Tag Archives: Writing

FLYING HOME

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yWi0HhZqykE

One of my dreams and goals is to create a platform for the purpose of being able to offer a remembrance, a gift of Legacy to others.  I feel it would be meaningful to be able to assist with helping a family sift through the pictures, keepsakes and memories of their lives to find their own very special Legacy; and in doing so, perhaps help them to see the gifts they brought to others.  I believe that everyone needs to be heard and to understand the impact and measure of their life.  Most of us want to know that our caring and love mattered.

My father, a very young eighty-six, looks to be closer to sixty.  Still enjoying riding motorcycles around the country, he says, “if you can’t do what you’re passionate about, why be here?”  This week he is facing a fairly serious surgery, which is why this subject came up today.  My father has always known that I believe stories need to be remembered and told so that we may know why we came and who we are within the experiences of our life.  Dad has always loved telling his stories and especially enjoys reading them over and over whenever I get around to writing them.  In the past couple of years, however, I’ve noticed that his storytelling has taken on a tone of desperateness.  He becomes visually frustrated when family members dismiss him with, “yeah, I’ve heard this one a few times now.”  I imagine this is common for aging people and certainly doesn’t make them feel important or heard.  I’ve been on both sides of this now that my own son reminds me from time to time that I have already told him “this or that”.

One night about a year ago, my father and I were having a midnight chat.  I was sharing things I had learned from talking with people who had Near Death Experiences and gave him a book to read that was written by one of these intrepid survivors.  He was noticeably relieved after reading the book.  I was surprised when he started to reveal different stories; ones I personally hadn’t heard before.  How was this possible with me being the question person?  These stories were raw in the telling; and I was able to detect some underlying fear about dying.   He made the comment, “well, I don’t suppose you know where you’re going when you’ve killed people.”  In shock I said, “What are you saying Dad?  Have you killed people?”  “Well, not exactly,” he admitted to my relief.  He then went on to share about the atrocities of war, in his case, the Korean War.  Raised in a traditional religious philosophy where hell’s fires was a real place, my father seemed to harbor fears of uncertainty as eldership quickly approached.  Even though I don’t personally believe in hell, per se, I can see hell on Earth most days on the news.

My father was just twenty one when he was drafted into the Marines; but oddly, he never talked much about it.  I was still being wheeled around in a baby carriage in the few pictures I saw of our new life in North Carolina at the Marine Base. I love the picture of mom holding my hands so that I could stand in the waves of the ocean.  My mother who was deathly afraid of water, ironically always dreamt of living by a lake, river or the beach. Even though she remembers those days as some of her best, even she didn’t reveal any real stories about their life there.  That night, as we sat sharing our thoughts about  life, it became clear that Dad was proud of how quickly he had been promoted through the ranks to Sargent.  It was important to him that I understand that this was not common.  He seemed to be flattered and laughed as he shared that his fellow marines called him, “The Wildman” even though I feel sure I have not yet heard that entire story.

I feel privileged that my father finally felt like he could open up to reveal the stories of what it was like to be so young with a new wife and a baby; and to be suddenly faced with the horror of killing or being killed.  He said that it was not that rare to lose fellow Marines during training maneuvers, and disclosed racial in-discrepancies that were difficult to imagine.  These were things I had never even thought about.  Unfortunately, the ravages of war are not unfamiliar even today to so many others in the world.

I watched the movie “Sully” last night.  Within the first few lyrics of the Theme song, the profundity of the words was a straight shot to my heart.  Since the time when my son passed, I have chased the mystery and the meaning of life, purpose and our roles in each other’s lives around in my mind and heart for a decade.  The lyrics for the song “Flying Home” were profound in their meaning to me.  I believe they say it all and I wanted to share my thoughts about Legacy with other’s who just may need to hear the words to this song today.  I hope you’ll take a moment to really listen. I have added Flying Home to Chad’s Playlist.

