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.