tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-84289942316139441522024-03-14T00:18:41.424-04:00Susan W. ReynoldsHome and Self Revivalrevivalredesignhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10184108929031769049noreply@blogger.comBlogger165125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428994231613944152.post-70251128278719347912023-10-26T09:07:00.000-04:002023-10-26T09:07:19.780-04:00Stirrings<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmFXDtnZzY8MbdtFYomtVXxUHczVI7RdI4n-jcrUuFQCfLmv5pyLvwsRarBr-SR28wJxFwo1UKNGeHtFlolTUnpOjowcyHJQAUS5PJtuU5uCIGzBUEogfc4Z1i2H66ZT68FQPVL4VxlWK1w0xVDwyjyqiqD0Wy3ebsvIiLvtkKuX88Mt1Mo_PWuuHZmpo/s1000/photo-1579892876770-461a88bd87df.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="667" data-original-width="1000" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmFXDtnZzY8MbdtFYomtVXxUHczVI7RdI4n-jcrUuFQCfLmv5pyLvwsRarBr-SR28wJxFwo1UKNGeHtFlolTUnpOjowcyHJQAUS5PJtuU5uCIGzBUEogfc4Z1i2H66ZT68FQPVL4VxlWK1w0xVDwyjyqiqD0Wy3ebsvIiLvtkKuX88Mt1Mo_PWuuHZmpo/s320/photo-1579892876770-461a88bd87df.webp" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div> Her tools have left her hands <p></p><p>The wooden spoon replaced by the paint brush</p><p>The clean hands replaced by speckled residue of ideas </p><p>and construction</p><p>She was never certain what would be cooked up</p><p>or if it work would be palatable</p><p>This time it wasn't about taste </p><p>It was about moving in circles and </p><p>with the current</p><p>The recipe slipping off the counter and </p><p>the ingredients not yet discovered in the pantry </p><p>nor anywhere. </p><p>Moment by moment the stirrings arose</p><p>Tasted by a few but held upon the easel by one<br /></p>revivalredesignhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10184108929031769049noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428994231613944152.post-91859064216110532642022-09-07T10:46:00.002-04:002022-09-07T10:46:15.870-04:00Constant<p><span style="font-family: Roboto; font-size: medium;"><b>Purging the death </b></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Roboto;"><b>into regeneration</b></span></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAUY59oPMeMIV9PGHLVDMyrmeb3xY6VTrTp5Per-BownjiSPxhSxcVN-MYzl4I6qt4vn4xqsphM1jBmCHQnT_j8_ep7lLq3uwT_zakDe_A3QAGnXHvdjRnkJVxuYNXHLM9ry95YvjKcEN6fdUOUerxHNkt7tGwCXCO6LCTSgMxO2dAbIPbC4nNCpk8/s275/Unknown-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="275" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAUY59oPMeMIV9PGHLVDMyrmeb3xY6VTrTp5Per-BownjiSPxhSxcVN-MYzl4I6qt4vn4xqsphM1jBmCHQnT_j8_ep7lLq3uwT_zakDe_A3QAGnXHvdjRnkJVxuYNXHLM9ry95YvjKcEN6fdUOUerxHNkt7tGwCXCO6LCTSgMxO2dAbIPbC4nNCpk8/s1600/Unknown-1.jpeg" width="275" /></a><span style="font-family: Roboto;"><b>Heightening the love and purpose</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Roboto;"><b>within the seed</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Roboto;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Roboto;"><b>Fear does not exist</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Roboto;"><b>Nature in its finest</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Roboto;"><b>Blends with what is</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Roboto;"><b>Forgiving of its past and now</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Roboto;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Roboto;"><b>F</b></span><b style="font-family: Roboto;">orging forward</b></p><p><span style="font-family: Roboto;"><b>Unscathed by events</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Roboto;"><b>Lifting higher with each earth breath</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Roboto;"><b>it seeks to tell a story</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Roboto;"><b>a Story for us </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Roboto;"><b>a Tale of Constant, Beautiful Truth</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Roboto;"><b>We are part of it</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Roboto;"><b>In our Rising </b></span></p>revivalredesignhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10184108929031769049noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428994231613944152.post-1764110623450899262022-09-07T10:32:00.000-04:002022-09-07T10:32:47.655-04:00Key To Me<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiooRuJwKYuFbT72iFsZuM3e-pD_NHqlcws9cD9QfE00xFY6Y932_TDcp9nK0R0ZtV5uS12CiPLtD6qg6jJRNmobXzKYlj0xwg6PDFpKljl11gG7fblBE7QUVg03d86FUEYj4hEhea0Z2_qaMx652w4RikAMkMkOTwloK1MUyi6qqY2AzAQbqFrplF/s283/Unknown.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="178" data-original-width="283" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiooRuJwKYuFbT72iFsZuM3e-pD_NHqlcws9cD9QfE00xFY6Y932_TDcp9nK0R0ZtV5uS12CiPLtD6qg6jJRNmobXzKYlj0xwg6PDFpKljl11gG7fblBE7QUVg03d86FUEYj4hEhea0Z2_qaMx652w4RikAMkMkOTwloK1MUyi6qqY2AzAQbqFrplF/w229-h178/Unknown.jpeg" width="229" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div> <span style="font-family: verdana;">From whence comes the loneliness?</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">With Worthiness sitting underneath</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">From deeper seated dreams</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Inability to traverse alone</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">across work, love and existence</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">As i look to break this ceiling</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">composed of straw concrete</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">It'</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">s false facade</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Hanging from strings</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I challenge myself to lightly</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">graze it surface</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">opening to the resolve sky</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The pure me</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The creative me</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The loving me</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The me loving me</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The KEY</span></p>revivalredesignhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10184108929031769049noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428994231613944152.post-6333802756206020872022-09-06T16:19:00.000-04:002022-09-06T16:19:51.027-04:00Non Earth<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjsDE0G3cMa0hV3oKh3k2xr3Yl142bNqwXfTEilF5X3WZjSr0-N2bo0XAUl5cVvMblp0gpXKmkPeRUVNpNqPjGCs0wrK4cP4CMbaW7QyR4segPtzN_kcKkgBxGus7N5ykuU-w5zgXG7gdTV8MwpI_7AQXXaCdRr3DsDW1_fjaTsoZwK9IjX3Q72x6r/s800/arctic-skies-21561.