FLYING HOME by Tierney Sutton Band

Theme Song for the Movie “Sully”

TELL ME YOUR STORY, I’LL TELL YOU MINE

SING ME YOUR SONG, I’LL FOLLOW LINE BY LINE

DRAW ME NEAR, LET ME HEAR THE THINGS YOU’VE TREASURED

PATIENT AS FALLING SNOW

STANDING INSIDE THE QUESTIONS

ONLY GUESSING BY WHAT TRUTHS OUR SOULS ARE MEASURED

EACH OF US RISING FROM WORLDS UNKNOWN

WITHIN YOUR TRIUMPHS I SEE MY OWN

STILL THERE ARE JOURNEYS THAT ARE YOUR’S ALONE

YOU WERE BORN FOR THE STORM YOU HAVE TO WEATHER

TRUE AS A WINTER WIND YOU FACE THE MOMENT BRAVELY

YOU AND I, WE’RE ON OUR OWN AND YET TOGETHER

WALKING A PATH WE CAN’T DEFINE

TELL ME YOUR STORY. I’LL TELL YOU MINE

SING ME YOUR SONG, I’LL FOLLOW LINE BY LINE

LET THE NIGHT FALL WITH THE LIGHTNESS OF A FEATHER

TRUSTING THE COMING DAWN

WE CANNOT HOLD THE MORNING

YOU AND I WE’RE ON OUR OWN AND YET TOGETHER

FOR IN THE END, WE’RE ALL FLYING HOME

“GO ASK ALICE”- WRITER INVITATION TO HELP ME HELP MYSELF

I’ve always known I was a writer but I was busy with a full time career and raising my kids as a single mom….no time….no classes…..no career in writing.  Wah!  In my free time, however, I entertained my friends with stories and at least they thought my stories were entertaining for the most part, especially if they wanted to date me.

I’m assuming for most writers, many times you wake up with words running through your head, right?  And, if you’re like me you may try to remember them later only to bungle it up.  Or, later on paper you can’t understand exactly why you thought it was so profound when you first woke up?    So this happened to me yesterday and I posted the piece on “Stoking the Fire of Chemistry”…to see, click on link at bottom.

So here’s what happened, I scratched a few words down on paper and thought I’d add to it while I had coffee.  I made my Bulletproof Coffee and sat down fifteen minutes later with my paper and who shows up, Alice!  – Word Smith-Ego personality extraordinaire.  She completely tears my Legos apart, adds a bunch of drama and picks at it until the published product may have a couple of the same words but who knows what it means?  Alice likes that part the best, a splash of mystery?

This morning I sat down next to that same paper, picked it up and thought, “Man, I really went down the Rabbit Hole on that whole thing yesterday.  The second piece was more like “Chasing Rabbits” by Jefferson Airplane.

My request is this:  Could you take a peek at the first version (it’s a lot shorter) and then the second Published version and tell me what you think.  Of the two, which speaks or resonates with you?  Or do I need to find a happy medium in-between?  After you read the second version, did you get the gist of it (much more clear in the first version)?

THANKS IN ADVANCE  FOR YOUR SUPPORT.

DO YOU RESONATE WITH THIS?

When anger and frustration rise up in you

Rumbling like a freight train along jangled nerves

And negative thoughts rooted in perception and perfection

creep in to cloud your mind;

Wrap your suffering in compassion

Feel the rush of chemicals through your blood

And with one last big sigh of suffering,

Trace your breath back to Spirit

Fling your anger, frustration and negativity into the fire

The Alchemy where patiently your heart awaits

Go ahead, allow that playful giggle to wake up inside you

Playing at the corners of your Mouth

It’s ok, no one is watching, let go!

You are not unique

 Everyone one gets angry sometimes

Even in their dreams

OR THIS?

STOKING THE FIRES OF CHEMISTRY

STOKING THE FIRES OF CHEMISTRY

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A tidal wave of anger rips through me

I am tossed like a kite in a hurricane

A freight train rumbles down the line -a deafening roar

Along jangled nerves that spark from a frayed wire

It was a nightmare, it was real, and it happened

 

Self-righteous thoughts rooted in false perception

Rising thunderheads trail the ridge thru the night

Dark Stormy clouds perceived by a closed mind

A rush of sultry emotions surge through my veins

Another potent and salacious cocktail of chemicals

Just passing by, looking for a place to ignite

 

As a single tear silently slips from my eye,

And rolls down my cheek, a soul survivor

A tired remnant of a temper tantrumed

Born of innocence, childlike, and impetuous

Humanness and being-ness acknowledged

Leaving room for the inevitable giggle to rise

Teasing and playing at the corners of my mouth

 

I wrap compassion around me like a blanket

From my bed, I reach for my faithful pen

Like organizing pieces of the infinite puzzle

I methodically rearrange words on a page

I search for meaning and the essence of me

Desperately hoping to find something somewhere

 

Just for a moment I pause in the silence

As the whisper of angel wings brush my face

A gentle reminder of why I came

A long sigh traces my breath to Spirit

Where the fires of Alchemy burn

And the ever faithful heart awaits

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ALCHEMY AND THE GOLDEN EGG- Part II

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…A year ago, I met this stranger on an airplane….

