A sojourn among the wildflowers is what my soul needs in regular doses, down low among the “weeds”
where time does not stand still, but the world does, for nothing exists in the moment except for us,
and no greater beauty can there be than in the nonmanhandled, outside-the-garden-lines seed that blooms so gracefully, silently defying, yet exuding pure peace;
that peace transfers into my essence as I listen with my soul to the whispered sapience,
no lesson or story captivates my interest more than what the petals transmit,
and to think how often it goes unnoticed – underfoot, sole-crushed, disregarded – the natural therapy for inner balance.
If you happen to have the interest, I’ll share with you what was imparted on this Tuesday morning in my own backyard during my daily sojourn
among the wildflowers….
I wish to simply be the color in your gray, to open your heart to seeing every season has new days, and there always exists little blessings sent personally your way…
We all at times lose focus as the world becomes tear-blurred; that’s why we were given each other to lean on, lend strength, stay near.
When we get closer through the growing trust, we become less guarded and show the rest of us, the complexities, the other ways through the protective shield, the scars, the webs, the truths,
and we find, though all unique, we are the same in our sufferings,
made so we take turns with it, return to the circle of falls and lifts.
I am here to share my hues, overflowing now, but once like you.
And when you come into fuller bloom, pay it forward so others may too become imbued.
Let me walk with you awhile, whether or not you lend me your shoes for a mile.
In fact, let’s both take them off and leave them here as we surf the shore,
finding naturally the treasures within us each, bare feet on common shifting grounds equally.
One set of footprints in the sand they say is when we are carried by Him,
but in the interim let me be the second impressions alongside yours, for in this world we all need sometimes to see the touch so longed for.
We don’t need to hold hands. We don’t need to even speak. Let’s just walk together awhile in the comfort of kindred company.
And should you be here again tomorrow, maybe we could exchange shoes for a mile. And should you come back at our planned time, maybe for a bit, we could leave our shells behind.
We are never trapped, just fated to faulty perspective, succumb to specious perception; it’s all relevant, related –
one more rock-move away from the light on the other side of the avalanche,
one more “wrong” turn lost in the forest before hearing the anabranch…
much is necessarily experienced:
near suffocation sometimes the only way to motivate a life-saving change,
the legs of the journey in the humanless woods lead to the reflection and feeling of wounds,
and all paths probably have purpose among the universe’s higher powers.
Without the lonely, looping trails, we could not emerge anew with our truest selves
and others we met along the way not-so-coincidentally placed.
We are never trapped. We are never lost. At least not for very long.
No change was ever ignited without the spark. So many opportunities missed, passed up, though after being gifted matchsticks but still refusing to start the fire.
It’s hard to decipher which is me, which is you, when we alternate positions, both always as one and the gentlest of blooms.
Sometimes it is the shadows that give the needed solace; in tender loving form, one protectively umbrellas an ecliptic respite.
We are the same: each crease in the petal a similar quondam- but-unable-to-be-forgotten story, memory, that will not become us, for our souls’ DNA seeps from hearts of gold and velvet touches,
for all purity is innocence, all white efflorescence, divine; pollen an offering to keep seeding time,
and ours is upon the horizon, finally in sight. Let’s keep orbiting there, as each other’s faith and support, strength, and hope, floral lifeline.
Shades of bright pink– magenta, fuchsia, cerise– through a sea of gray, peek, a reminder that soon it will be spring.
In the shroud of fog and mist that seems to perpetually persist, nature refuses to statically subsist; every cloud will again disperse or lift.
Time was constructed with the condition of motion with clauses that require stages of hibernation; every living thing needs rest and recuperation. Time ticks on at the same rate; speed is but perception.
Fill the moments wisely with balance, tenderly caring for each personal aspect. Mind, body, and soul are both one and separate; each undergo necessary, natural occurrences.
Embrace each season that inevitably occurs; even the cold, the dark, the thorns, the spurs have their purpose in the slows and the stirs. We are nature within, designed this way by our Creator.
This too shall pass: it’s happening for a reason. Let’s not be in a hurry for every next season. This moment now is infused with more than you can know. We are not meant to understand, only to continue to evolve,
to grow.
We will reach the sun when we are meant to. Side by side or entwined, let us together bloom. No hurry, no need to be bold; we can take our time, be led by
There is a pain in you so exquisitely piercing, in depths that cannot be reached; if I could dive into the abyss of you, I wouldn’t hesitate to retrieve it.
But even then, it could too easily well up again, so instead, I would trace the source, swim upstream through your tears and pluck from the duct the thorn.
But I cannot. The furthest I can reach is your heart and transfuse the antiserum from my own scars, hold your hand and see you through each storm, and all of my faith add to yours and send up our plea