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="537" data-original-width="800" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjsDE0G3cMa0hV3oKh3k2xr3Yl142bNqwXfTEilF5X3WZjSr0-N2bo0XAUl5cVvMblp0gpXKmkPeRUVNpNqPjGCs0wrK4cP4CMbaW7QyR4segPtzN_kcKkgBxGus7N5ykuU-w5zgXG7gdTV8MwpI_7AQXXaCdRr3DsDW1_fjaTsoZwK9IjX3Q72x6r/s320/arctic-skies-21561.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Surf lingers from the turbulence below as I silently pause in </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">remembrance of my mother's womb</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">this rise and fall</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Pristine horizons upon my gaze, laden with salted whiteness</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">recognizing what lies ahead, I am still</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I can choose to be reborn today or hide a bit longer within my </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">watery shelter</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">This is not the earthling soil</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">steadfast in it roundedness</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">It is a gaze into intentional horizons of non Earth</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Its balanced act between fluid water and flowing sky</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Yet I recognize it and propel myself forward to be reborn again</span></p>revivalredesignhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10184108929031769049noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428994231613944152.post-82254239049852882982020-03-30T11:31:00.003-04:002020-03-30T11:31:54.530-04:00Band-aid Box<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqGQ_DRI0yzyVMRG-WfvDtdLxaSqtqHMp8e4W6FYdMZ-bGPeoOqbYH7UJgah1Jwfd-mWMxMC7O7c15bHFmnOIrzjZ43ENGrJvBg7lc5nrM45X0t9uakly79yYjhjperIMmhW19Mz0_T8U/s1600/il_794xN.1794781150_bdwk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="794" data-original-width="794" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqGQ_DRI0yzyVMRG-WfvDtdLxaSqtqHMp8e4W6FYdMZ-bGPeoOqbYH7UJgah1Jwfd-mWMxMC7O7c15bHFmnOIrzjZ43ENGrJvBg7lc5nrM45X0t9uakly79yYjhjperIMmhW19Mz0_T8U/s320/il_794xN.1794781150_bdwk.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Housing the crimped edges of thin and flimsy waxed paper the band-aid box holds the bandages and a few thin red threads of fine filament.The box had probably had been dropped on the kitchen floor with rusted edges exposed and may have been paired with its' sister mercurochrome.<br />
<br />
We knew in which cupboard or drawer it was hidden as it was as much a savior of skinned knees as a sweet kiss and hug. When the metal container was refilled with fresh bandaids from the new cardboard one, we were delighted to have the choice of many sizes and shapes. ( I still don't know why they made the little round ones.They fell off so quickly and covered only a pin prick.)<br />
<br />
We have been covering up our wounds for many years, adding antiseptic measures to assist in healing and other modalities known to our ancesters like ultraviolet light and fresh air. Our deep wounds may have required excision to provide a clean pallette for our body to do its miraculous healing from the inside out.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP2z7NgP9lvxV8Q4AjhjVAiF6ymcciU_-Q8paXLGTlMem41xsaG9syT7PX6C5xdZip6mm7kGnwnwBKF-rf3cvWNovH1nhGx7eV47l0raBJtsQlKh0UnZYIbt7G9SLn4K_kX6hNBTIk8wE/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP2z7NgP9lvxV8Q4AjhjVAiF6ymcciU_-Q8paXLGTlMem41xsaG9syT7PX6C5xdZip6mm7kGnwnwBKF-rf3cvWNovH1nhGx7eV47l0raBJtsQlKh0UnZYIbt7G9SLn4K_kX6hNBTIk8wE/s1600/images.jpeg" /></a><br />
Today as we sit still amongst the every growing corona virus , the band-aids will not do. The sting we feel is not the mercurochrome but from the old pains coming to the surface. Perhaps the present pain now is that we were not so kind to our elders or maybe our pursuit of happiness was flung aside onto someone else's shoulder. The pains are deep, the cut unobserved but its sting still present. It may be that we hadn't held our body in the highest regard and neglected giving it what it needed for unexpected times like this. The spiritual body may have been placed to the side as well.<br />
<br />
Today we sit still. It is a time to grow not unlike the acorn unaware that it will become a tree.<br />
We know we have it in us, to thrive, to prosper , to be a tree within the forest of humanity. WE are trying to envision it . It is tenuous to be still. <br />
<br />
This opportunity has all it needs to be the healing from the inside out for us. It requires patience and non judgement which for myself has not been one of my highest virtues. But virtues we have, compassion we have, and time to envision a new place we might step into or a new way we might interact in at hand. <br />
<br />
The band-aids will always be in the drawer, sealed for that skinned knee or paper cut and the deep wounds of our communities will heal and are healing, because we are healers. We are created to self heal and now is the time. Shed the impossibilites with the innate possibilities. Choose the shape of the band-aid that will cover the exposure and delight in the face that you found the one with superman on it! We are resilient and we are healers.<br />
<br />
<br />revivalredesignhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10184108929031769049noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428994231613944152.post-85436824555538058762019-08-05T10:13:00.002-04:002019-08-05T10:13:26.794-04:00Rise Up Again <br />
Rise up again Phoenix, this is your time<br />
with head held high<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaocT_efroOKink5tOpRWlqPopJkLCBKoL3AbzgKsqyjjkZyH7Atm0x82dSofy0HPbiybyF5k-7oKKNcTELh99JqkAVWxodHUGpluwd5oQbua730BrUYRYEHjHRug0GBI7BH6yGpIh1HU/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="169" data-original-width="298" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaocT_efroOKink5tOpRWlqPopJkLCBKoL3AbzgKsqyjjkZyH7Atm0x82dSofy0HPbiybyF5k-7oKKNcTELh99JqkAVWxodHUGpluwd5oQbua730BrUYRYEHjHRug0GBI7BH6yGpIh1HU/s400/images.jpeg" width="400" /></a>Smoke and Clouds gone to the other side<br />
whisked away as meringue froth<br />
<br />
Rise up and walk barefooted<br />
soft spongy layers beneath you<br />
Filled with Protection and Joy<br />
<br />
Rise up and breathe the rain filled air<br />
moist with birth of all things Good<br />
Sprouting connections swirling in the breeze<br />
<br />
Rise up You know this Land<br />
Its majesty is greater than before<br />
Its corruption vanished<br />
Its possibilities are yours<br />
<br />
You have risen in Glory <br />
Rise up and Hold your head high in Truth and Righteousnes <br />