He was a handsome man about my age.  He sat by the window listening to music and didn’t look up as I crawled clumsily over the isle guy, falling into the middle seat next to him.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m about the same in airplanes as elevators, not especially social; but he didn’t even glance up for a perfunctory “hello.”

In mid-flight, I was trying to get my book out of my carry-on under the seat in front of me.  Of course, the seat in front of me was by now in a ‘laid back relax’ mode.   We all know what that means.  When you try to reach your bag, you can’t get your head forward enough without hitting the seat in front of you; so you either need monkey arms or you need to be flexible like a contortionist.  Struggling, I believe my head was practically in Airplane guys lap before he finally took his ear buds out.

We exchanged about five minutes of small talk; maybe ten.  Isn’t it funny that this is how it happens, some of the profound moments of your life?  Speaking of profound, during that time I must have said something insightful because he admitted he hated talking to people on the airplane.  He said that whatever I had said changed his view about something that apparently impacted him deeply.  Whatever it was, I’m sure it was ‘of me” but not “from me’ as I have no recollection of what I might have said. He then told me to pick up a copy of a book. He scribbled the title of this book on a tiny, itsy bitsy yellow stick um pad.  With a flourish he added his email address below it and reattached his ear buds to his head.  I was flattered and always thought I might email him.  Secretly, I think he hoped I would too.

About a year later, I discovered that little scrap of paper in one of my purses, along with all kinds of other notes and random cards, most of which meant absolutely nothing to me by then.  After scrutiny I remembered from whence this particular yellow sticky note originated.  By now it was ‘mile weary’ with lint, lip gloss and other purse goo on it.  I could just barely make out the title of the book let alone his email address. Alas, romance must have not been in the stars. It must have been all about “the book”.

Nonetheless, I stuck the note on my office desk for a few more months in a “to-do” stack that I usually shuffle around occasionally until I can finally just discard it. One day, with my hand paused over the trash can, Spirit said, “Just order that darned book already!” So I did.  It must be incredibly frustrating trying to get people on the physical plane to do things that would actually help them ‘evolve’. First my Spirit Guide had to imprint Airplane guy’s mind, “tell her about the book-you know the one.”  Then Spirit had to implant the idea that I should clean out my purse, something no one wants to do. Finally, my mind needed to be imprinted one more time before I actually ordered the book. Let’s just call this concept Synchronicity even though it may just be a popular anti-coincidence theory.

About this same time, out of nowhere, like most things I write about, I started excavating a piece I called “What’s Love Got to Do with It”?  Man, I must have re-envisioned, re-structured and rewritten that thing a million times over three months.  Love is such a big topic that the entire project just became unwieldy; after all, purportedly Love is all there is. Finally, I realized that even though I knew a lot about love, not necessarily all the good kinds, that the love I really wanted to know about now was “the BIG love that only God knew.”  I was ready to leap in with both feet to become a ‘Big Love’ expert. Problem was, I had no idea how to get there from where I was.

Ironically, though, while I was writing “What’s Love Got to Do with It?” it seemed like every week (or day) some random person or source would say, “You can’t love someone else until you love yourself.”  The first couple of times I thought, “Whatever!”  Then I began to think, “What the heck is going on here?” For example, some guy I barely knew passed me in the hall at the movie theatre coming from the men’s room while I exited the ladies room. “Hey, how are you?” Within two sentences he mentioned he was visiting his daughter and out of the blue she had asked him, “Dad, do you love yourself?” This caused a conversation to ensue, of course. Coincidence? I don’t think so.  Curious and Curiouser.

Actually, that whole love yourself cliché always kind of pissed me off, to be honest. Deep down, I was a pretty harsh critic when it came to me. Twenty years ago, when this cliché theory originated, I remember looking in the mirror like Stuart Smalley taught us on Saturday Nite Live. He would say, “I’m good enough. I’m smart enough and dog gone it, people like me.”   With tenderness, I looked into my eyes in the reflection of a hand held mirror and said, “I love you.” My higher self must have been out flying around the universe so Ego took the call. Not buying it, instantly I hear that annoying voice, “Jeesh, when is the last time you plucked your eyebrows anyway?”

