May I never lose my way to getting lost, may I never resist the urge to leave it all, may I never shelter my face from the storm, may I never let my arms fall in the downpour, may I never fully wash off the grit of the sand, and may I never be restrained by clock or human hand.
May I never negotiate with my soul: may I never let anyone close the window.
I will bend to please, for I put first others’ needs; overempathy makes me weak.
Forceful winds, whether intended or not, push with invisible pressure until my insides knot.
In opposite direction of secret desires, the flight I am put on with unpurchased ticket takes me higher
but farther on false wings to where I wished to be; nonetheless, I relentlessly look for the positives in my surroundings.
Rock, boulder, my anchor, my center, is never stationary. I move the mountains with the strength of your arms and my unshakable faith in the Almighty.
Bent tree. Flight path. Criss-crossing trajectories. I will bend back. I will disembark. And wherever that leaves me, I will find where the wildflowers are. And if you pluck them all, I will water the seeds in my heart.
I will persevere as me, no matter how many rounds I smartly, politely, or wearily concede. Each of those fertilize bloom potentiality.
I will grow my own wildflower fields until they rise out of me.
I am NOT a gardener. Though a gardener I’ve never tried to be… Every natural wonder I’ve ever encountered has been there before me, remnants from previous tenants’ tastes and sculptures wild and free lovingly planted in my path by the Creator Almighty and meant at the time of discovery to be the personal messages needed.
And so it is with my hibiscus pinks, cut down to the ground by the men so they could build a fence more easily. Flowers dear to me for the way they so faithfully after such meaningful moments took turns blooming to mark the milestones in my healing, to commemorate the special blessings, to symbolize with such humble beauty the changing seasons within me.
In the soft, golden morning rising sun, they lift themselves again to greet me. Not defiantly. Just filled with inspiration. An example. A reunion. A smiling. I approach and spend some moments I do not have according to clock and duty. The buds seem from an extra-long green hibernation to be defrosting, thawing. I know what lies inside. The knowing denies mystery but does not anticipation-impede.
My heart does indeed too beat again, my dear friends. They can never cut short our aspiring stories.
Barefoot atop the deep waters, white dress and wild tresses flowing, sunken-ship cemetery of the past beneath, I twirl in this present moment.
The sea is mine as my dance floor, and I skim across to my pick of shores; I explore, I vacation, not searching, just jubilation of losing worries and fears, exaltation of the lightness of the lifting of those stormy years, each moment an eternity to get to the next, each stepping stone sinking with each vine grasped, no beanstalk discovered to bring me to the clouds, only faith each day for decades of a better tomorrow.
That tomorrow is today,
hence the head-raised dance in the sun and in the rain, embracing with wide-opened arms the achievement of having started upon this horizon I only viewed from the beach.
The stepping stones still sink. I just realized the only missing factor was to fully
They were never needed. Self-love was the only key.
I was always worth it. Eventually, I fought for me and this dream.
It has been way too long since I’ve gone to the ocean. And it’s across the street! Shame on me! That was my thought (again) yesterday after work, after another week that emotionally and mentally and therefore physically drained me to the max.
This morning, the call was way too strong to ignore. My soul needed it. Desperately. And I felt a loved one also nudging me.
I hear the sea calling to me to return, and your voice, love, imploring me to let my soul have what it yearns…
On the way to the bridge and on the way over it, “Gloria in Excelsis Deo” came on the radio just as the sky was bursting with morning glory. Windows down, music up, singing along, I felt my soul begin again to mend itself. Sometimes, I need the most beautiful ballads, and other times, carrying the same “burdens,” I simply need to lift my voice in songs of praise to my higher power. When I witness the absolute miracles of nature, how can I not?
Gloria in excelsis Deo, Glory to the highest in God. Lord, I see and feel your presence, and my praise and thanks, I offer up…
In the past couple of years, I have been in the best place I’ve ever gotten to so far in this life despite (perhaps in spite of) 2020, seemingly so far from the shadows of a difficult past, basking in the warm light of love of late. Yet, I did feel the tickle of that demonic tentacle recently, even took a personal day because I felt like I simply couldn’t make it through the week. The next day, I cried at work from a fresh heart-infliction. Teaching in 2020 has challenged us as educators and stretched us all to our near-breaking points. But we are family at my school, so we gather (6 feet apart) at lunch each afternoon and do our best to laugh it all off. Laughter, I feel, is truly still the oldest and best medicine.
Thank you, Lord, for laughter; may that sound find its way to the ones in these times who most need it. Let it be channeled again through me to make someone’s day for mirth mask-muffled is still healing.
My other top natural remedies have always been faith and nature. And now the added goodness of the man who fully loves me as me. And all of these were present in me as I sat in the silky sand before the lively ocean, the 70 degrees and plenty of sea breeze also infiltrating my body, mind, and spirit.
It’s so easy to get pulled down, isn’t it? Down has always been seen as the negative direction. Higher powers in higher elevations, clouds and sky… The weight of perceived burdens and mental inflictions and the things we voluntarily shackle to our ankles is so heavy. The soul is weightless. The wings of humans, invisible. The altar barer than ever. If only we would lay more down. Offer more up. Let Him take more of it, all of it, from us. Why do we cling to it? Why is it so easy to forget that He is always beside us, always with open arms? Why is it so easy to forget how to swim, how to fly?… We simply need not sink or be prisoners of gravity. We can let it get washed away. We can uncage our souls. We can lean on others, even let them carry us for a while. We can open our hearts to love and to receive love. We are never alone. I think we simply choose it sometimes.
So much inside me rose up this week. To attempt to defeat me. From places of my past maybe. From my own former voice to myself maybe. It’s hard to repel that gray when the cloud rolls in to consume you. It’s trying to take us all though. So shouldn’t we now, more than ever, unmask our hearts and join in spirit to lift each other?
I plead for the sea breeze to vigorously whisk away my negativities. I allow the ocean waves to wash away all the rest that is heavy. I lift my voice in song and cheerfully praise His glory. I raise my hands and pray to be free from this melancholy.
Part choice, part determination it seems to be to avoid the extermination while still living caused by the loss of feeling when we fall into that state of complacency, the dangerous hibernation of our dreams, the steps we take turning our back on the way it could be, should be…
It’s not easy to keep the gray from taking our colors. We fade, part victim, part converter; we don’t sell our souls, we give them now away in exchange for tickets to nowhere but in that gray for longer, forever, to remain.
I feel the pull of the evolution of the devil, the camouflaged minions, the demons no longer with arms now casting spells.
I feel the brush, the tickle of tentacle; to kick it off takes more than will. Too many sleepers not getting taken but tricked into nonthinking by the sweet song of sirens.
I climb the mountain and expectedly find the gray shadow spreading like turpentine.
I wrap my limbs protectively around my colors and flee to find my favorite awake other.
Together, we embrace, not in fear but as survivors thankful for our non-superpowers.
We will not succumb to the non-fate of the others who gave freely away one by one each of their colors.
We will keep painting on life’s canvas to preserve hope and beauty with each brush of our breath,
not with fire, but signaling with bright hues to the others who may be out there still imbued.
Ultimately, this poem originated from reading a dear WP friend’s poem and listening to a song he posted (which I shared above). (If you are not connected with Ivor Steven, then your life is not as bright as it could be because the light of his soul shines like none other.) Ivor’s poem captures, despite the melancholy mood from the song, a wonderful moment––a pastry, a poem reading, a friendly unmasked smile. Simple. Yet everything really.