It is your time and It is Our Timerevivalredesignhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10184108929031769049noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428994231613944152.post-8694287193703649662018-09-25T10:43:00.000-04:002018-09-25T10:43:57.777-04:00Moongoose on Zucchini<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6qcylTlE7avElesKIyL-uMkNQKbbLvV5DvK1k1aURc6xFPljvuNZMK8UmhN2-GRulvcxgBOtInyZfbnknCTvEzNq1RYnRlY0LfmaSRpSAVWqAcm-mlBD3Xr3b0eBaNwApLtuUGd5HeXY/s1600/images-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="167" data-original-width="302" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6qcylTlE7avElesKIyL-uMkNQKbbLvV5DvK1k1aURc6xFPljvuNZMK8UmhN2-GRulvcxgBOtInyZfbnknCTvEzNq1RYnRlY0LfmaSRpSAVWqAcm-mlBD3Xr3b0eBaNwApLtuUGd5HeXY/s1600/images-1.jpeg" /></a><br />
<br />
Reflection: crusty, sandy soil<br />
Upon lazy morning bay rising<br />
<br />
Warming towels, sarongs swirled beneath<br />
canopy of pine and palm<br />
hopping birds, branch to branch<br />
<br />
Disguised, fleeting insects harvest legs and arms of<br />
sunbathers<br />
with unrequited delight<br />
Contained water brushed blue with plastic tints<br />
ablaze from reflected seeking sun<br />
<br />
Pigeon visitations, solo excursions, checking on progress<br />
of crumbs discarted by hasty children or lazy tourists<br />
Rainbow necked, they clamor closer and closer for bits<br />
<br />
Territorial squirrels in underbrush of succulent vine and<br />
Mongoose vie for frontline pounch, wayward beach sites<br />
<br />
Giggles of young pearly white asian girls<br />
curled almong the greenery edge of sand and undergrowth<br />
they echo between the splashes of ocean's edge and walled<br />
extreme clifts of weathered transformed time<br />
<br />
Returning from my early water exploration<br />
morning snack blossomed into a garden of zucchini<br />
bread delight<br />
Shards of foil in delicate splatter rested with nut shards, broken branches<br />
and crusty sand<br />
<br />
Someone here in my absence?<br />
No footprints of scroundral<br />
No trail of crumbs<br />
<br />
A shadow glides over my now closed eyes<br />
It smiles and feathers it with words from his soggy<br />
beach camo trunks<br />
<br />
" You had guests while gone- they guarded your chair" he speaks<br />
<br />
Moongoose on Zuchinni : what a start to the dayrevivalredesignhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10184108929031769049noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428994231613944152.post-43688783334811462342018-09-25T10:16:00.001-04:002018-09-25T10:16:47.667-04:00Dust Lido Beach<br />
Dusting sand turns to paste<br />
as waves engulf with <br />
ballet precision<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieIfKzETFSD-yQ_dQaYSvi9uyt3AwivvsSgSJPLl83rPNoxlguIGnSpUqKcbY3m5dTpEGQpMsSlLJ4qFBVsiR19ckoMjjeMhjT9qt_SQIi-DPUC6yrlRvzGMwYtImjDNOuKSuxw6rv4VE/s1600/33590-carribean-footprints-water-ocean-beach-feet-sand-coast-photocase-stock-photo-large.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="583" data-original-width="800" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieIfKzETFSD-yQ_dQaYSvi9uyt3AwivvsSgSJPLl83rPNoxlguIGnSpUqKcbY3m5dTpEGQpMsSlLJ4qFBVsiR19ckoMjjeMhjT9qt_SQIi-DPUC6yrlRvzGMwYtImjDNOuKSuxw6rv4VE/s320/33590-carribean-footprints-water-ocean-beach-feet-sand-coast-photocase-stock-photo-large.jpeg" width="320" /></a><br />
Sand hardening with weight of water<br />
porous bubbles and froth<br />
<br />
I sink then<br />
I stand on solid ground<br />
Both in this moment<br />
<br />
Shifting from liquid to solid<br />
Vibrating with earthly elements<br />
Dusted sand we are<br />
Fluid we are:<br />
then dust againrevivalredesignhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10184108929031769049noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428994231613944152.post-72996512370431860312018-07-29T19:34:00.000-04:002018-07-29T19:34:05.487-04:00Branches<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUGOMDBNXk8VCDrrurZnI1S9FTds_fatK999z18XS3nbSGzrcsfDLGDjersz-VXQCS465G8RMmdSNjJ3mpcTRU8YOTJkRAteKIitVIg3W6Qwgz33HwED675d-sR178-BPE_b-Z3jiO1pc/s1600/d38b35597acaa4fe5da0fc810b12b119.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="283" data-original-width="500" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUGOMDBNXk8VCDrrurZnI1S9FTds_fatK999z18XS3nbSGzrcsfDLGDjersz-VXQCS465G8RMmdSNjJ3mpcTRU8YOTJkRAteKIitVIg3W6Qwgz33HwED675d-sR178-BPE_b-Z3jiO1pc/s320/d38b35597acaa4fe5da0fc810b12b119.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
Rooted to limbs<br />
<br />
Limbed to branches<br />
<br />
Branched to stems<br />
<br />
Stemmed to flowers<br />
<br />
Flowered to seeds<br />
<br />
The past present and future at once<br />
<br />
Symbiotic growth and Spiraling Faithrevivalredesignhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10184108929031769049noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428994231613944152.post-62932191936613542052018-05-20T16:24:00.001-04:002018-05-20T16:38:00.635-04:00Tenure?<br />
Looking back to my last posting it would seem a significant tenure was in effect, but perhaps a better word may be invisible fascination period.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh94ju2_Iqzr2jBq3OrDCGpLUNPNrxLJp-ZzRw0xwhpDnYCsM3rQeZz6znUWXks5JFRftb-zCD9d0sn_Pq4oUmkhdu9Q6_06GGytH_zBPnyubSpAalgZGT-w7xyJl00UoKIt99_otvQKPM/s1600/IMG_0029.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh94ju2_Iqzr2jBq3OrDCGpLUNPNrxLJp-ZzRw0xwhpDnYCsM3rQeZz6znUWXks5JFRftb-zCD9d0sn_Pq4oUmkhdu9Q6_06GGytH_zBPnyubSpAalgZGT-w7xyJl00UoKIt99_otvQKPM/s320/IMG_0029.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
I physically moved again last May to Florida and in doing so stuck my head into the sand. My move was rather implusive. I never took Florida too seriously as a state, rather it was to me it was a state of mind that retirees had envisioned, toppled with dredging of land.<br />
<br />
My physical move dredged up in me more than I expected. Instead of feeling like a retiree , I was thrown into chaotic and depressive thoughts of " what now?" "what is the purpose?" and much rewiring fizzled in my mind.<br />
<br />
Instead of my fingers writing after several years of silence my hands started painting. Yes, some say the paintings should be Floridian themes for the tourists and I was frustrated. I said it must be truly meaningful and I was frustrated. I was putting myself out there as an artist, when I really had no training or justification to say so... and I was frustrated. <br />
<br />
Having moved from years of suburban homes and lifestyle I garnered some spunk on this move to Florida and downsized into a 1000 sq foot space. There was no place to paint though ... and I was frustrated. A perfect spot nearby opened up and I rented it as a "studio" to paint.... and I was frustrated again. How was I to " fool" others to be in such a space let alone have a pseudo artist tag upon my shoulders. How would selling anything pay the rent? How would anyone find me? How would my desire to mess up my hands in paint help my messed up head? Everything was spinning and I was in this invisible period of fascination and frustration.<br />
