gave up my fascination quickly as I peered across the street with binoculars trying to glimpse into a wealthy life that was so within my reach; compared to the modest life that was I lived.
The property was canopied by hundred year live oaks with ball moss and the seasonal army worms that invaded every square inch in the spring time; drooping down on silken threads and making a mess as they hit the ground.
There was a Carolina jasmine that served as a clubhouse with yellow blossoms that lived even throughout the winter. Behind the jasmine was a windmill and beside it a water tank that held a coffee can on a wire. I always knew a storm was coming or a Northern cold front by the sound of the coffee can clinking on the water tank. What soothing sounds the rain droplets that danced on the tin roof; which later I was closer to then Heaven in my loft my father built when I was all of nine.
That summer I babysat my brother as Mom and Dad floated sheetrock. We bounced on the trampoline and I entertained him throughout many days. I was paid six dollars for the entire summer and scoffed at the financial compensation even though I was jumping on a new trampoline and inherited the coolest loft with built in book shelves, a closet with a hobbit door that opened to the attic. My room also had a cathedral ceiling and the signature of my father’s brilliant carpentry. It just saddens me when I learned that a bulldozer destroyed my child hood home only to leave the smoke-house storeroom.