A few months ago I was chatting with my son through a psychic, which occasionally I do one anniversary date or another. He was apologizing for sending crazy people (as he called them) my way because he thought somehow I could help them. I said, “Chad, instead of ‘crazies’, why don’t you send me someone to love?   A boyfriend perhaps? It’s been a really long time and it would be nice to have someone authentic to love.” What do you think Chad said? “I’ll work on that but first”….(you got it)…. “You have to love yourself.” “Damn it, really? Arrrggh!” The psychic laughed and said, “I knew you were going to hate that”; but she did give me a good parting tip. She said, “Start out by making love an action” (verb instead of noun). “It’ll catch on and grow.”

So here I am, searching for Big Love. I had no experience with how to really go about loving myself.  Furthermore, I strongly surmised that the big love that I was now seeking was a whole lot bigger and, maybe even simpler then the convoluted conditional kind that I had known while walking around in my flesh suit.

During this time, I was called to go see Anita Moorijani, author of “Dying to Be Me”, when she visited Denver. Afraid of cancer her entire life, she did everything healthy to avoid getting it. Ironically, she died while in a coma after all of her organs shut down after a long battle with cancer. She flat lined. When she came back into her body, one of the messages she had been given from the ‘other side’, where time doesn’t exist, was to share that our purpose here on this planet is to learn how to love ourselves. I would add to that, loving ourselves throughout every experience life has to offer; the good, the bad and the ugly. There it is, officially gospel. OK, ok, I got it! But how do you do it and how long is this gonna take? I bet there are secrets, Jedi Mind tricks, in this new book that Airplane guy turned me on to. By the way, Anita recovered miraculously from her cancer completely in just a few weeks.

Since I write as an exercise of discovery, I’m sharing just in case the concept of love is befuddling to you too. I know there are a lot of people out there that have this one ‘all figured out’. They are the same ones that keep telling me to go into the light. I spent a lifetime looking in all the wrong places for sure.

So, that’s the back story about how my latest topic the Golden Egg came about.   Alchemy feels like giving birth and if I’m lucky, it just might be a HOT molten Golden Egg or maybe a Nugget would be good. Therefore, I hope the book has some important and interesting messages for us on physicality and “What Love has Got to do with it.” Stay tuned for the conclusion (Part III) of the Golden Egg.

Until then, I’ll leave you with this thought provoking piece from ― Jack Kerouac

“I have lots of things to teach you now, in case we ever meet, concerning the message that was transmitted to me under a pine tree in North Carolina on a cold winter moonlit night. It said that Nothing Ever Happened, so don’t worry. It’s all like a dream. Everything is ecstasy, inside. We just don’t know it because of our thinking-minds. But in our true blissful essence of mind is known that everything is alright forever and forever and forever. Close your eyes, let your hands and nerve-ends drop, stop breathing for 3 seconds, listen to the silence inside the illusion of the world, and you will remember the lesson you forgot, which was taught in immense milky way soft cloud innumerable worlds long ago and not even at all. It is all one vast awakened thing. I call it the golden eternity. It is perfect. We were never really born, we will never really die. It has nothing to do with the imaginary idea of a personal self, other selves, many selves everywhere: Self is only an idea, a mortal idea. That which passes into everything is one thing. It’s a dream already ended. There’s nothing to be afraid of and nothing to be glad about. I know this from staring at mountains months on end. They never show any expression, they are like empty space. Do you think the emptiness of space will ever crumble away? Mountains will crumble, but the emptiness of space, which is the one universal essence of mind, the vast awakenerhood, empty and awake, will never crumble away because it was never born.”

 

 

 

 

I’M NOT MOTHER GOOSE AND I DON’T LAY GOLDEN EGGS

mgi-browngoose-ilunknown
MOTHER GOOSE ON THE LOOSE

…but I’d damned sure like to!  My spiritual evolution has felt a lot like I imagine a goose feels trying to pop an egg or two out every day.  It probably takes focus.  In order to make an egg, you have to practice some sustaining daily processes, like eating grass or laying in it.  You probably have to go sit on a nest or a meditation cushion because it’s hard to lay an egg when you’re running around like a mad goose, honking at people that get in your space.  It might be a little uncomfortable at times.  You might get up and craning your neck, take a peek at your new offspring, the result of all of your hard labor, only to see a white or brown egg instead of a Golden one.  With a sigh you might say, “God, with all of this work, shouldn’t there at least be some Gold speckles in this stupid egg?”