<br />
Depression laid its heavy gloves upon my shoulders. Yes, now maybe I could be an artist. The melancholy and depressed artist , that iconic persona that never sold a piece. This person working fanactially ....Look at Van Gogh... But one person after another said just<br />
do it, just paint, just sit in your studio and cry or drink wine or pet the dog or whatever. Just claim the space without " have to's". <br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_6srtS193pLWy6UPjNSfO3q4W1mDyx_XfZ2ReZTD9MXlC3U7g08Si6t0lxkXUDccuZY49pspfXpSn0tR1oB8IqAgvfCwNfLegME7YJsfM1_lNifucLk-WqzVSjcPW7RKGwdxzUt2EdvM/s1600/IMG_0027.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_6srtS193pLWy6UPjNSfO3q4W1mDyx_XfZ2ReZTD9MXlC3U7g08Si6t0lxkXUDccuZY49pspfXpSn0tR1oB8IqAgvfCwNfLegME7YJsfM1_lNifucLk-WqzVSjcPW7RKGwdxzUt2EdvM/s320/IMG_0027.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
Now I go there to paint, to water plants, to adjust the lights, to pick up mail and bills.... I just go there. It is so very fine. Sometimes a dog and her owner linger near the water bowl outside, sometimes an elderly couple smile and nod as I mess the canvas with the bright pink I have taken on as my new neutral! Sometimes I have even sold a piece or two.<br />
<br />
I am back from my tenure of writing but teaching myself in another field. Come visit me on my Facebook website of Revealing ART. Yes, art has revealed much to me and taken me places I did not even want to go.. but art and thoughts can be rewritten, painted over until they fit the NOW moment. <br />
<br />
Art this time in my life is pulling me into more and more of these Now moments and it feels good.<br />
<br />
The studio is located on South Pineapple Street in Sarasota. Florida and I do have time to visit and be. There is an extra easel too...swing by for a moment. <br />
<br />
Blessings Susan<br />
<br />
<br />revivalredesignhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10184108929031769049noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428994231613944152.post-65715418012690111102017-11-16T22:27:00.002-05:002017-11-16T22:38:50.512-05:00Rocking our Gypsy Souls<div style="font-family: Tahoma, Geneva, sans-serif, Geneva, EmojiFont, 'Apple Color Emoji', 'Segoe UI Emoji', NotoColorEmoji, 'Segoe UI Symbol', 'Android Emoji', EmojiSymbols; font-size: 16px;">
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Gypsy Souls in days of sail</div>
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Mystic Journeys readied within single moments</div>
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Spurred by Belief that the universe knows best</div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> in its relagation to perfect design</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
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The Gypsies will see their images mirrored unblemished</div>
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Reflected in the instant of knowing, the newest journey </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgli2SCHs8BSGnaRnLH94w9x0ZcePn3Ub69F8AdBp1gvO40jo0B07Q1Xn7TqUbln4p7BpAPuK00IJWuBQHJlgxk9Hm_78tnKQ8sXPB_v3UYehGWBCtF7lFO0NB6ZuopvtdNGAtuJAeJxtY/s1600/images-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="204" data-original-width="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgli2SCHs8BSGnaRnLH94w9x0ZcePn3Ub69F8AdBp1gvO40jo0B07Q1Xn7TqUbln4p7BpAPuK00IJWuBQHJlgxk9Hm_78tnKQ8sXPB_v3UYehGWBCtF7lFO0NB6ZuopvtdNGAtuJAeJxtY/s1600/images-1.jpeg" /></a> has arrived</div>
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The ship of discovery and bliss</div>
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will take them to ports of call, called perfection<span id="goog_1115464248"></span><br />
<span id="goog_1115464247"></span></div>
revivalredesignhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10184108929031769049noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428994231613944152.post-89789270466727650762017-11-07T10:43:00.000-05:002017-11-07T10:48:07.859-05:00WAX<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjMlEEN0eRELP_0v9_6OdCZr4S7Rf3QtBPaAQUqEpRYQkBjbCR1nX5F0fd6gdQR6ZGJord-AP80_dxsjeO4Qq-jyVe5mlYz03O253inWv3GiPWHdV5wJi6SUQAJr2VhgaLVbJgpzadcEs/s1600/images-2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjMlEEN0eRELP_0v9_6OdCZr4S7Rf3QtBPaAQUqEpRYQkBjbCR1nX5F0fd6gdQR6ZGJord-AP80_dxsjeO4Qq-jyVe5mlYz03O253inWv3GiPWHdV5wJi6SUQAJr2VhgaLVbJgpzadcEs/s200/images-2.jpeg" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
Creating candles in partnership , bringing light<br />
<div>
Holding items together, with ease</div>
<div>
Coating ears, protecting us</div>
<div>
Forming beautiful patterns, within beehives</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Wax around the heart</div>
<div>
Protection or distorted view of the real you, the real me</div>
<div>
What thickness is it?</div>
<div>
Is color dispersed as encaustic painting , layering and layering? </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Without flooding my body with intense heat cast off to another,</div>
<div>
how can this wax, covering my soul be liberated?</div>
<div>
With heat? With light?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Flames. Remembering when fire brought you close to</div>
<div>
the God spirit and others</div>
<div>
Lighting. As ozone cleanses the sky and earth</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Winter sun, toasting your back through layers of warmth </div>
<div>
ablaze with confidence</div>
<div>
Sun melts me , in hammock or ground.</div>
<div>
I am protected</div>
<div>
by Mother Earth and cling to nothingness</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
What if unearthing this wax could uncover your own blazing heart</div>
<div>
and dip your fingertips with Love? Lightly drawn circles</div>
<div>
boosted by the layer below</div>
<div>
A container formed</div>
<div>
Not fixed, but malleable ,from the warmth of your hands and heart</div>
<div>
A tool for metamorphosis</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I believe I still have this layer around my heart</div>
<div>
It came when I took something personal last week</div>
<div>
Now I draw a hot bath of coconut essence and ginger</div>
<div>
I feel the layers dissolve and reinvent its purpose</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Not to protect but to support</div>
<div>
Created by you and me</div>
<div>
To hold memories and thoughts no longer needed</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My soft pink bowl of wax</div>
<div>
sits as a queen upon a throne</div>
<div>
