She mixes her own. She mixes them strong.
The maker's lament.
I remember how good she is with a recipe. She takes the parts she needs, drops the parts she doesn't and improvises with what we have.
This is one of the many things that make her wonderful.
We were laughing only 24 hours ago. We were crying 24 hours before that. This is the season.
Oh, these waning moons of December.
We bear witness to the fullness of shadow's power.
by Gabe Wollenburg.
Wall up your heart.
Make it impenetrable.
No one can hurt you. Cast away your love.
Wall up your soul.
Slide it into automatic.
You never make choices that make any difference. Any difference anyway.
Live in a hole.
Face to the ground.
Wait for the bombs to fall all around you.
Everything destroyed; not the things that you care about.
Take hold of your core so that you wake to tomorrow’s glorious sunrise and feel nothing.
It is your survival on the line.
Wake up later
choking on your own blood.
Take your goddamn medicine.
Walk with me again.
A year ago I hit the ground running.
Three-hundred and sixty-two days ago I saw my third sunrise in as many days and I was a changed man. And then again. And then again. And then again.
Walk with me.
Walk with me; you will find the path is not as clear as it should seem.
Walk with me; you will find you had no idea what you were getting into.
Walk with me; you will find I have no idea where we are going.
I will lead you astray. I will do things wrong. I will wreck your walk. I will hurt your feelings. I will say and do and think things that are not the things that you will want me to say, do and think.
Walk with me anyway.
The destination is not as important as the path, which is not as important as the journey.
Walk with me anyway. we will walk to new and wonderful places.
Walk with me anyway; we will discover things and feelings we did not know we were capable of.
Walk with me anyway; we will say and do and think the answers to questions we never knew we had.
We will walk in profound joy and we will walk in profound grief. And we will come to the face the sunshine on the third day and we will stand in front of our new family and we look each other in the eye and see the light is cast not by the sunshine alone.
And then we will be apart.
When I think back on that morning when the sun shined over the forest’s peak on the third day, I will remember the love you showed me.
And the pain of your absence will be lessened when I realize, one day, we will walk together again.
Sept. 2010 \ Photo Attribution
Let your head relax and dip beneath the surface. You hear only the sound of your own breathing and every song of joy ever sung. She is all around you, cradling you in her wake, washing you with her light, and refilling your heart. Your eternity with her is too, too short.
Vessels of Change
Vessels of change
Vessels of change
Things that are normal
will soon seem quite strange.
Come this time tomorrow--
it’s hard to explain--
it will all seem quite different,
you now see what i’m saying.
This is a big one,
a heralded transition,
and those who have missed it
may have failed to listen
to the warnings that sung
from the tops of the trees,
from the depths of the ocean,
from the birds and the bees.
The storm’s come and gone,
and we’ve walked now around.
Walked somber and serious
till our purpose was found.
There will be again joy
and there will be again play.
It’s a shift in the times
and it begins here today.
This is the start
of a glorious rebirth.
A fresh coat of paint
for the children of Earth.
So pray for our people,
our lives and our times.
Pray for our memories,
our hearts and our minds.
And as the sun rises--
let the story be told--
the work’s made a difference;
our lead’s become gold.
May. 31, 2010 \ Photo attribution
Mother teases as the seasons creep.
Mother teases as the seasons creep.
She knows what she wants, and she can’t help but give glimpses
of the fires that bellow below her crusted coverings.
Ragged tufts of green poke between the crusts and cracks.
A bountiful bust of blossoms stands between the stations.
Can the turning of seasons come so closely to the deeps of winter’s despair?
That is not ours to say.
But it is ours to hope.
and hope some more.
Life waits between the peaks and valleys. Fire strikes at the midpoint, snuffing desolation with its bawdy smolder. Its flames belch dance and song, bread and wine.
It is springtime, and it comes again.
Earth: This time around
This life. This time around.
This blue-green gate of experience
is the place from where
our ancestors came and went.
It is our cradle and our casket.
This is the earth we stand upon:
We walk as creatures born of mud and dust.
We walk as creatures born as equals.
We walk in a miasma of existance, unaware of the life in which we tread. Look around!
Earth as will ever be.
We will break our mother's heart again and again
but she will take us back when we come to her.
We love her for it.
Wisdom of the earth is knoweldge incarnate, built of beauty, bone, peat and power.
On Earth, my friend, your virtue is reborn.
Lady Crow visits and shivers
Smelling of oil and spilled road salt, Lady Crow takes a short rest on the barren tree that grows along the shoreline. She shakes and preens. She puffs and combs her feathers. She looks to the white sky and sighs; it is a cold day and the promise of spring flickers only slightly on the horizon. It will be colder before it is warm again.
With a stretch of her wings she floats away from the winter wind by becoming part of it.
Pearls of snow flutter down from her perch, their journey a short-lived legacy of her visit. They sparkle as they fall.
Writelarge.com by Writelarge.com is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.