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So, I’m beginning to get a strong hint that I’m just about one hundred and eighty degrees off on all of my self help, self love, healing practices.  Or maybe as “Grasshoppers”, we have to take certain baby hops in order to see the over the next hill?  I’ve taken years of classes about energy and energy work.  I spent thousands of dollars sitting on my ass on a little hard pillow while most people experience life from the outside in (one of God’s other plans) by going sightseeing and sky or deep sea diving around the world.  Ok, I did get to see some pretty awesome countries… I just wanted you to feel sorry for me.

If someone asks, I’d say, “yes, I meditate every day for at least twenty minutes”.  Well, mostly that’s true.  I light the candles and incense (did you know that the purpose of incense is to clear energy fields?  I was told that in India last year by the Monk I was studying under.  Who knew-I just thought it smelled good and put me in a good mood).  Some days my little timer goes off and I open my eyes to the sudden and disappointing  realization that I just sat there and thought for twenty minutes with my eyes closed.

Ego….you can’t live with it and you can’t survive without it.  It’s like a neurotic roommate following you around from room to room.  A running commentary on everything.  “Oh look at the snow.  Shit, I have to shovel… late to work  again….you can’t afford…blah blah blah.”  Commenting on everything, every move I make,  judging me (“why are you eating that?”, talking incessantly through an entire movie (“this movie sucks, you know how it’s going to end.  Turn the channel…now!!”)  But that’s another story for another day.

Here’s what I’ve discovered as my next very important big step to the moon.  Perhaps you saw hints of this in my post for “Rocketman Love”.  White is made up of all colors and darkness is a part of the light….a big part.  So, I’ve surrounded myself by many self promoting “Spiritualists” who have a lot of advice for others.  It’s easy to see all the shit I do wrong-even I can see it.  What I’ve been hearing them say is such things as, “Thoughts are things.  Watch your thoughts.  You will create what you believe you deserve not what you deserve.  Negative thoughts will create a negative reality”, etc.  OK I got that!  And, I think that’s true.

About a year ago, God upped the ante, suggested my next “hop” on the way to the Golden Egg.  I had dinner with a very strongly opinioned local French girl who had a near death experience, not at dinner but skiing in Vail when she was young.  She said, “you probably meditate all wrong”.  My ego reacted with self righteousness, “how dare she!”  As I explained, politely for the most part,  that she was full of shit because every day I did this routine…blah blah blah.  She said you’re chasing the good feelings, the light (well, who wouldn’t want to do that, that’s the point, right?); but what about really feeling the dark shadow side?”  (These are my words, not her exact words).   I’m thinking where you focus is what your reality becomes.  Where your energy level is, is the place from which you create your thoughts, emotions, your projections, your reality.   Well, they say, when you’re ready, the teacher appears.  I seem to have a flock of them, dropping out of the sky, showing up at the end of my driveway or behind the barn.  I pay attention to some of them right away and others….maybe I have an “Aha” moment a year or two later.

A year ago, I met this stranger on an airplane….”stay tuned for THE GOLDEN EGG.”  You won’t want to miss this.

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ROCKET MAN LOVE!

 

This one’s for you…thanks for the Ride!!

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With certainty, because he’d been there,

He says, “I’m going to show you true love” 

He tells you that your expectations stole it from your youth, your innocence

And you no longer recognize its ubiquitous presence

“Love is everything just as White is all colors,” he says 

“Love includes darkness just as White includes black.”

 He just shattered your illusion into a million shards of glass

 

The ride is like a rocket through a wormhole

It rattles your clenched teeth and your jaw tightens

Your muscles scream from the strain

As you try to contain it. You can’t

Something has to give, your heart pounds

Tears burst from your eyes to keep you from imploding and exploding at the same time

And, all at once, you hear yourself laughing like a crazy person

 

This would explain why you could never wrap your mind around it

The Big love that only a special few knew by name 

Funny, you had always thought big love was happiness, joy, bliss, unconditional and sustainable

But now you would come to know it as good and bad, happy and sad

Love was all wrapped up in omnificent expression

Its touch subtle

Its feeling immense

 