wanting to greet her subjects and trials</div>
<div>
with ease and possibilities, not rigidness... malleable</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My soft pink bowl of wax</div>
<div>
is made pure, effortless </div>
<div>
Circling its edge by index finger it </div>
<div>
glistens, it brightens</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Remembering</div>
<div>
All that is presented to me</div>
<div>
May be modified</div>
<div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPNEEOlJOetpHk5SzVJ6TBThMbgMgdQ57Za9CIS8ssxbnq44qsqbcvqW3fqbevM-XHJ5K49wK9pUlN6-jwhv3s7dG_1ebTs3JaWzd7mu_E2VJeFUK6tNVO7UhNVbjuYhyphenhyphenJ68Jx3itGH0c/s1600/images.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPNEEOlJOetpHk5SzVJ6TBThMbgMgdQ57Za9CIS8ssxbnq44qsqbcvqW3fqbevM-XHJ5K49wK9pUlN6-jwhv3s7dG_1ebTs3JaWzd7mu_E2VJeFUK6tNVO7UhNVbjuYhyphenhyphenJ68Jx3itGH0c/s200/images.png" width="200" /></a>May be transformed</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Layers on and of my heart</div>
<div>
Can hold treasures outside of me</div>
<div>
Carrying love and protection to another in need</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
Wax is needed, but no longer around my heart</div>
<div>
Now I am open to LOVE again </div>
<div>
in opulent splendor</div>
<div>
of the Divinity exposed!</div>
revivalredesignhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10184108929031769049noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428994231613944152.post-52069834380845953352017-10-03T09:12:00.003-04:002017-10-03T09:12:32.494-04:00In Line with InfinityFervent opening on<br />
Opposite tracks lead where?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb46qSkckMDD6e3z5VIyaLzEFlI-anUUKOZgZtXgK3gP8NEi5PrQ58ai3bSjSNVfhRphHynX0Q3Omo99JYQXgaHWxyefc7RPsLD0i8qDKeB37tMNk9eIaegsORqpYVtZnSeVhwpV85L1g/s1600/Unknown-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="132" data-original-width="176" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb46qSkckMDD6e3z5VIyaLzEFlI-anUUKOZgZtXgK3gP8NEi5PrQ58ai3bSjSNVfhRphHynX0Q3Omo99JYQXgaHWxyefc7RPsLD0i8qDKeB37tMNk9eIaegsORqpYVtZnSeVhwpV85L1g/s400/Unknown-1.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />
Expansion exists for all<br />
boundaries laden with trust and balance<br />
Revisiting the past for acceleration forward<br />
<br />
<br />
As we crossw the intersection<br />
We feel the rise and fall of breath<br />
and action<br />
<br />
What holds us together?<br />
<br />
I can only imagine<br />
this limitless return to center<br />
dusted with greater brightness each trip around and through<br />
<br />
<br />
We dance with figure eight steps<br />
We know we are to expand and we will be safe<br />
<br />
God's hands surrounding the<br />
INFINITY symbol of our lives<br />
and I make haste<br />
to walk that line<br />
<br />
in protection<br />
<br />
in awareness<br />
<br />
in purposerevivalredesignhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10184108929031769049noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428994231613944152.post-31371318054555649912017-09-30T15:53:00.001-04:002017-09-30T15:53:48.963-04:00The Wand<span style="font-size: large;">Effervescent from</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX6frIDjtKlvXbFi7n4JOcvlGocUggPKdRmVevze8KzZ1KjHQTaZPoEMGpMpOx51y1f6oXyjAiDrO-QdWuSi3mjQuum4_dp13tIz3E1vAKCZ2fULAvFKEE517EHYGP9v_SARCDbiCIhKk/s1600/220px-Girl_blowing_bubbles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="147" data-original-width="220" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX6frIDjtKlvXbFi7n4JOcvlGocUggPKdRmVevze8KzZ1KjHQTaZPoEMGpMpOx51y1f6oXyjAiDrO-QdWuSi3mjQuum4_dp13tIz3E1vAKCZ2fULAvFKEE517EHYGP9v_SARCDbiCIhKk/s320/220px-Girl_blowing_bubbles.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">Intentional breath</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Core of Life and Love</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Floating</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Overseeing creation </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">as God’s child</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">From dormant to vast </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">They expand as the the peacock’s plumage</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Hailing celebration</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Breath brings Bubbles</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">With abandon and laughter</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">on the wind of the universe</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">They trust its dance and </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">freedom to make us smile</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">for no reason, our eyes span the Heavens</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">With precision timing, unknown, they burst</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Manifesting within seconds</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Their Glory and purpose: JOY</span>revivalredesignhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10184108929031769049noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428994231613944152.post-43859747265766911282017-09-29T13:27:00.000-04:002017-09-29T13:27:23.214-04:00??????????How did he know that<br />
the bristling brush would<br />
unwind past thoughts<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp2YV2pz_oA-uIpXUwaI-ajgpbCpoC1sE2qzhLbV2jGelU676UuGGccrE8ngf7AdK_npqS7vxJYRxyqQcXsF5UZvxRZXuuquOdi-lkaijHyTzIyxhqToHaD4tPbi8zFSYDMWjxfF-D0R8/s1600/Unknown-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="275" data-original-width="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp2YV2pz_oA-uIpXUwaI-ajgpbCpoC1sE2qzhLbV2jGelU676UuGGccrE8ngf7AdK_npqS7vxJYRxyqQcXsF5UZvxRZXuuquOdi-lkaijHyTzIyxhqToHaD4tPbi8zFSYDMWjxfF-D0R8/s1600/Unknown-1.jpeg" /></a>bringing her into the present?<br />
<br />
How did he know that<br />
her shoulder<br />
had not been touched by the sun<br />
or by a hand in many moons?<br />
<br />
There was no need for him to know<br />
Nuturing was innate and reflected<br />
built upon the sun setting on the<br />
horizon<br />
<br />
<br />revivalredesignhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10184108929031769049noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428994231613944152.post-57840687859046932772017-09-27T09:49:00.000-04:002017-09-27T09:49:40.634-04:00SARASOTA<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></b></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="background-color: white;">A cry in the wilderness heard</span></b></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></b></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="background-color: white;">Echoing through endless scattered and spaced leaves</span></b></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="background-color: white;">Moist fervent undergrowth clings to ancient footsteps</span></b></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></b></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="background-color: white;">Sweetly singing</span></b></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="background-color: white;">Breathing softly</span></b></span></div>
