Deadly Blame

Through the sweet smell of lilies...

He glared at us
Across the coffin
Where our dear friend
Rested.

His eyes accused us -
If you loved him so much
How could you
Let this happen?

We knew the reason
Our friend no longer smiled
And it was staring right at us
Across the oblong box.

Now that I am older
I understand that
He, too, knew
He shouldered most of the blame.

Ceasing Moment

I remember the moment
I said
NEVER AGAIN.
It took alot of me,
And alot from me
To utter those words
But I did it,
And it became me.

That moment changed me
Each time I felt like
Compromising
I've thought back to that moment
And all I'd taken
And all I'd given away
That brought me to that place.
Somehow any other challenge
Meant nothing to me
Because I'd already achieved
The hardest.

At the time,
Though,
It was not a
Conscience decision
To stop.
It was
The only alternative.

Suburban Awakening

It's the tale of a suburban housewife. Peering over the rose garden, pondering what to cook for dinner tonight. And yet, beneath it all, a dreamer's heart stirs. An awakening, a longing, a need to be a superhero, or a least a little off center from straight and narrow. As time eases on, traces, almost undetectable, emerge - a twinkling eye, a laugh a little too loud, a secret smile to the mirror. All signs of a soul awakening.

Commonplace Episode

The smell of strong liquor
And aftershave
Immediately spun me
Back there.
To a place without future,
Without heart, without hope.
So long ago it seems
The pieces were assembled
The picture
Made anew.
How can it be
That life's transitions
Become a commonplace episode
On the path
Of leading me here?

Happiness Not Eluded

I loved and lost
And loved again.
Then repeated this cycle
Twice more
Before stopping at
Security's gate.
Swinging open the iron
One last time
And tightly fastening
The lock behind me.
Now looking back
The expanded distance
Bland to my heart
As I realize
Happiness has not
Eluded me.

Breathing My Name

"Are you there?" I whispered.
I swear I felt your presence, softly beside me.
I heard you breathe my name, gently on the air.
I turned to look for you.
Knowing I could not see
But wishing all the same.
Has it been that long
Since you left me?
Somedays I still smell
Your sweet cologne, and vanilla.
A tear streams down my face.
Then I turn, to resume my life.
And go on,
Surviving.

Writer I Am

"I'm a writer," I said hesitantly. I could have just as easily said - "I'm a reader," with the little confidence I could muster. Isn't it weird that certain motor skills also qualify as jobs? Writer, speaker, seer, but listener or hearer means nothing? Why so much value on doing and so little on receiving the messages of others? Mental tangent passing, I thought back to my statement. What does it mean to be a writer? I used to think it meant being published - anywhere - or being tormented for not being published, those were the options. As if the mass approval / acceptance of others lent validity to the written words. Today my beliefs are altered. For me personally, being a writer involves invoking courage to honestly depict my thoughts and emotions through the written word. Only I know when that happens - regardless of what appears. If I inspire others or provoke a thought, it is but a bonus for which I am grateful.

Checked Emotions

Alone I sat there
Bewildered by my own reaction.
Wasn't I the composed one?
Securely aware of my bluff and tell?
Covering up my "give"
Like a well-trained method actor?
Was I now the embodiment
Of a screaming tirade?
Unaware of checking
My emotions at the door.

Chocolately Day

In this moment, there is only me, the sun, the water, and the ants who want a minute taste of my chocolately concoction.

I vision myself as one of the ants, and this day is my sweet drink.

I wander from the drought-stricken grass – experiencing the banality of life – and seek the sugary taste of a beautiful day.

Enamored Enlightenment

Mechanical motions of the day fill time between the meaningful hours. It’s like that though – if you are patient and just exist, an enlightening moment will unfold before as you stand enamored in its glow. As quickly as THAT it disappears in the ethers, leaving you to wonder if it ever happened at all.

Manifest the Familiar

I have learned that we best manifest what we know. I am not a material-oriented person, therefore I will not manifest the material items to the extent of those who value this the most. For me, it’s relationships. I value the sweet rhythm and harmony when two or more souls join together to create a unique essence. This makes my spirit sing and swing. Rapture appears in my life as well-played connections, strumming their chords to form melodies of spirit….herein lies my destiny.

