Rocking our Gypsy Souls

Gypsy Souls in days of sail

Mystic Journeys readied within single moments

Spurred by Belief that the universe knows best

  in its relagation to perfect design

The Gypsies will see their images mirrored unblemished

  

Reflected in the instant of knowing, the newest journey 

    has arrived

 The ship of discovery and bliss

will take them to ports of call, called perfection

WAX

Creating candles in partnership , bringing light

Holding items together, with ease

Coating ears, protecting us

Forming beautiful patterns, within beehives

Wax around the heart

Protection or distorted view of the real you, the real me

What thickness is it?

Is color dispersed as encaustic painting , layering and layering? 

Without flooding my body with intense heat cast off to another,

how can this wax, covering my soul be liberated?

With heat? With light?

Flames.  Remembering when fire brought you close to

the God spirit and others

Lighting.  As ozone cleanses the sky and earth

Winter sun, toasting your back through layers of warmth 

ablaze with confidence

Sun melts me , in hammock or ground.

I am protected

by Mother Earth and cling to nothingness

What if unearthing this wax could uncover your own blazing heart

and dip  your fingertips with Love? Lightly drawn circles

boosted by the layer below

A container formed

Not fixed, but malleable ,from the warmth of your hands and heart

A tool for metamorphosis

I believe I still have this layer around my heart

It came when I took something personal last week

Now I draw a hot bath of coconut essence and ginger

I feel the layers dissolve and reinvent its purpose

Not to protect but to support

Created by you and me

To hold memories and thoughts no longer needed

My soft pink bowl of wax

sits as a queen upon a throne

wanting to greet her subjects and trials

with ease and possibilities, not rigidness... malleable

My soft pink bowl of wax

is made pure, effortless 

Circling its edge by index finger it 

glistens, it brightens

Remembering

All that is presented to me

May be modified

May be transformed

Layers on and of my heart

Can hold treasures outside of me

Carrying love and protection to another in need

Wax is needed, but no longer around my heart

Now I am open to LOVE again 

in opulent splendor

of the Divinity exposed!

In Line with Infinity

Fervent opening on
Opposite tracks lead where?

Expansion exists for all
boundaries laden with trust and balance
Revisiting the past for acceleration forward


As we crossw the intersection
We feel the rise and fall of breath
and action

What holds us together?

I can only imagine
this limitless return to center
dusted with greater brightness each trip around and through


We dance with figure eight steps
We know we are to expand and we will be safe

God's hands surrounding the
INFINITY symbol of our lives
and I make haste
 to walk that line
 
    in protection

      in awareness
     
 in purpose

The Wand

Effervescent from
Intentional breath
Core of Life and Love
Floating
Overseeing creation 
as God’s child
From dormant to vast  
They expand as the the peacock’s plumage

Hailing celebration
Breath brings Bubbles

With abandon and laughter
on the wind of the universe
They trust its dance and 
freedom to make us smile
for no reason, our eyes span the  Heavens

With precision timing, unknown, they burst
Manifesting within seconds
Their Glory and purpose: JOY

??????????

How did he know that
the bristling brush would
unwind past thoughts
bringing her into the present?

How did he know that
her shoulder
had not been touched by the sun
or by a hand in many moons?

There was  no need for him to know
Nuturing was innate and reflected
built upon the sun setting on the
horizon

SARASOTA

A cry in the wilderness heard

Echoing through endless scattered and spaced leaves

Moist fervent undergrowth clings to ancient footsteps

Sweetly singing

Breathing softly

 I am here   I heard you

 I see you    I am delighted your shadow faded

Your lightness catching rays of sunshine and the 

brillance of rainbows

Whirling on the ground, dancing with

my dervish youth

The cascade of possibilites broken into

sparkling shards of adventures

We may rise to the heavens and back

We may be still   grounded in acceptance

of this time and space

Spurred with imagination and divine icing of grace

I reach heavenly

Remembering my African name, Mawenda

I ask yours once again

I never forgot

Cries the Sky

She dangles the bough
close enough to taste
Skirting away the moment
I almost catch it

She casts greens to golds
and shimmering stones to ice
 I glide across in surprise

She cries in uneven cadence
whispering her power and majesty
from the clouds and sea
I am spellbound

I cry
My gratidtude great and gaining
bold and splattering grains of sandy
patterns upon my lips and soul

She cries
I arise

Renegade

Off I go on horseback chasing cacti's menancing tails and whipping dirt and sand wherever I go. Off to an high flutin adventure of intrigue and combative interactions.   Oh I spend a little time sipping  warm beer and flirting with women, all the time keeping my hands free to act on impulse or from altercation... Next day, next town, next year, same loop. Always predictable outcome, I carry my persona in my holster and never let it down.


But what if today's renegade defined itself.? What if I would want to fill them boots and archetype now!

Being over 60 years, I yearn for adventure and propulsion forward. What ?, you mean no retirement and more than one  place to lay my hat? ( I heard this from the front porch of the apothecary on Main St. in Samesights, Oklahoma.) I never imagined that I would be filled with the excitement of more change nor would welcome it at this age.  It feels like youth has given me a potion and a vibrancy I thought was long gone.   I did not realize,(until one of my daughters suggested it ) that I was still trying to create the past in a different place , different characters, but with  my renegade thoughts the same and in the same loop over and over.
I was in the backroom of the dance hall waiting for all the ruckus to be over, then emerge safe and sound.   Familiar sights and sounds, familiar problems and resolution , I could handle that.

Well, spirit has pushed me to be a renegade in whatever boots I want now or even barefeet will do.
Listening to my body over 60, not succumbing to symptoms, but inquiring if I want them as my companion, forever and reliable , or could something else push me into territory , a bit scary but propel me with ease.


My corral lately has been like minded friends,  a myriad of renegades, with common core of passion to continue to grow, see new horizons and complete this life journey with joy and acceptance.  As "they " say, what you resist, persists.   Meditation was the lucky horseshoe that brought us all together.  We seemed to put up the signpost then one by one we trickled in. The signpost has allowed us to say, "hey where are you thinking of going?" and then reflect back with the help of our own tin cup
to view our own dusty steps and blurry eyes. We know that we are all going somewhere, but have this watering hole refuge to refuel with each other and change uncertainty into a kick-ass rising spirit .

Yes, I may not win all the battles, but my renegade spirit at 62 is running me towards a more authentic self when I thought I was all I could be already. I encourage you, as my signpost friends have encouraged me, to hang outside and see who may kick up some dust your way. It just may be that that dusts helps you see more clearly and lays down an easy path on a renegade advenute outside your imagination.  

   As "they" also say, Let's keep that light on for each other.


With love,  Susan, pretending to be a cowgirl... that is imagination!

Mandela Rising

There is repetition
casting imagination aside / black and white
Road blocks to growth

ruts in the path
Stumbling in the ridges

There is repetition
breaking anew
New found shaped / colorful
each balancing with the other
Shifting form of layers cast
designs of nature
Designs of self

There is repetition
one reaches upward
One reaches down to engage
another level
Dimensional weaving
outward extension

There is repetition
in remembering who we are
From whence we came
from where we can go
In the rising mandela

THE CROSSING

Have seen it large 

and seen it small

Have felt its' presence

before its' vision

Now it is here

All open to slide 

into the flow

no chance of failure

All choices of value and growth

Since I placed my foot into the crossing