This morning sadness dropped in
I did not hear a knock on the door
Nor do I recall a phone call
Totally unexpected, this unwanted guest
Perhaps she entered through the back door
Ignoring my surprise, she looked for a chair to sit
I wondered why the visit, but I hesitated to ask
Since somehow the feeling was known
She was here before, I remember
I recall asking her to leave, to go away
This is my home, my castle, I said
This is my body, leave me alone
But the more I insisted the more she persisted
She disregarded my wishes and looked for a place to sit
So now I did not interfere
I looked away, pretended she was not here
Knowing she will be bored and leave
Without me, how can she be?
Without me, who is she?
Without me, she is lost with no identity.
Thank you for the breath I take
The breath I give
Thank you for bringing me here
And always being with me near
For holding my hands when I fear
Thank you for giving me brave heart
Strong, vital, full of love and thrill
For the smile on my face
Opening, revealing all I have
Thank you for giving me you
Walking me through and through
Art is the Language of the Soul
And as my soul speaks
In prayer, it whispers.
I silently listen.
The words become alive.
My hands move to create
To the rhythm of my heartbeat.
And while my lips are shut
I hear my inner voice.
Loud and clear ... I can hear ...
I can watch,
I feel you in my fingertips,
Then I touch to create ...
What a work of ark.
And I know
In my heart, in my soul,
No doubt it is you,
The woman in me,
The awaking woman of the now.
On a Half Moon Night
Last night, freedom was here.
With magical sound rushing over,
with high notes of laughter.
With firm touch of dance, giggles and much more.
With no reason at all.
So very amazing ...
Freedom is like that:
Carries no mistakes, no corrections,
and no contraints.
Freedom has no past or future,
Only the sweet taste of the now.
It liberates the heart and puts the mind on hold.
It captures the dreams and connects the dots,
It spreads its wing, but not to fly.
I moved closer; I touched; it was real.
It was here.
Whats in a Stone?
You see a stone, hard, stiff, and rigid.
Raggedy, old and worn out.
Perhaps thousands or millions years old
After all what is a thousand years for a stone?
It does not judge or speak ...
Even when it is torn, ripped away from its home
On a mountain top, a green hill, or on a beautiful shore.
Gathering earth, sand, dust and dirt.
Only to guard, to shield what is in its core
There are men with a heart of stone
But there are stones with a heart of men ...
Embracing, trusting, protecting what is unseen.
Keeping, and maintaining its mysterious, magnificent truth.
Waiting, patiently, silently for an artist's hands to touch.
To notice, undress and display its worth.
only for us to see, to comprehend a naked stone.
To recognize, and realize what was buried, hidden and untold
A true story, a message and perhaps a prediction, or forecast
For many, many years to unfold.