Sting of Midnight

The sting of midnight
Pierced my heart.
When had time turned
Against my mortal soul?
At what point had I moved
From a believer to a cynic
And then back again?
Why must my conscious
Deceive my manipulating ego?
The hands of the clock
Turned to face me, palms up
And then slapped my shocked cheeks
So hard
It shook my disbelieving countenance.
Time, you are my double-crossing savior.

Premature Prodding

Silently I watched it play out
Before me.
Thinking I could not know,
Would not know
Her plans.
I noticed her eyes
Darting around the room,
Searching for the words
To weave her web.
I have learned that sometimes
There is more power
In letting it play itself out.
Observing it unraveling
On its own,
Rather than
Prodding it forward
Forcing a premature change
Then regretting the outcome.
Spending time smoothing the waters
Of discontent.
No, for now
I will smile and nod,
All the while watching
My own words.
Careful not to expose
Intentions.

A little vacay time

I threw my bags in the car, climbed in, slammed the door and screamed, "Yeehaw! What I didn't pack I'll have to buy - it's vacation time!"
My head spun with the possibilities of this adventure. The days of hiking, swimming, boating, and best of all, reading a stack of books that have been waiting for this occassion. I wiped worries from my brow and headed in the direction of bliss!

Tender Tears

The sun warmed my face as the heatwaves carried my worries from me into the atmosphere. The clouds absorbed my thoughts and angels converted them to raindrops that fell like tears to the dry earth, touching me with tenderness.

Modern-day Dorothy

She used her sunglasses like a mask, shielding the realness from escaping her pleading pupils. Her little dog resembled Toto, carried in a basket on her way to meet the wizard. Her husband, the Tin Man, his heart cold and rusted from lack of use. Her brainless Scarecrow friends wishing for wisdom, but hoping it won’t crack their botoxed foreheads. The Lion existed inside of her, begging her for courage to step off the yellow brick road, unshackle the cuffs of conformity, and dance with the Lollipop Kids.

SUV Trade-in

Traded in their identities
For SUVs, Minivans, and Prozac.
I look at the parking lot
Full of us.
I wonder what it would be like
If we were all 20 years younger?
Perhaps we'd step out
Of our steel doors
To socialize with each other.
Searching for reasons to
Separate ourselves.

Light of Purpose

My mind’s fog burned away
By the heat of purpose.
Drawing me into the flame
Steps away from success.
When priority rules
All else succumbs.
The difficulty is in
Identifying focus
Projecting purpose
Dedicating to decision.
When performed
The blinding light
Only beckons to be followed.

Participation Obligation

Night approached and I felt my patience wane.
Had this really turned out to be an all day event?
It must be the telltale mark of having fun,
Time flies, right?

However, there is an acme in it for me.
A time when I’ve decided my enjoyment
Has peaked and it’s time to go home.

Unfortunately, this usually happens
Well after I should have already left.

So worried that I might miss out on something
I find myself again overcommitted and exhausted.

When will I learn
That just because it’s a new opportunity
Does not mean that I must participate?

Ambling toward Passion

This day started like any other day, alive with possibility and brimming with passion.
My very essence propelled me to leap out of bed and jumpstart the day with an attitude of achieving the impossible, taking on the world in a single second.
Wait....
That's not exactly how it started.

More like, alive with drool and brimming with eye crust. Coffee propelled me out of my slumber, and jumpstarted my day with a trip to the bathroom. Isnt' that a more typical day, though?

What if it could be different?
What would it take?
What if all it took was recognizing one of our passions and ambling our way toward it?

Think back on your life. When was a time that you felt prodded ahead, excited by possibilities, dreaming of a new future? What made you feel that way?

And the million dollar question - How do you recapture that and adapt it to your life now?
The secret to your happiness just may rest in your answer.

For real

I told myself not to be surprised
By this uncanny turn of events.
Hadn't I known from the beginning
That something didn't feel right?
Ignoring instinct can be brutal,
An internal "I told you so"
Echoes in my head.

When all else seems real,
What is the real "real"?
And will we ever know
When we've stepped into it?

Rum Cake Life

I have realized that
With a mouthful of rum cake
My life
Appears much sweeter.

Perhaps it’s a message
To me
That I need to be careful
With my surroundings.

