what child is this?

the darkest time of the year is nearing. 

how is there this much light? 

candles appear in windows. 

tail lights on cars line up in strings of red and white on our commute home. 

moonlight on white sheets.

the pellet stove kicks up sparks of heat.

blankets of white powder cover each branch. each blade. 

sunrise and sunset reach the clouds, grasping for intense beauty. (see this!)

and there's a rose with eyes glittering in curiosity, wonder and love on the pillow beside me.  

my two daughters: born in december. born in darkness. bringers of light.

we think of the baby now. 

the baby born in darkness, in a barn. 

with animal's breath for warmth. 

what of those children born in darkness, in candlelight. 

how do their eyes adjust to our light?

must they squint and squeal~ 

remembering the darkness they knew and loved?

never fearing darkness, they know warmth will surround them. 

never fearing the unknown, 

they know the gifts that come out of darkness and into light. 

after all, they did. 

this is the time of the child.

we watch their excitement. 

we watch them wish. 

we watch them dance in snow fall and carol. 

we bask in their light. 

we all were once the child. 

the child of light still lives inside of us.  

...child of wonder, child of night....

"o star of wonder, star of night

star with royal beauty bright

westward leading, still proceeding, 

guide us to thy perfect light."

stars pierce the night.

(star of wonder.)

winding and weaving

http://wonderous-world.com/post/65641134338/favorite-season-red-forest-by-alfon-no

o, how i'm drawn to the curve, the swirl, the bend, the corner... where you push down on the gas pedal half way through the turn, and feel your stomach drop out as you pull forward. 

you know, you'll never know what's around that bend. you'll not see it coming. 

it's truth: the bend, the stretch. 

             the swirl, the way. 

http://elfentau.tumblr.com/post/29987720962

when you climb those hills and urge and urge your car, your spirit, your mind to "make it!!" you are reminded of that gift in view as you round a bend, of the gift of details hidden in the curves. of the present, and the awareness you must keep to stay between the lines and not fall off the edge. 

off the edge. 

it makes me dizzy to even think of it. 

it's the root of my fear of heights. 

the edge... 

http://500px.com/photo/40133150

but couldn't i see that the edge is another curve? an adventure to find what is at the bottom. what of this worrying? this fear? 

someone wise told me recently that anxiety is like an umbrella you think might protect you from the weather (the true feelings and fears).... and i remembered how much i hate umbrellas. i mean, i'm using the word "hate" here. what a nuisance they are. just something else to carry. and i have many other jobs for my hands that i much prefer: playing piano. holding hands. 

even, wiping away tears. 

so i think i'll drop this umbrella of fear and anxiety. ("everything is already okay.") i think i'll lean into these curves and edges. 

i still don't know what is waiting for me. 

perhaps the best present of all. 

i'll not see it coming. the thrill of it all.  

a burning.

it's been awhile.

http://metroplastique.tumblr.com

and andy goldsworthy's words and art are speaking to me...

"the image of someone dying is burned on you~ the day after the death, i made a work with a hole on the tree. i see it as a visual entrance into the earth, an entrance there between which life both ebbs and flows. i'm drawn into the depth and out of that comes growth also... the black is the absence~ it's the intangible but in the context of a tree that i know will come back to life... "
                   ~andy goldsworthy in "rivers and tides"

a few mornings ago, the sun was just thinking about rising, and my family (one larger and one smaller than the last time i wrote) was driving on the road that was the last road my dad drove on before...
before he went through that hole to somewhere else...
we were driving on the road that echoes the river next to it. there was mist on the river, mist in my eyes.
the river and i, still, and moving beside each other.
the morning light delicate, the moon still hanging full and ready to face the sun.

i wasn't quite ready to face it as i rode on that road.

i'm lonely without my dad.
and yet, i always have him with me now. at least, i'm now aware of having him with me. he's been there all along. with me deep in my cells. my biology. my heart. my spirit.

still, i'm lonely without him. in a burning, wish i could get his response after reading this blog post, and hear him say my name, and smell him when he's hugging me, kind of burning.

this burning ebbs and flows, in the way life does, it circles around and hits me in new places and unexpected memories. and so i turn to the natural world~
             and find myself in the swirl of leaves racing each other to the ground, spider webs heavy with dew, frost waiting to last longer than the first hour of daylight and i am reminded of this aching beauty of life. all this death (of autumn!!) is gorgeous. loud. glorious.

and full of grace.
just like my dad.

casting our nets~

awelltraveledwoman.tumblr.com

it is a lone fisherman who casts his net. 
flings it to the wind. 
trusts it to the universe or god or whomever is waiting there in the leap. 


it is the casting off, the tossing, that allows for a catch. 
that creates a possible connection.  
that invites a gathering where there would have remained


solitude. 

iloverainandcoffee.tumblr.com

 what is gathered in your net will always be a mystery of the deep.
what finds its way into the gossamer threads (that are meant to be hard to see. subtle.) cannot be predicted. but what is "caught" will be the treasure of all treasures... as long as you see it that way. 


perhaps you will stumble in a tangle of netting and land in a foggy spot, but find small flowers you'd have otherwise missed. 

goodmemory.tumblr.com

perhaps your net will serve as a ladder helping you to climb to heights previously imaginable. and from that height you'll find the soft first flowers of spring, or the softer nose of a new friend. 

crazymaybe.tumblr.com

perhaps you'll dangle from the threads of your net, and feel the pull (gravity or centrifugal), the tug at the heart, and you'll hold on for dear life. hold on for clear living. 

goodmemory.tumblr.com

or perhaps~

if you're lucky, you'll find the net wrapped around you. holding you up. holding you close. 

as close as the breath of your mother, whispering answers to you. 

as close as fog brushing the skin.

closer than a best friend. 

closer than a held hand. 

even closer. 

your very own net. 

from above...