<div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhae4SaQqSUkN0Eg8tGBWSZJ-CIM83cDGGa66t-bBU8KmQn2SrW6zKaxvHvNoKMtSdkvrUxBwOh04nS1Znp2BN99sDgXTO_bmyhrBp8ejzGlq3J-dQAN2G8rSSFF7pFHXXFgWPuQqEInj4/s1600/dervish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="664" data-original-width="960" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhae4SaQqSUkN0Eg8tGBWSZJ-CIM83cDGGa66t-bBU8KmQn2SrW6zKaxvHvNoKMtSdkvrUxBwOh04nS1Znp2BN99sDgXTO_bmyhrBp8ejzGlq3J-dQAN2G8rSSFF7pFHXXFgWPuQqEInj4/s400/dervish.jpg" width="400" /></a><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></b></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="background-color: white;"> I am here I heard you</span></b></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><b> I see you I am delighted your shadow faded</b></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><b>Your lightness catching rays of sunshine and the </b></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><b>brillance of rainbows</b></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><b>Whirling on the ground, dancing with</b></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><b>my dervish youth</b></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><b>The cascade of possibilites broken into</b></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><b>sparkling shards of adventures</b></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><b>We may rise to the heavens and back</b></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><b>We may be still grounded in acceptance</b></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><b>of this time and space</b></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><b>Spurred with imagination and divine icing of grace</b></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><b>I reach heavenly</b></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><b>Remembering my African name, Mawenda</b></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><b>I ask yours once again</b></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><b>I never forgot</b></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></b></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></b></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></b></span></div>
revivalredesignhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10184108929031769049noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428994231613944152.post-60571513167513581382017-09-19T13:55:00.002-04:002017-09-19T13:56:09.121-04:00Cries the Sky<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWmb8nRffrorgBFO-DpEKXtXvgeuFjEv5Rdcrz_PNxY-TIWLAZV4I_5p9b2FG1IiQJ5hhZKydxB6C8cQz_5NThfCf4BN9eihnCSEIYJcglsMI48Hm3y0XhzTOXpuUsghV8OiOaW4qzhUo/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="121" data-original-width="151" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWmb8nRffrorgBFO-DpEKXtXvgeuFjEv5Rdcrz_PNxY-TIWLAZV4I_5p9b2FG1IiQJ5hhZKydxB6C8cQz_5NThfCf4BN9eihnCSEIYJcglsMI48Hm3y0XhzTOXpuUsghV8OiOaW4qzhUo/s320/Unknown.jpeg" width="320" /></a>She dangles the bough<br />
close enough to taste<br />
Skirting away the moment<br />
I almost catch it<br />
<br />
She casts greens to golds<br />
and shimmering stones to ice<br />
I glide across in surprise<br />
<br />
She cries in uneven cadence<br />
whispering her power and majesty<br />
from the clouds and sea<br />
I am spellbound<br />
<br />
I cry<br />
My gratidtude great and gaining<br />
bold and splattering grains of sandy<br />
patterns upon my lips and soul<br />
<br />
She cries<br />
I ariserevivalredesignhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10184108929031769049noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428994231613944152.post-79033913850241620312017-05-30T18:33:00.000-04:002017-05-30T18:33:02.402-04:00RenegadeOff 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.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF0soQXq7Qm5VuJe4Cp7tJVAxa7jJ9n9HlCnkJ_533uN_cPDTzEU6ueD_wzbxZYYFcDJbaVBHU4dTRxturPoNP_dQS3kvp_E22pyx7p4T15cQA6wo3ysBOyaJGoovDH6Oa8G9gi_sJ37g/s1600/images-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="196" data-original-width="257" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF0soQXq7Qm5VuJe4Cp7tJVAxa7jJ9n9HlCnkJ_533uN_cPDTzEU6ueD_wzbxZYYFcDJbaVBHU4dTRxturPoNP_dQS3kvp_E22pyx7p4T15cQA6wo3ysBOyaJGoovDH6Oa8G9gi_sJ37g/s320/images-1.jpeg" width="320" /></a><br />
But what if today's renegade defined itself.? What if I would want to fill them boots and archetype now!<br />
<br />
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.<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Well, spirit has pushed me to be a renegade in whatever boots I want now or even barefeet will do.<br />
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.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
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 .<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
As "they" also say, Let's keep that light on for each other.<br />
<br />
<br />
With love, Susan, pretending to be a cowgirl... that is imagination!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />revivalredesignhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10184108929031769049noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428994231613944152.post-35527062806335755502017-05-27T14:23:00.000-04:002017-05-27T14:23:06.439-04:00Mandela RisingThere is repetition<br />
casting imagination aside / black and white<br />
Road blocks to growth<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6m9ptb5N3qhdxa0mMpPzE0wRtKcA69zBjyDeQOUTBRe798VeHNIujUvhSvrSpridZhYa82A-emdyJ-2p0m_UaXUNxVPzyXYCZk4oswaYdMt_TXciHsqmPhOxUMR4-SEvrcGwEqKsVs7E/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6m9ptb5N3qhdxa0mMpPzE0wRtKcA69zBjyDeQOUTBRe798VeHNIujUvhSvrSpridZhYa82A-emdyJ-2p0m_UaXUNxVPzyXYCZk4oswaYdMt_TXciHsqmPhOxUMR4-SEvrcGwEqKsVs7E/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" /></a></div>
ruts in the path<br />
Stumbling in the ridges<br />
<br />
There is repetition<br />
breaking anew<br />
New found shaped / colorful<br />
each balancing with the other<br />
Shifting form of layers cast<br />
designs of nature<br />
Designs of self<br />
<br />
There is repetition<br />
one reaches upward<br />
One reaches down to engage<br />
another level<br />
Dimensional weaving<br />
outward extension<br />
<br />
There is repetition<br />
in remembering who we are<br />
From whence we came<br />
