This Time of Year

More of the same.
Well wishers
and freaks of false hopes
in holiday garb.

The end of continuum
comes and interrupts
peaceful coexistence
in the natural world.

Beast is unburdened
Wishing for sameness -
sleep connects his purpose
and I am of another.

Wandering
in blind devotion to indefinable guides
of ancestral dead

Calendar ticking
in silent rhythm
pages turned and revelation
scatters and truth remains undiscovered.

Time does not reward
intent -
for humanity
is flawed and perfect
when viewed from a distance
where my soul survives.

Artistic Justice

     I'm easily amused. My mind is challenged when tasked to think outside of the box, but I color outside the lines all the time.

     I don't know what my dad saw in me, but I remember what he said: "I'd rather live with you because you can find your way out of a paper bag".  I am guessing that this tidbit came from a conversation we had about his eventual old age and whether he would choose to live with me over my brother. His response caught me off guard. We were not alike.  He was an extremely educated man. Far from the several degrees he garnered in his profession, his zest to learn was his purpose. Those, in the world today, who learned from him and shared insights with him, are extremely successful business people. 

     I was not the academic child.  My brother finished college with two degrees and I was never going to attain that laudable goal. Something in my gut said, "why bother".

This quiet rebellion began with after-school detention in kindergarten.  My teacher required me to color the square-just the square; no scribbling outside the lines. My first attempt was tossed in the trash can. Looking back, I can't believe that I was the only student in her class tasked with a "do-over", but my memory is painfully clear. Thankfully, Mom came to the rescue, arm in arm with the principal.  I was moved to another class. It was empowering to realize that I was important, that I had rights at the tender age of 5.

     She fostered my creative being.  Mom was an artist in her own right but never shared her talents publicly. In the 1950s, wives were wives and sometimes mothers and volunteers. We enjoyed quiet times of drawing and coloring and cutting construction paper.  We created entire circuses of Playdoh animals. Our gallery covered the walls of our kitchen, windowsills, tops of cabinets and changed with the seasons. I remember her carefully tucking the artwork into old dress boxes from Neustetters department store.

     Mom could sketch women's fashions. I know she had some formal training and one Christmas, I bought her a cabinet's fill of canvases, sketchbooks, paints, and brushes.  Sadly, she never used them and they were re-gifted to a girlfriend when I married.

My brother mailed me a box this past year and among the old photographs was a sketchbook from my grandmother.  Her landscapes are beautiful and chronicle her youth in the Wisconsin city of Green Bay.  The sketches of trees and river banks filled the pages.   I imagine the stillness beckoned her and she felt connected to her God there.  I did not know these qualities about her. I wish I had, my life could have been so much more enriched.  The few paintings I have finished are certainly a testament to these two women. Not so much the subject matter, but the fact that they are part of me and part of them.

     I still color outside the lines and view much of the world with skepticism. I rebel frequently and often find that I don't fit with the traditional point of view.  I am at an age where I am bold in my opinions and appearance.   The odd and unusual deserve more than a passing glance. Their purpose shouldn't be questioned, but rather appreciated. The giant anteater has a champion in me.

     I think of myself as a second- hand puzzle at the thrift store- waiting for a chance to go home. Although most likely there is a piece or two missing, my value is no less than an unopened one.

I have never been one to applaud the popular trends, change does not come easily to me. I feel unfinished.

     Perhaps this reincarnation is just now in its defining moments. Perhaps I am not my memories and my latent potential is finally within reach.  Perhaps all the crayons and neatly colored boxes are not the template of my life.

     What lies on the outside of the closed square is far more enticing to me.  Coloring over the line into the space of possibilities allows me freedom.  Freedom to be who I am.  I already knew this in kindergarten.  I believe it now.

Two Way Mirror

     Thoughts are scattered. I am unable to concentrate, on any topic, for longer than a breath mint.  Try as I do, there's no period, just commas and an occasional semicolon ( for that regurgitation of the previous thought).