Seashell by Hypoactivemedia

 on pine point beach, you'll find handfuls of these shells. 
shells that fit easily your hands.
shells that fit easily inside each other. 
that can't help but snuggle with each other. 


i filled my pockets there.
walking, scanning the beach. focused. full.
i towered over these shells digging deep into the sand. (i still have their sand in my pockets, and under my fingernails.) 

CREDIT: NASA/SDO 

this tornado is kicking it up on the sun. i don't know the science of this photo. i just know i feel smaller than those shells on the beach while looking at it. 
the distance of the sun. 
the dependence on the sun.
the pure heat and light of it all.

by Images Monsoon

   
today i stood, on a second floor, looking down on the rare phenomenon: 
a puddle, in maine, in february. 
and there was april-like rain falling. rain cold enough to cut into the earth, warm enough to thaw it at the same time. 
rain drops making circles in puddles that move with confidence, slam into one another, and then join or continue spreading. 

Submitted by Haggard & Halloo

i feel in between the above and the being above. 

i'm surrounded by swirls. 

i'm moving in confidence through heat and light. 

and happy for sand under my fingernails to remind me of that day. 

that walk on pine point beach. 

life. 

in sickness and in health~

Ekaterina Koroleva

i felt sickness coming on. the inside of my belly was cold. my nostrils felt icy air coming in, hot germs going out. couldn't get the germs out fast enough. i lay in bed thinking. 

thinking:

i'm an adult. 

i'm more than just a body. 

i can breathe this away and out of me. 

just don't don't don't move. 

chills came to shiver me. 

the sickness was so strong. stronger than even my will. 

which, believe me, is strong. 



and then, tears. as i couldn't hold it in any longer. i had this image from the novel extremely loud and incredibly close of the sign language made up between two without words: 

mollyruns.tumblr.com

"Don't cry," I told her, by putting her fingers on my face and pushing imaginary tears up my cheeks and back into my eyes."

and i couldn't hold it in any longer. tears.

and he was beside me. he wasn't telling me, "don't cry". just there, with a hand on my back. jumping out of bed as fast i've ever seen. just there.

with me.  

By jamie heiden

but sickness. i feel alone in sickness. it's not my way of being. it's not flying and soaring and light. 
not graceful. 
it's brittle and harsh and sweaty and 


sick. 


alone in a field of images swirling behind my eyes:
a rock being hefted across a busy street. the rock being the back of the soul. my soul. turning the rock in my hands, my gnarled old woman hands, like turning the underside of my soul up to the sun to be shown to all. not really wanting to show it, at first, but then feeling the relief of warmth on that dark protected place... 

Lucio López Cansuet

like a hot shower. the shower eroding off the sickness. holding it off for the time being. so many showers~ hot hot water pelting my back, strength in my weakness. feeling my joints loosen, but bracing for goosebumps. knowing they're waiting for me on the other side of this warmth. but he's there too, after goosebumps. waiting. watching. there. 

Kathy Hare

and the kids. the kids swooping and sailing around me. the way i ought to be, i think. but you know... 
my wings are still there. firmly fastened to my back. and i can do it. even if "doing it" means 
being sick and needy. 
means being sweaty and weak.
means being less than i think i am. 
because of course, it's all a part of who i am.  

by Yoskay Yamamoto

i'm a mother who has children who teach me because although right now i might have more knowledge, they'll always be smarter. i'm a wife who has a husband to stand beside me, with his hand on my back, reminding me he's there, always.  i'm a woman who has this underside of a soul that needs to rest as much as it needs to soar. in sickness and in health are gifts to be given, and to be received. 
gratitude for them all. 

on tiptoe...

littleg.tumblr.com

a young thing finds a puddle... 

finds a magnetic pull to dip in a toe. 

the water wraps itself around the toe, and takes in the heel, the ankle. 

the tickle, the tingle, the taste of fresh clarity.

below toes, swimming deep are strong colorful bodies of strength. swimmers of confidence. searchers for truth. sleek. swarming unseen.

kelley123.tumblr.com

feel the flutter of birds dangling around your neck, landing on your fingertip? a new fact of life nests on the top of your heart~ feathers falling slowly in your hair, a chirping you cannot ignore. do not ignore. 

sativa

 a burning firebird has stolen the blindfold, has found a deeper room, has darted here and there, leaving ash and rebirth in its wake. it flies. it floats. it soars. it sears. it beats at its cage (the soul!!) to "let me outta here!!" the day comes when it will not be caged for a moment longer. falling is flight. flight is strength. strength, weakness. weakness, the willingness to fall again. 

"My Etherial Dancers" - The Art of Didi Foronda 

and when the time is right. 

and when the light creates clarity.

and when eyes open.

and when day dawns.

and when life fits. 

and when love comes to stay...

                                                                               tumble down. get up on tip toes. and

 sodahead.com  

  

kiss.