Embracing Deceitful and Wicked

I remind myself that it's safe here.  This little corner of the universe is a safe place for my heart to open up and bleed upon paper.

And so...  candles are lit and I watch the flame flicker.  I debate touching my fingers in the wax like I used to when my parents weren't looking, because

it was brave.  and bad.

I liked the mask it created upon my fingertips.  I'd peel it off little by little in amazement of the process.

 

I've thought back to that little girl many times lately.  Her actions still hold #secretmessages within them awaiting discovery.  At times, I see her so clearly sitting under a tree, 

hiding.  

She often crossed her fingers, wishing and hoping that nobody would find her because she needed time to reckon with herself.  She tried to convince herself that she wasn't evil for thinking such wild thoughts.  She traced her secrets onto branches.

Somewhere along the way her heart was silenced.  The battle was lost.

"Hearts are deceitful and wicked," they told her.  The Bible says so.  Her heart was the reason she was evil.  The heart couldn't be trusted.

She learned not to trust herself.  She learned to ignore her heart.

She became what they said she should become.  Putting on the costume of "should and shouldn't" she clung to them tightly.  This worked for a while, until fingers got sore.  She couldn't hold on any longer and the only one left to catch the fall once her grip gave way...was me.

The heart she'd tried so hard to ignore.  Now we are left with much un-learning but the outlook is bright.  

Magical

Sometimes I wake up and feel stuck.  Disoriented.  Yet I know that a special power lay at my fingertips.  Unsure what the future holds, there's one unique moment upon waking, when I get to decide.  Oh there's many more throughout the day but this one is distinctive in my life.

One moment when I get to choose how the day will unfold.

Sometimes my health isn't good and I wake up with pain.  On those days, I try to force a smile and embrace the hope that faking it will make it.  Sometimes, I can't do it.  Sometimes I just want to go back to bed, skipping even the coffee.  (And anyone that knows me knows that that is NO SMALL deal).

I throw some clothing on and make it down the stairs.  My yellow composition book is waiting for me on the coffee table, I grab it and head outside to "my spot" at our cafe table and chair set that overlooks a blue morning sky and tribe of trees.

I start with rambles.  "I did not want to get out of bed today," and go on from there.

Sometimes its monotonous and reminds me of the diary that I had as a young child but then other times, when I sit and listen, describing the world around me, it's as if the world speaks back.

Birds sing, squirrels argue and the butterfly comes to say hello.

Who can stay stuck and disoriented when beauty comes to kiss your cheek?  "Today is going to be a magical day," I say out loud.

Right there.  For me, its always right there.  After writing has saved me, I get to decide how my day will turn out.

And I say it will be magical.

Broken Compasses

Rocks and Light breed poetry in my bones.
Like a lovers gaze,
They hold secret messages

silent. whispers.

Chapters full of adventures, long roads traveled and yet to travel.
Water and blood like a horror
with deaths and rebirths

and. broken. compasses.

They do not sit alone.
These Rocks.
This light.

Huddled together and close to other elements
they embrace with
light kissing treetops

a. sacred. tribe.

I stare.  I soak it all up.
I ask
many questions.

and. they. answer



(Enjoying other poets, I'm linking up here today).

I've Learned To Be OK With Getting Lost

There's a sacred calming sometimes in starting new rituals, like sitting with a new book of a favorite poet. 

There's a thundering fear sometimes in starting new rituals, like a grey sky announcing a storm is on the horizon.

Usually this is where I get stuck:

What if I don't make it?  What if it doesn't work?  What if once again I move onto something new?

The doubting begins.

Like loading the car up for a new adventure.  I begin, unsure where the road will take me, unsure which routes are in need of a detour.. and in case you didn't know, I'm a bit directionally challenged.  

It's as if my GPS has a weak wire, it isn't turning on and I'm left with only me and my intuition.  I'm left with a decision to just go for it or turn around and head back towards the familiar.

Yet this time, I choose to leap fearlessly and hope that my wings form in the process of descending.

I've learned to be OK
with getting lost.

This is scary.  This.  Learning to trust myself.  This.  Asking questions.

This living from the inside out.

I stretch my arms up to the sky,
asking nature to speak to me as I stand like a warrior.

It has begun.

Unsure where it will lead but doing it anyway.

Restless Artist

Words.  Grip me.  Scream behind bars for freedom.

Even if only through rotary listing.  One by one.

Light bathing.  Trees swaying.  A restless artist.

This.  

Eyes opened to the soul.  Soul of a poet.

~Linking Up Here with Mama Zen~

Clicking My Heels

She wrote a charge.  I think to myself that she wrote it to me.  Her words, "stop thinking so much and write.  Please.  Write."  Something inside of me was nudged.  So there I was, away from home but scribbling on scrap paper while ears popped as we drove through the NC mountains on our way home from our family vacation.  19+ hours in the car.

No end was is sight, just miles and miles of trees waving as we passed.  I caught myself wishing that I could rush the process.  Click my heels together like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, "There's no place like home, there's no place like home," and arrive.  This feeling of anxiety, wishing the destination would quickly appear at my beckon call wasn't foreign to me.

I've caught myself trying to "click my heels" before.  

I often tell others that it's not about the destination but rather, the journey.  I breathe deep and "pray" like my friend rain began teaching me last week.  I pray contentment with mindful breathing.  I pause, intent on just listening.  I'm reminded to be where I am. Now.

I lay my head back on the seat and my eyes met the clouds above the horizon.  Like watercolor masterpieces, the colors blend and take my breathe away.  It's then that something happened.  A quickening deep inside my soul.

I feel Her.  

She comes close and whispers, "This.  This, Willow, is what it's all about."

At first I questioned:  Who?  Could this really be?  Oh maybe it is.  Maybe the Divine Spirit is giving me a glimpse into knowing.  But wait, What?  What do you mean by "this"?  

But somehow I knew the answer.  It was in the quiet embrace of breathing and being where I was.  In the moment.  

Awake.  Aware. Listening

Waking Up Some More

It started with a post about naming.  Some of the words stirred my soul in a way that I just couldn't put my finger on.  I knew that naming was an important part of my awakening.

I'd heard of dying to the old and living anew.  But not in this way.

I wasn't sure what to do about my writing.  Things had gotten hard.  Painful.  There is pain involved when one wakes up from a deep sleep.  Muscles and Limbs are stiff and weak.

I feel as though I'm learning how to walk again.

One baby step at a time as one friend puts it.

This is that journey.  The journey of one girl.  Waking up some more.  One baby step at a time.  Care to join the journey?