     My soul is in chaos, turmoil, and consistent unrest and it's not self-inflicted. The more I question, justify and analyze, the greater my disquietness.  I have entered truth; the pathway is narrow and apparently one way- for the further I travel, my past fades like footprints along the shore.

     The biggest hurdle at present is wanting to go there. Wanting to stand in my truth conflicts with I like who I am, so far, so why change NOW?  Is time a really a consideration?  Perhaps, but time is a manmade diversion. It limits potential and rewards the immediate. What's all this rushing around?  Seems silly from the standpoint of evolution.  I don't think man/woman is the finite model.  I am beginning to believe that the body is the vessel and my take on it is definitely not biblical.

     My brain is my armor. It shields me against myself.  I wish I could drain the gray matter and begin again. How does one accomplish the reprogramming of oneself? Education, I am certain is the key. How am I going to determine the qualifications of the teacher?  Based on what criteria? I haven't hit the “ah-ha” moment yet. I am optimistic and driven; although I can't say what fuels the gears.

     Can I be spontaneous and flexible or must I remain tethered to someone else's schedule?  Thinking that I have always been in control makes me distrust.  Knowing that I have always been in control makes me resist.  Learning has always been a two-sided affair. There is always an opposite point of view.  There's always a polar extreme and maybe this time I need to leave the comfort of linear thinking and consider the possibilities.

     As I try to process this awakening, my path beckons. Steady up the hill. I can't wait to see what's around the bend.

Turn of a Calendar Page

     New Year's resolutions, New Year's intentions, to-do list, bucket list- unadulterated insanity! I believe indulging in this ritual will cause completely unnecessary stress and wasted productivity.

Consider my post "Church of Attaboy".  I was a little more than put out with organized religion when I wrote it. The theme plays into a recent post by my good friend, Angela.  She proposes that we focus on kindness. I like it.

     My take on it maybe a little off-center and not exactly altruistic, but I further propose that the first person to receive kindness should be one's self.

     I am generally kind-try to help when I can.  I often suggest options for seemingly undoable tasks. Offering advice comes easily, but it's a double-edged sword.  I should be able to seek advice as easily. Right?  The scale is heavily unbalanced and I am trying to adjust.  So, I'm placing more on the self- side and kindness is the pile I am borrowing from.

     I am depleted. My energy fields need adjustment. The Reiki masters have confirmed the diagnosis.  I've had the symptoms for years, but didn't want another traditional psychoanalysis.  Psychobabble has its place and is a good fit for some.  I'm not "some". Matter of fact, I'm not anything that I believed in and "believed" is a relative term.

     Grateful that I am part of the solution and not the problem, I have renewed energies and unlimited opportunity to share a universal message.  However, I am not primed and must devote myself to developing my gift.  I won't be depleted very long.

     So back to the kindness thing. Just imagine what you could accomplish if your day began with just one goal. Find a reason for liking yourself.  Have a dose of ego with your coffee. Know that you will make a difference today. Take a chance on kindness. Let me know how it works out.

Threshold of Tradition

     I like the word "threshold".  It's the perfect visual introduction to this story.  Being a published poet, blogger, painter and pianist, I am always stepping through my comfort zone and trying something new. This time "the something" new is ages old.

     Beyond the five senses, there is a sixth-intuition.  The debate surrounding it is familiar to most and is a victim of religious interpretation. I have come to understand that the intuitive realm is the conduit to universal wisdom and I'm standing in the shadow of the door frame.

     Why I am here now is obvious.  I am in denial of "the me" I know and "the me" you suspect you know.

     Holiday traditions are waning only to remain in the conscious memory of who I was.  I am beginning to hate the contradictions between my inside self and outside self.  The pretense must give way to a life of purpose.

     For me, the holiday traditions were never a perfect fit.  I understood the fairy tale quality of them at a very young age.  Guessing that the ebb and flow of family gatherings relied heavily on the elders of my family, it was a natural progression right out of the obligatory celebrations when I was a single woman, void of responsibilities.

     Crossing my path, again when I married and raised my family, those traditions resurfaced. Another generation indoctrinated. But I didn't know then what I know now.

