out reaping sound in the field of silence
this dusk, a poet
about to channel Atlantis knowledge
Monday, January 30, 2012
Friday, January 27, 2012
creatively, mother
wind chimes by the zen fountain
mother insists on telling me she practices feng shui in her afterlife
what an entrance!
mother insists on telling me she practices feng shui in her afterlife
what an entrance!
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Noted (17th of Jan 2012)
Once upon a bright day, my Mrs. X accidentally meet a crippled man. She felt so much empathy towards him that she was him for few moments, feeling all what he felt and feels. Though she continued her daily routine, his shadow was there within her. By that night, she broke her ankle to the extent of necessitating the implant of a metal plate and multiple screws. As if, bridging.
And once upon a brighter day, my Mrs. Y meet the same crippled man. She had so much compassion towards him that she honored the courage he had in him to choose his life path while she reaffirmed her own choice of expanding through joy and perfect health. By that night, brighter stars filled the sky.
Whether to be Mrs. X or Mrs. Y, kindly choose consciously my heart centered reader.
And once upon a brighter day, my Mrs. Y meet the same crippled man. She had so much compassion towards him that she honored the courage he had in him to choose his life path while she reaffirmed her own choice of expanding through joy and perfect health. By that night, brighter stars filled the sky.
Whether to be Mrs. X or Mrs. Y, kindly choose consciously my heart centered reader.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Storytelling (9th of Jan 2012)
Once upon a time, my David, a married man, is enjoying a gathering with mind stimulating flock, discussing whatever under the sun in an artistic sacredness to what is, yet with a sense of humor to what is not. Engaged in every detail, his eyes twinkle while his velvet drink vibrates of spirits whispering stay. With the scented ambience going more intense yet as delicate as ever with its elegance, time getting closer to one after midnight, he makes artificial efforts to pull himself off the gathering for "it is time to go home".
During the ride back, a voice like a moonlight beam, ventures into his dark path and asks "... but what is home?". An undefined sadness tinged with despair seeps into the car to replace his shadow while the question is being replayed over and over. Opera on radio (loud applause) and the clouds seem stuck in traffic.
By the river, he unconsciously stops and shuts everything off ... to listen. What is home. A flowing breath. Open window. Shivering leaves. All that is nurturing the natural rhythm. Authentic Self expansion. He reclaims his ride with a decision.
During the ride back, a voice like a moonlight beam, ventures into his dark path and asks "... but what is home?". An undefined sadness tinged with despair seeps into the car to replace his shadow while the question is being replayed over and over. Opera on radio (loud applause) and the clouds seem stuck in traffic.
By the river, he unconsciously stops and shuts everything off ... to listen. What is home. A flowing breath. Open window. Shivering leaves. All that is nurturing the natural rhythm. Authentic Self expansion. He reclaims his ride with a decision.
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Friday, January 6, 2012
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Winter flowers
Birds ~
Winter flowers bloom
to wither away on the sound of my footsteps
is my heaviness that noticeable
another withered thought
not catching up with fleeting breathes ~
Winter flowers bloom
to wither away on the sound of my footsteps
is my heaviness that noticeable
another withered thought
not catching up with fleeting breathes ~
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