Monday, March 30, 2020
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.)
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.
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.
Today we sit still. It is a time to grow not unlike the acorn unaware that it will become a tree.
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.
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.
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.
Monday, August 5, 2019
Rise up again Phoenix, this is your time
with head held high
Smoke and Clouds gone to the other side
whisked away as meringue froth
Rise up and walk barefooted
soft spongy layers beneath you
Filled with Protection and Joy
Rise up and breathe the rain filled air
moist with birth of all things Good
Sprouting connections swirling in the breeze
Rise up You know this Land
Its majesty is greater than before
Its corruption vanished
Its possibilities are yours
You have risen in Glory
Rise up and Hold your head high in Truth and Righteousnes
It is your time and It is Our Time
Tuesday, September 25, 2018
Reflection: crusty, sandy soil
Upon lazy morning bay rising
Warming towels, sarongs swirled beneath
canopy of pine and palm
hopping birds, branch to branch
Disguised, fleeting insects harvest legs and arms of
with unrequited delight
Contained water brushed blue with plastic tints
ablaze from reflected seeking sun
Pigeon visitations, solo excursions, checking on progress
of crumbs discarted by hasty children or lazy tourists
Rainbow necked, they clamor closer and closer for bits
Territorial squirrels in underbrush of succulent vine and
Mongoose vie for frontline pounch, wayward beach sites
Giggles of young pearly white asian girls
curled almong the greenery edge of sand and undergrowth
they echo between the splashes of ocean's edge and walled
extreme clifts of weathered transformed time
Returning from my early water exploration
morning snack blossomed into a garden of zucchini
Shards of foil in delicate splatter rested with nut shards, broken branches
and crusty sand
Someone here in my absence?
No footprints of scroundral
No trail of crumbs
A shadow glides over my now closed eyes
It smiles and feathers it with words from his soggy
beach camo trunks
" You had guests while gone- they guarded your chair" he speaks
Moongoose on Zuchinni : what a start to the day
Dusting sand turns to paste
as waves engulf with
Sand hardening with weight of water
porous bubbles and froth
I sink then
I stand on solid ground
Both in this moment
Shifting from liquid to solid
Vibrating with earthly elements
Dusted sand we are
Fluid we are:
then dust again
Sunday, July 29, 2018
Sunday, May 20, 2018
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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
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".
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.
Art this time in my life is pulling me into more and more of these Now moments and it feels good.
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.
Thursday, November 16, 2017
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
The ship of discovery and bliss
will take them to ports of call, called perfection