This was the real stuff, not at all what you expected

Not the rush of chemicals through your bloodstream

All lightning bolts and fireworks

Dopamine abandoning you to exhaustion

It was a smile, a babe in arms

The pain and emptiness of abandonment

The new bud of a rose unfurling itself to meet the sun

 

It is the whisper that resounds and echoes in your heart

It begins like the slow and throaty snarl of a great African lion

Gathering force with a  guttural and majestic roar that rattles your bones

Goosebumps rise on your flesh and a chill runs down your spine

It’s intensity reverberates  through the confines of who you thought you were

Shaking your entire being to its core

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The quiet hint of its magnitude gathers in your heart

And expands your chest until you can hear your ribs cracking

It rises through your throat, insisting you feel its primordial essence

You clench your jaws tighter,

You try to push it back where it came from, where it belongs, safely contained

This big Love, like a great master of illusion, eludes your efforts

Drifting by silently unnoticed on a veil of gossamer mist

 smoke-through-a-keyhole

Passion rose up in you, tears burst from your eyes and trailed down your cheeks

Your jaws clenched tighter just before loosening the tiniest bit

You transcended into omnificence and expanded into the relief of presence

You became one with the great void that was peace

You heard the sweet sigh of stillness

You felt its weightlessness

And you heard its roar and felt its heaviness

It was the is-ness, the nothingness and the everything-ness

The blinding Whiteness of all colors

 

You allow your thought forms to trail into the clouds that slowly drift from sight

Alone in your omnificence, you float in a blue sky like a playful otter on its back

You are untouched by both the sea of madness and the sea of ecstasy

His voice follows the thought forms that trail into the clouds and disappear

 

All that it was, felt like enough

 Safely contained in your heart-space for eternity

It felt like each color of love melting into the Whiteness

A volcano of molten void

It welled up from the beginning, asking then begging

Spreading its roots crackling through layers of fertile soil

Bursting branches reaching to meet the sky

 

Your body couldn’t contain your passion for life

And it leaked out in tears

That became a stream bursting with the roar of roiling water over a dam

Like the human drama of orgasm screaming for relief

While holding its breath for the long expected final sigh of ecstasy

You wanted it to end

You never wanted it to end

This must be what he meant

 

His voice is softer now as if it comes from another place

It embodies the stillness of a snowflake drifting silently to the ground

 “This is what loves feels like” he says inaudibly

… Then I hear the deafening sound of silence, a final beep of the phone line and he’s gone, a blip on the radar

For a second, the sting of abandonment hung in the air like a period before the sentence

“Just float”, I whispered

 “Forget about him”

 

I rose up from the inky darkness of desertion that had enclosed me

I felt the support and vastness of the blue sky once more

In glee, I floated, twisting and turning, pivoting like a sky diver in free fall with outstretched arms

My heart pounded in my chest

It gasped out of fear and exhilaration

My breath became so shallow that I wondered if it would be my last

…And there you were, blazing towards me like a comet

Hands reaching for mine

From the nowhere-ness of love, you were freefalling your way to me

With intense momentum, you grasped my outstretched hands

We circled in a tailspin of kaleidoscope colors

And felt the thrill of Wing Suit Angels

Skydivers in formation

Together we circled and ‘plied’ through space and timelessness

Ours was a beautiful dance of vulnerability and trust

A dance of eternal love

We felt the velocity of created and creator

 

I gazed upon your face as tears of familiarity blurred my vision and burned a trail down my face

Your tender gaze met mine and your lips slowly turned into a suggestive half grin

Glee replaced emptiness as I screeched, laughing out-loud

I heard your familiar chuckle

In the echo of a thousand voices you said,

“See, I told you!”

 

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BRIDGING THE GAP

 

 

 

 

 

 

LIVING LIFE JUICY

We come to this physical existence to gain wisdom.  To gain wisdom, we must get off the bleachers and put our toe in the water so that we can feeeellll everything life has to offer

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Experiential Wisdom is meaningful, beautiful and many times the hardest path. You can read about jumping out of a plane but you don’t really know skydiving until you’re freefalling through the universe. Try to explain what chocolate tastes like on your tongue with a fine wine. Describe the feelings of hormones and endorphins rushing through your bloodstream at the mere anticipation of a tender first kiss. When we use all of our senses and not just our brain, that is the wisdom that God knows by name. This is the Artist’s Way, knowing how to expose you to all of your senses, making them come alive and juicy in the moment, on the page, canvas, or movie screen. Just my thought for the day