current affairs · life · poetry · relationships · writing

What Is Important?

Unity seems an apt response
Yet we pillow fight, toss
sinewy threads of notions…

Is righteousness really
more important than peace?

(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson.  Image my own.)

creativity · mental-health · poetry · writing

Peace Within

The waters of my soul
are still tonight
the harshness of day’s
light, easing now
into quiet solitude.

I surrender to renewal
knowing that no matter
what tomorrow brings
I have peace within
to guide me.

(Submitted for Eugi’s Causerie weekly prompt: renewal.  Image my own.  Peace Within first appeared here June, 2018.)

creativity · photography · poetry · spirituality

In Search of Peace

Path to peace is circuitous –
having been modeled unrest,
schooled in denial…

Expectation envisions
a grassy peninsula –
gently rolling greens
and tranquil blue waters –
predictability that lulls

I am accustomed to together –
the perpetual state of empathic
measuring – one’s values aligned
to another’s emotional indicator

Looking outward, I contemplate;
force-feed my innards with fluff
of how-to’s and top ten ways –
nothing that sustains…

It’s dawning now that neither
upbringing, nor expectation,
nor the noise of expert wannabees,
will lead me to the peace I seek.

I turn my attention to nature –
study the steadfast confidence
of the Great Blue wading through
darkened waters, intently aware

Like a feathered shaman, he
mesmerizes me, commands respect,
calms the noise and lifts my soul –
the secret is within, his presence
whispers, and for once, I listen.

(This week, I am focusing on living with intent, specifically interested in the ways in which I invite peace into my life.   My weekly challenge is open to all.)

blogging · creativity · life · nature · spirituality · writing

Abandoning Mother

Day, no more than a sliver, casts a subtle glow on the path.   A small bird tap-tapping on windowpane has awakened me, invited me out.  I follow it now, as it flits from tree to bush along the way.  We come to a stream, whose waters swirl in a nearby eddy then rush over the rocks, merrily singing Earth’s praises.   Seventy-eight acres of untouched land surround me.  Birch, oak, and willow among the giants that offer shelter. I have come on retreat.  A chance to regroup and recharge.

This bird is not the first to rouse me in the early hours; it had been happening for days leading up to this journey.  I take it as an omen: be awake, pay attention.

I feel the presence immediately.  I am not alone at the water’s edge this crisp, cool spring morning.  Although I cannot see her, I know her at once – an essence I have not felt since I was child.  Mother Earth.  I begin to cry.

“Why did you abandon me?”  The words tumble, unexpectedly.

How long has it been since I’d felt her reassurance, the protective shield of her patient strength?  I remember how as a child, locked out of home, she walked with me, whispered to me through the subtleties of the wind, and taught me the rhythms of life.

“It was you who abandoned me.”  The knowing hits me, like a punch to the stomach.  It is so true.  I turned my back on her, adopted the ways of civilization – embracing education and busyness as a means to happiness, forgetting the promise of inner peace she offers.

‘Can you forgive me? ‘ I cry.  The sorrow of our separation now hitting me in waves of grief – a torrent of shame and blame, and guilt.  How I have lost touch with so much in the years since she and I passed the days in innocence.

“There is nothing to forgive.  I am always here, whenever you need me.”

The thing is, I tell myself, as day’s light obliterates dawn’s encounter; allergies keep me indoors, and as a mother of three, I spend my days chauffeuring. What time do I have for Nature, for daydreaming?

I will not find her again, for many years, when sickness closes the door on accepted life practices and forces me into isolation, desolation.  It doesn’t happen all at once, but gradually, over time, starting with a little bird’s tap-tapping on my windowpane, inviting me to look outside.  Inside.

(Written for Willow Poetry’s challenge:  What Do You See?  Image supplied as part of the challenge.)

 

 

blogging · creativity · culture · poetry · writing

60’s Vibes

Sixties’ doctrine was all about love –
long-haired hippies espousing
anti-establishment, warriors sitting
for peace, getting their groove on.

Too young to grasp the concepts
of love not war, reduced to accomplice,
I eagerly followed along in borrowed
fringe, sporting obligatory peace signs.

Observed that hugs, and smiles, are free
and that mind-altering drugs are cool,
and guessed the establishment meant rules,
and that even in protest there was uniformity.

(Inspired by today’s daily prompts:  Fandango, accomplice; Ragtag Community, groove;  and Daily Addictions, doctrine. Photo from personal collection.)