from where we can go<br />
In the rising mandela<br />
<br />revivalredesignhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10184108929031769049noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428994231613944152.post-53670277437423998922017-05-21T19:44:00.000-04:002017-05-21T19:44:20.122-04:00THE CROSSING<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-size: large;">Have seen it large </span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-size: large;">and seen it small</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-size: large;">Have felt its' presence</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-size: large;">before its' vision</span></div>
<div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcANKvyXRZxliWRkQePK5Vy_hVp3y8OmPUWKvbv7c2U_RzpV-HmhYCemRt5Rd-FUiJrfW_guubz1viMP9A7Vho3ozaOMgxFblZfw4OIlg8e3NtE-Rw3xXsND81QUlVEiYlHOhqo1sEDAw/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcANKvyXRZxliWRkQePK5Vy_hVp3y8OmPUWKvbv7c2U_RzpV-HmhYCemRt5Rd-FUiJrfW_guubz1viMP9A7Vho3ozaOMgxFblZfw4OIlg8e3NtE-Rw3xXsND81QUlVEiYlHOhqo1sEDAw/s400/Unknown.jpeg" width="400" /></a><span style="color: #b45f06; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-size: large;">Now it is here</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-size: large;">All open to slide </span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-size: large;">into the flow </span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-size: large;">no chance of failure</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-size: large;">All choices of value and growth</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-size: large;">Since I placed my foot into the crossing</span></div>
revivalredesignhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10184108929031769049noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428994231613944152.post-76388285112856141712016-11-19T16:56:00.000-05:002016-11-19T16:56:09.460-05:00Reconstruction<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><b><span style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-kerning: none;"><b>A harsh and ardent word to use. It delves into the presence of thinking that what worked is no longer present either physically or psychologically. The need of reconstruction may be laid upon us by others , being out of style within our outer or inner worlds.</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTCFPj7kaQbFTtZTFVOEq39CzldRqld7-gJEki8Lhuxz4_Ade37b_5tidSE9r8nJluRS5FeSqr9-WcQi5zFY-3xkdwBAf4AeOxk-ETyX4c-BvrkCEEc8Vh0Uqy3ZRjrVq9I3NfvwDg76k/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><b><img border="0" height="154" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTCFPj7kaQbFTtZTFVOEq39CzldRqld7-gJEki8Lhuxz4_Ade37b_5tidSE9r8nJluRS5FeSqr9-WcQi5zFY-3xkdwBAf4AeOxk-ETyX4c-BvrkCEEc8Vh0Uqy3ZRjrVq9I3NfvwDg76k/s320/images.jpeg" width="320" /></b></span></a><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-kerning: none;"><b>It hit me like a metal bolt grazing a bright yellow construction helmet , so quiet and yet jarring that this is what I am,,, under construction, restricting from the framework that fed my soul and my logistics for quite a long time. Even in my healing process from person, place or things , I have been like a sculpture adding wet clay to the already formed figure unable to pinch off pieces that no longer serve my form or effort. It hit me that my framework may be totally whole as it is and the finishing touches are already present around me…the presence of friends, books, family ties, travel or dipping into a different environment. Their presence may be in nature, in children or ideas floating ghostlike in the universe.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><b><span style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-kerning: none;"><b>This is not a time of tearing apart my body and soul in reconstruction. Lingering in thoughts of where to go, what to do, whom to be as I near the age of suggested retirement is not fruitful.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><b><span style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-kerning: none;"><b>It dawned on me, this Saturday afternoon as the blistery wind tossed the crispy leaves in circles and lines across my yard, that I can start fresh now.. I am not dormant or crinkled waiting for “something to speak to me” ,rather I can build with seeds already present. I am not static but sliding on a course unknown with a changing body and fruitful presence .</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><b><span style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-kerning: none;"><b>Construct rather than reconstruct. Yes, Construct. Going forward rather than feeling inadequate in one's present state.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><b><span style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-kerning: none;"><b> This is the day that the Lord has made ( is making) let us rejoice and be glad in it.</b></span></div>
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revivalredesignhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10184108929031769049noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428994231613944152.post-34095807182175128652016-07-21T09:39:00.001-04:002016-07-21T09:43:48.197-04:00Willowthe willow weeps for no one<br />
laying roots<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinaHUhlq4LfuflVSsRq3SjAd7HKUOjgFvoBNxHEFA6hlKWUt-qkBq345tuF5PUY5OS64i-c8v9zs28J0Hly0zijXpv2xWPFRVdLfUmjwqt1hfjF4yKGDEpZDqZ0pRQMt2hUL0zEmep9VU/s1600/A-weeping-willow-tree-20151029.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinaHUhlq4LfuflVSsRq3SjAd7HKUOjgFvoBNxHEFA6hlKWUt-qkBq345tuF5PUY5OS64i-c8v9zs28J0Hly0zijXpv2xWPFRVdLfUmjwqt1hfjF4yKGDEpZDqZ0pRQMt2hUL0zEmep9VU/s320/A-weeping-willow-tree-20151029.jpg" width="320" /></a>burrowing towards earth's center<br />
leading us to water<br />
bending gracefully<br />
casting shadows<br />
reflective light<br />
<br />
<br />
no sacrifice<br />
in its presence<br />
abiding in its truth of stature<br />
animals, people and soil's advantage<br />
no giving up<br />
rather giving<br />
storms and thunder pierce<br />
its sides<br />
rampant heat curls its leaves<br />
wearing away fresh color<br />
into shedding piles of crushable<br />
shards<br />
<br />
<br />
it feels no sacrifice<br />
it feels its connection to all time<br />
all conditions and withstands<br />
in its power of givingrevivalredesignhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10184108929031769049noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428994231613944152.post-66370341417650731462016-06-09T14:05:00.000-04:002016-06-09T14:06:10.467-04:00Life for Sale.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdCNj2ODC7Vxq6N3-JSa52cfdMmNxwJAR8zNIO7z2hSil5Zn1XOfUszUmThp8G8g_jZF9s3QvBiJpCVN7fE9ML6gKowD7P9gPBCCHEM97xFM_S1ZvQinIyxQ-FSJqeYjrr0BrdNwGOUQc/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdCNj2ODC7Vxq6N3-JSa52cfdMmNxwJAR8zNIO7z2hSil5Zn1XOfUszUmThp8G8g_jZF9s3QvBiJpCVN7fE9ML6gKowD7P9gPBCCHEM97xFM_S1ZvQinIyxQ-FSJqeYjrr0BrdNwGOUQc/s320/images.jpeg" width="320" /></a><br />