Whispered Hospital Tones

As night neared, the hospital began to transform.
The gift shop lights faded, the doors locked and the subtle music hushed.
The Admissions waiting room for scheduled surgeries is now empty - closing as the last credits of Oprah run on the screen.
I sit here waiting and watching - listening to the repetitive news on a TV whose channel can't be changed. The stories blare on about how the world and its people are out of control.
The surgeons with their big watches walk to their cars as the nurses arrive for their evening shifts.
I study the worried faces of those surrounding me - all of us holding our breaths for some word of our loved ones.
I sit here now, the last one waiting; over five hours I've watched people come and go as my life has stood still. Some leave with balloons, and others linger for a lonely cab ride.
Earlier today, I pushed an elderly woman's wheelchair to the restroom - she'd been left on her own to wait while her daughter went shopping. She didn't know what to think of me, she had an alertness about her as she tried to figure out what I wanted. I returned her back to her space on the carpet and walked back to my seat, aware of the strange looks from others.
Now, sitting here alone, I wait for word. After-work visitors begin to arrive for those who have been checked-in awhile.

This day has been a depiction of compassion and obligation.
Whispered tones trying to understand the fate of those they love.

Cloths of Indifference

As she spoke I gently began
To wrap my heart
In cloths of indifference and apathy
Reminded once again
To hide my weakness
From someone so close to me
Yet so far away.

Safe Mode

Last week I was working feverishly on a new project that has taken over my life. I had worked hours upon hours trying to figure out every angle, every predictable occurrence surrounding this project. In the middle of exhaustive typing and research, my computer started acting quirky. Every second or third letter that I typed did not show up on the screen, and I began to get frustrated. Next, the sentences on the screen started disappearing, on their own, line by precious line. I panicked and hit the save button, strange noises could be heard, but it did stop deleting and saved what was left of my material. I slammed my hand down on the desk, angry that so much of my consumed time and effort appeared to be lost. I took a few deep breaths and restarted the computer.

As the startup screen appeared, I attempted to log on with my password, but no letters could be typed. Anxiety was running rampant through my veins, and my head started to feel light. Why was this happening? I logged in through another entrance without a password and a message appeared, indicating that I was holding down the Control button and asking me if I wanted to work in Safe Mode. I couldn’t understand this, I punched the Control button three times trying to make it release, but to no avail. I pulled the button off the keyboard, cleaned and replaced it, but no improvement. So, much to my chagrin, I worked a little in Safe Mode, then restarted the computer again, hoping for a miracle.

Waiting for the computer to reboot, I took a few more deep breaths, trying to relax the building tension. It is then when I finally got the message -- it was so clear, why did it take me so long to understand? I was holding down the control button – the CONTROL button. Not literally, but figuratively. And why was I doing this? To operate in SAFE MODE. You see, that’s how I feel safe, when I am trying to fool myself that I am in control of the world around me and every possible situation I might encounter. There’s security in predictability. It’s part of being a calculated risk taker (shouldn’t that be an oxymoron?). I feel that if I can control all factors surrounding a situation, then I can predict the outcome, thus reducing the risk. It’s an insane theory, I realize this, but it hasn’t stopped me from doing it year after year. The thing is, I know better. I know that by having a tight grasp on something and trying to force its direction is a sure indication of failure and frustration, and yet, I don’t realize that I am in the middle of this behavior until I am failing and frustrated. At this point, it’s time to make a decision.

Do I continue as is and push through this minor setback with double the force to ensure I get past it? Or do I just let go? Sounds simple doesn’t it? Once again, while in the middle of this type of behavior, I develop impaired judgment. It’s a struggle for me to just let go, but my higher wisdom got the best of me this time and I did. As usual, it was the right thing to do. A few hours later, I had quite an inspiration, an idea much better than anything I had produced before, and as Divine Wisdom would have it, something much easier and enjoyable than what I had been creating. Sometimes the hardest and easiest thing to do is just to let go and let things happen – to stop getting in the way of ourselves by trying to feel safe while holding down the control key.

Discarded Choices

I learn more about myself from what I throw out than by what I choose to keep. By sloughing off items that no longer serve me, I am able to view how I have changed. THAT is no longer me. I am now THIS. Some items I was not able to part with a year ago are now easily thrown in the Give Away pile. A depiction is made of what I was ready for then, and what I am ready for now. Perhaps a year ago I still clung to notions that weren’t quite me anymore but couldn’t yet be replaced by whom I was choosing to be. For today, with the blessing of a full moon, items easily leave me and find a path to the next person, readily awaiting their appearance.