     That gut feeling is tied to survival. I am surviving in the communal sense of belonging and deciding whether I want to continue to belong to what is familiar.  I don't think so. My journey has been redefined. I have questions. What if the individual is just the messenger? What if pre-destiny interrupts one's purpose? What if that little voice is tied to the infinite universal voice? Do I listen?

Free will and the reincarnate soul. Trusting that the convergence of messages will direct me, I will continue to do and be who I thought I was to a lesser degree and meditate and network with those who are like minded.

     My future is not here- which is not surprising; my past wasn't here either.

The Night Before Christmas. Or is it?

     I can't imagine my life without me in it. After all the years of honing this identity to its unique and awe-inspiring form, I'm not me anymore.

     Oh sure, the outside me is still vaguely recognizable, seemingly well preserved by the elixirs of later middle age or early later age or definitely postmenopausal and not looking a day past sixty age. Admittedly not trying to hide the years of good living, I am replete. Or so I thought.

     I am harping on the philosophy of metaphysical existentialism.  Not knowing if such a description is truthful, it's as close to a definition as I can muster.  The "existential" relates to a principle my father related to me: the verifiable flesh and bones part...I think therefore I am. Metaphysics is a new science to me and is best described as the subconscious narrative that is always present.  That little voice in my head that argues with the "me" I know.  Funny how stifling an endless loop of antagonistic and provocative thoughts can interrupt the flow of things.

     I am and I am not responsible for this outcome.  Contrariness is my natural view of the world.  I can view the world from the front of a multi-paned window and delight in the varied perspectives.  All I have to do is adjust my posture or distance from the window and the other world is all of a sudden very enticing.  The problem becomes the reality of the situation- that I cannot remain at that exact distance or position as I continue to explore.

     I believed in black holes before they were defined. I have known there are a finite number of atoms within the universe; that change is infinite and believed that the universe is undefinable. We will never be able to grasp the enormity of existence. So, what makes you think you can limit my potential?  You can't because we are similar and being similar there are obvious hurdles.  You'd better test your theories on yourself before you attempt using me as a template. I'm just saying.

     That long hallway to the bright light doesn't interest me anymore. I'm not going there. My journey is one of returning to what is within.  Now that I understand that and the pretenses are vanishing, my identity is becoming plural and integral within the universal voice.

     Obfuscation is the ill-mannered bed mate to free will. Commitment and fear play together on the seesaw; balance is never the goal. Clear choices, and with them the consequences of evolution, occupy my mind these days.

     Winter Solstice has come and gone. The world is in chaos and the well-intentioned are grasping for answers. Those who resonate with the highest frequencies in the fourth and fifth dimensions will help to enlighten the masses.

     In my lifetime, man will terraform Mars.  Promise and diligence will carry me to the Milky Way and eventually home.  Me, myself and I will cease to exist and you will wonder where we've gone.

I do not know the answer.

     Virginia still believes in Santa Claus. Anything is possible.

Star Power

     My recently published book, "You Know Me and You Don't-Poems from a Random Life", leave both the author and the reader with an open-ended question: what's next?

     I thought, "another book".  I hope the reader thought. Period. Poetry allows latitude.  In a free verse format, the stanzas and verses flow.  It's a perfect venue for my word work. I flow, I vacillate through the moments of my life; thankful for unlimited rebirthing of my soul.

     Validation, through the printed page is the catalyst which allows for the continuous outpouring as I journey on this plane. That is about to change.

     Knowing oneself takes a lifetime.  I believe intuitive knowledge is the sixth sense which balances purpose with existence.  The five senses can be relied on for pleasure and protection of the physical being. I want more.

     Religion is control. Spirituality is a quest. Secularism is the path I choose. The universe cannot be defined on my terms. It is not finite and my journey is transient. Thankfully, I am open-minded living among those who are not which challenges me-constantly.

     Shamans and lightkeepers are my source to Truth.  I am grateful to my intuitive voice and the messages of clarity. I am at the threshold of the new. The old no longer serves me.

     I begin again.