His life was for sale, with an auction paddle and a promised check.<br />
<br />
Holding the portfolio with its gray concrete pages laden with tissued drawings my heart accelerates, like pedestrians catching the flashing hand at an intersection. Ready and fired up.<br />
<br />
The dense well protected black leather binder, light under my fingers lept to life. Each page still vibrantly hand inked with interior designs, craftfully done. <br />
<br />
Who was he? His portfolio, ascribed a B+. Other belongings were perched on top a splintered table and a pair of colorful and worn chairs along boxes without lids containing cufflinks brandished by wear<br />
and two watches catching the last breaths of bygone days.<br />
<br />
Searching in a webbed world, unknown to him, I found him. Mr. Watler of Gansevoort, New York and formerly of Beeker Street in New York City.<br />
<br />
WWII honors<br />
Bank clerk in NYC<br />
Student of NY School of Interior Design<br />
State Assessor, Albany, New York<br />
Never Married<br />
One cousin in Gansevoort, New York<br />
All other relatives deceased<br />
<br />
Grasping tenderly at his artwork and design, I imagine his designed life and wonder if anyone ever knew him like I do or cared so much about who he was.<br />
<br />
His life was for sale at the auction. I held it in my hands for pennies on the dollar.<br />
<br />
<br />revivalredesignhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10184108929031769049noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428994231613944152.post-73476014201431930342016-01-22T12:54:00.002-05:002016-01-22T12:54:53.935-05:00Letter from MIdlife Woman<br />
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I may appear tired to you</div>
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from the frenzy of thoughtless past<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiB5hyphenhyphen4EHv35vJqurunCyM7XHamu9yyaVnaJPLl6f6pDBngTMo0ebEuLAWS8syMVVvDDmBn1yaBtki7UkJocNOH4dpF3dwIv-7iN6fW6D0IW9OY9bfh2lx3Req4cnhMwbXP9M8HZZzw1U/s1600/IMG_1896+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiB5hyphenhyphen4EHv35vJqurunCyM7XHamu9yyaVnaJPLl6f6pDBngTMo0ebEuLAWS8syMVVvDDmBn1yaBtki7UkJocNOH4dpF3dwIv-7iN6fW6D0IW9OY9bfh2lx3Req4cnhMwbXP9M8HZZzw1U/s320/IMG_1896+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I may appear sad to you</div>
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from remembrance of sun filled days</div>
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of dance and drink</div>
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I may appear lost within the stillness</div>
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of my core</div>
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but none of these things are the truth within my field</div>
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The expectation of non commanded adventures</div>
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The pensive nature of being me</div>
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The restful body capturing light and energy for the next</div>
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frolic or peaceful glance</div>
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Yes, Midlife Man, I see you as well</div>
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a bit ragged, a bit lost</div>
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in thought</div>
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<br /></div>
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As circles penetrate each others circumference</div>
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there is motion,</div>
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there is dance, </div>
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there is acceptance</div>
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I wish to collide with you, sliding the doors open to </div>
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unforeseen vistas and quiet acknowlgement of living</div>
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living evermore in amazement </div>
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<br /></div>
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This will come </div>
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in unknown time</div>
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I taste its richness and subtle tenderness</div>
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<br /></div>
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I am not tired,sad nor lost </div>
<br />
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simply ready for the new etchings upon this life canvas</div>
revivalredesignhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10184108929031769049noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8428994231613944152.post-35587824102329101642015-12-12T17:52:00.001-05:002015-12-12T17:52:54.725-05:00Through The Gate<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmQnjGSRECW5cua5dynMUMd2QW_piflpQRz0NgPscNW6CafmHiBbvA8w-ETixrCE2XWBfEkYXKxI0l6kHxOEZOo4luVd6bns0h5-U7AXs91xOa8NAy-qfc52PkSZHjuZpskuyNNgMxWdU/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmQnjGSRECW5cua5dynMUMd2QW_piflpQRz0NgPscNW6CafmHiBbvA8w-ETixrCE2XWBfEkYXKxI0l6kHxOEZOo4luVd6bns0h5-U7AXs91xOa8NAy-qfc52PkSZHjuZpskuyNNgMxWdU/s320/Unknown.jpeg" width="213" /></a>Coming through the gate<br />
its' handle brandished with others effort<br />
of oiled hands<br />
its' hinges creaking with mild resistance<br />
I pause<br />
Have I been here before?<br />
<br />
The ridge rises with openhanded wildflowers<br />
The lupine particularly pink this season<br />
<br />
I do remember the blue lupine and the scattered<br />
Indian blanket flowers<br />
The black-eyed Susans waiting for<br />
harsher sun and parched soil<br />
<br />
The moss edges the stones from<br />
spring rains<br />
Rains that buried seedlings under<br />
the sandy soil until now<br />
<br />
I do remember this place but is brighter now<br />
and perfected in wildness of textures and whispers<br />
Sounds primal and resonating the stirring valley<br />
<br />
I cannot turn back this time<br />
I am propelled with older vison to not turn around<br />
This is where I belong<br />
In the wildflowers and in sundrenched vistas<br />
In the wildness of forgotten dreams<br />
<br />
The gate closes behind me with the next breeze<br />
I look forward to meeting the next visitor<br />
resting in this place with merevivalredesignhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10184108929031769049noreply@blogger.com0