Thread of Me

I took a gulp of cold wine
And felt it chill my throat and chest.
Picking at pieces of my life
Like stray threads of yarn
Unraveled from a warm sweater.
Searching for a loose thread
I viewed each facet of me
There has to be some logic
Some system to this insanity.

Questionless

Senselessly I waited for a reply.
What was I expecting?
An apology? An excuse?
A blank stare was all I received.
As water fell on the outside of my glass
I waited. Silence.
I began to question myself.
Why did I want to know the answer?
What was it I really wanted to find out?
This was more about me than them.
Isn’t that the essence of every question?
We ask to receive input about ourselves,
So we can make our interpretations about
Them, Us, Our Environment.
Reality.
I’ve decided to question less,
And believe more.

Looking Back, Not Around

The music soothed me in a way I had forgotten. A melodramatic longing for the past, I sung to it, hung to it, until it was over. The pain now gone, I felt the shadow remembrance of it, clinging to the edge of memory. Much effort and time was spent to arrive at this place, and I am so thankful to stand here, looking back, not around.

Leaf Lesson

I swept leaves off my patio this morning. One small leaf refused to budge. I hit it harder with the broom bristles, willing it to fly free. It stayed. Again I swatted and again it stayed. I raised the broom for a third time and swatted so hard that I almost missed my target, barely grazing the top of the leaf. It zoomed into the air above me, clear of the patio. It reminded me of the scene in the movie “Ghost” where Sam is in the subway trying to move a can and another ghost comes and shows him he cannot do it with force. This leaf served as a reminder to me that sometimes movement takes place by barely grazing the top of something, then letting it flow and move and form. Perhaps just transferring it energy, so it moves in the way it chooses rather than the way I project it.

Inner Garden

Today I looked at my rosegarden and was astonished at the poor condition of my beautiful rosebushes. These darlings were planted with such care, attentively pruned and fed for years, and produced giant, sweet smelling, beautiful blooms for me all year. I inspected the half-dead plants, whose sturdy stalks have become spindly spines, stretching for breath, stretching for light. My heart broke as I touched each one. In my months of wandering confusion, searching for my soul, my future, I had heartlessly ignored them. Devoid of water, nutrients, pruning, and appreciation, they now looked like thorny skeletons with a smattering of leaves, straining to hide their nudity. I knelt down into the garden and apologized profusely.

How could I have been so heartless, devoid of caring for these beauties that had brought me such joy? I gently pruned each one, watered and fed them, offered my apologies, and begged Mother Nature to kindly wrap them in loving care. I sent silent hopes to each one, willing them to survive, for their spirits to return, for them to bloom again, to once again become part of my world. As I slowly walked away from the garden, I realized that what I wished for them, I wished for myself. Over the past few weeks, I’ve pruned my life – getting rid of things that no longer serve me. I’ve fed myself new dreams, ideas, hopes, and love. I’ve forgiven myself for judging me so harshly, and I’ve asked my Higher Power to wrap me in warm blankets of care. I plan to bloom, along with my roses, in the upcoming months.

Flower Carrier

It was a usual Monday for me – filled with errands and a list of to-do items. As I stood in line at the bank, I noticed a woman in front of me with a rather large vase of beautiful, fresh roses. At first, I thought she was delivering them to an employee, but she took her place in line with me. The bank tellers complimented her on the flowers and her face lit up with joy as she spoke about a new boyfriend and how proud she was to have him in her life. She said she finally got it right with this one. I, along with everyone in the immediate vicinity, smiled with her in joy and some of us reminisced of times when we had felt that way also.

Half an hour later, I was in the shoe section (not unusual for me) of a small department store. Movement nearby caught the corner of my eye, and I turned to see beautiful roses a few aisles away. As I admired them, I realized that they were being held by the same woman I had seen about fifteen minutes ago in the bank. This time I was behind her in the checkout line. The same scenario played out before me. The cashiers adored the flowers and the woman repeated her story. Once again, everyone in the immediate vicinity smiled with her in joy, except for me, I was a little bored with the story and wanted to get out of the store.

Another half hour passed and I was at the dry cleaners. Turning to carry my newly pressed clothes to the car, I was aware of the scent of roses. I looked up and became directly aligned with the eyes of the rose carrier. She was beaming as the dry cleaning clerks complimented her on the flowers and smiled with her in joy. My face held a more quizzical look. What was going on here? Was this woman desperate for some act of recognition or attention? Was this the only thing that held merit in her life at this time? Wasn’t she getting sick of telling this same story over and over? Beyond that, wasn’t her arm getting tired?

I busied myself getting back into my car and trudging on to my next errand. However, I couldn’t shake the experience of seeing this woman three times with her flowers and hearing her story repeated. I began wondering about her and how she affected those around her: The flowers brought joy to her and she shared it with everyone in which she came in contact. The gesture of sending the flowers was something of which she was not accustomed, and she did not take it for granted. She was proud to belong with someone and wanted to publicly announce it. It was as if she carried a sign that said, “In this moment I am special and I am acknowledged. It may not last forever, but while it does I’m going to declare it as loud as possible.” But it was still more than that. What I sensed most about her was hope. She was spreading hope about her life, her potential, her destiny.

I began to think about my life. What flowers do I carry with me wherever I go? What is in my life that I feel the need to show everyone that I am special and acknowledged? What do I broadcast to the world that I am hopeful about my future?

What about you? What do you carry? Is it tangible like family photos, jewelry, clothes, or other material items? Or more visceral like the group of friends by which you are surrounded or stories of success? How would you feel without these items? Do they really make a difference? Is it part of our identity, or part of our projected image?
Regardless, I am thankful to the flower carrier. She gave me a moment of self-assessment, and I wish her the best in her flowered future.

Meditative Thoughts

In those private times between sleep and stress, I float away.
Peering at my life objectively, it looks so much smaller, yet larger in the same instant.
It’s the problems that appear reduced and the blessings that appear enlarged.
It’s in these moments I am thankful.
As my busy head starts to quiet, serene images flow through the cells, relaxing, hypnotic, carefree.
I find great joy in meditation.
Makes me wonder why I don’t make more time for something as pleasant as this.

Gnawing at the Tree

Tenaciously I gnaw at the tree of knowledge.
The bark becomes brittle to the touch.
For what is knowledge without application?

Swinging from its branches, I’m encased in wonderment.
I fly from its grasp and land abruptly.
For what is knowledge without perspective?

Looking up, I watch its leaves turn.
From newborn green to elderly brown.
For what is knowledge without flexibility of new understanding?

Speaking of Burrs

My time with her reminded me of summers when I was a child and I nimbly danced through fields of stickers in the sand dunes. I remember carefully scanning the ground, looking for the plant with the sharp yellow burrs that would break off into splinters in my young tender feet. I’d find a safe patch, commit only my toes and ball of one foot, precariously balance on it, one-legged, as I looked for another safe patch in which to commit my other side. All the while, my arms would be full towels, lotions, a radio, and a chair – everything and anything I could load on my body so I wouldn’t have to make a second trip through the dangerous terrain.

So here I was again, tip-toeing through the stickers in my conversation with her. I scanned my mind for a topic that may have a safe patch in it, something that wouldn’t contain a burr to leave a splinter in our engagement. Once an ideal spot was found, I would balance on it, trying to find my next step without dropping my provisions. We went on like that for awhile, she in her opinions and me not wanting conflict to erupt so I could have a peaceful visit with other people there.

My dance was going quite nicely until I uttered the phrase “open-mindedness” and she said replied, “Oh, well, we call that “loose-mindedness.” At that moment, I knew the song was through, the dance was over, and it was time for me to pack my provisions back in the car and head home.

The Demise of a Repose

Okay, Okay, Okay, I get it ----
It's time for me to write again.
A brief repose to celebrate the holidays.
Gaining fodder for future writing exploits.
The eternal search for subject comes up short
Due to the search.
It is in the experiencing, the dawdling, the unexpected events,
The miraculous everyday occurrences,
When nothing and everything happens.
That is when the muse raises her head,
Flashes me a sideways smile
And fills my imagination and pen
With unformed words.

Thank you to everyone who has read my blog over the past five months, and thank you for prodding me to get my fingers back on the keys.