Safe Harbor –

“Nothing external to you has any power over you.” 
Ralph Waldo Emerson
gbcomposer
The haven from which we draw peace is found not without but within. Circumstances change and environments produce storms, but if preparations are made in advance, the harbor’s climate is safe and steady. A harbor built before the hurricane provides a sure relief, but laboring to lay foundations in the pouring rain is frivolous. The place of refuge lays beyond the shores of feeling, away from circumstance. A master architect has drawn plans for this refuge and laid them open to all. Their hard to build, patience is needed, and much strength from beyond, but these are afforded to those who labor through dependence on the heavenly Father, a willing participant in building a safe harbor. When finished this will provide protection from the wailing winds and torrential rains of death, life, love, and circumstance. The first step in the process is an admission that help is needed and then an establishment of a relationship with the architect. Then follows conformation to His steps and a steady endurance to resist looking outward at the storms but inward to the work. There’s a peaceful place which provides an unchanging calm environment and it’s up to us to build it. Godspeed friend, there is much work to do here.
 First published in Opinionsofeye.com
 
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The Pain Of Being Good –

“He’s not safe, but he’s good (referring to Aslan, the Lion, in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe)” ― C.S. Lewis 
jimmyfungus
Monotony is a life I cannot endure and like the Chinese torture of a thousand cuts, each ordinary minute, and every plain hour, is an excruciating drain of my sanity’s blood.  My brain, being calloused by experiences that nearly destroyed me, craves danger and manipulates me to destroy success to create the drama I’m addicted to. I’ve an endless thirst that cracks my tongue and mind with desire for the spiraling waters of a hurricane, a wind blown vertical rain that stings my eyes and gives me a desire for living, if only for another second. My thoughts won’t wander from survival in this storm long enough for the pain of worry and boredom to take effect. The pressure of being good, i.e free from crisis, for to long leaves me open to the tedium of thoughts that pin me beneath their weight, but when I’m fighting for survival, struggling to gasp another breath, there’s no room for the mad thinking that sickens me and drives my weary soul deep into the blackness of insanity. They push me toward the edge and as I fight to keep my ground, I’ll smile at the fight that, if only for a moment, gives me release and a reason to live…then a moment of clarity comes to me. I look outside and see a squirrel eating the seeds I laid out and a smile crosses my lips. Little things that start a new way of thinking, of living, of dying. Maybe by bringing sustenance to the world, I’ll keep my shit together and not go stark raving mad. I’m in the boot camp of recovery, and this is my training to rebuild a broken mind.

Also published in Broowaha
First published in Opinions Of Eye

Cold water, Dry run – Heal the wounds of yesterday –

“Pain feels like a fast stab wound to the heart. But then healing feels like the wind against your face when you are spreading your wings and flying through the air! We may not have wings growing out of our backs, but healing is the closest thing that will give us that wind against our faces.”  – C. JoyBell C.

Trying hard to find water in a dry land. A parched, dry, burning throat tortures me. My lips, peel like mud flakes baked by the noon heat. Life was here, now, only the memory of life conveyed in the carved, hard mud of me, a dry lake. Then a soft wind blows, the temperature drops slowly, a coolness invades, and the clouds gather promising a new thing is on its way. Soft drops escape at first, slowly building a faceless mob. Each drop makes a mark, dimpling the ground. The little craters overflow and begin to form a growing conglomeration of streaming water alliances, gathering momentum and finding their way to the thirsty lake, filling the deepest cracks first.

 
Notice the deepest cracks are the ones first filled with the life-giving water. Likewise, notice how the deepest hurts are the first healed when the fulfillment of your hearts desire comes to pass. It’s a beautiful to see life restored. There is a fulfillment in hope and contentment after suffering. It feels so good, like cold water after a hot run.
Also published in Broowaha
First published in Opinions Of Eye
08172011

Her-icane

“If people were rain I was a drizzle and she was a hurricane.”  
– John Green, Looking for Alaska 

The hurricane was coming.
 No more wondering, no more warning.

 
Grabbing the tools to put up the ply, 
I began to work, an eye on the sky
 
Nail after nail, I secured what was mine, 
my loose ends are bound with white twine
 
Wind tugs my sweaty hair now, 
as horizontal drops begin to pound
 
Forgetting one thing in all the hurry, 
the open front door in rain now blurry
 
Rampaging through my unprotected gate, 
the raging storm expresses all of it’s hate
 
It’s all over with damage everywhere, 
all of my belongings strewn around there
 

I could have prevented this wind that blew, 
had I stopped myself from loving you

02082012

Seeing A Thought

“I realize there’s something incredibly honest about trees in winter, how they’re experts at letting things go.” ― Jeffrey McDaniel

harryvarelis

Seeing a thought, though it long past
How your touch and kiss, both would last
The wind in the trees, of my looking mind
Washed the slate clean, with the rain of time
Flitting rare bird, that affection of yours
I crawl through, the closing doors
Seeing a thought, though I longed it so
Touching the dreams, I let you go.

01292012
 

Cloudy In My Mind

“Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know.” ― Ernest Hemingway 
“Sanity and happiness are an impossible combination.” ― Mark Twain
 

simply-earth

The drop hit me by surprise and spread down my cheek. I looked up expecting the obligatory dark clouds gathering like a group of teenagers looking for trouble, and instead saw the silvery hair of ancient softly graying geriatric clouds sauntering off across the open fields. Wiping the residue of my encounter away, I longed for more so I ran after them, trying the whole while to catch a few errant leftovers. My experience with happiness is the unexpected, and sparking my interest, I chase after whatever appears to have caused it. When panting and exhausted I collapsed in my desperate pursuit, I realized that what I sought wasn’t on the outside, it’s on the inside. It sounds like a cliché, the way running sounds to a jogger, but, I never ran before and the way I feel when I finally do is sweeter than a cliché. So pardon me while I sit here in this field and wait for the breezes bringing rain, coming not from across the valley, but from inside my soul, wetting me with the refreshing delight of inundated joy.

Walk In The Rain

The best thing one can do when it’s raining is to let it rain.” 
fludit

I walked in the rain, head bowed against 

the martyr rain drops
I walked in the rain, the wind directing the assault, 
my skin wet with the attack
I walked in the rain, feeling the dance on my cheek, 
drops and pseudo tears
I walked in the rain, and never felt so alive. 

Also published in Broowaha
11072011 
  

Clouds – Promise of Change

“Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add color to my sunset sky.” – Rabindranath Tagore, Stray Birds 
alxndrasplace

When it comes, like clouds, forming mushrooms in the afternoon sky.
In their power, change.
Solo plumes and powerful gathered masses, threaten and bring life
In their power, change.
Eternal questions erased in a moment of violence, life given solace
In their power, change.
Take the water of pain, given without invitation, let it rain
In its power, change.


Also published in Wingposse
08012011

Analogy of a Tic – Two Views of People Who Use You

“We’re a different sort of thief here, Lamora. Deception and misdirection are our tools. We don’t believe in hard work when a false face and a good line of bullshit can do so much more.” ― Scott Lynch, The Lies of Locke Lamora 

 “Yet the evil still increased, and, like the parasite of barnacles on a ship, if it did not  destroy the structure, it obstructed its fair, comfortable progress in the path of life.” William Banting 

 

thepursuitofepicness
 

They wander around my perimeters, parasites, drawing from me like a tic. Working my way through the jungles of the game, they latch on. Suckers, filling themselves with my blood. I let some hang on, knowing they’re there, keeping an eye on them; I’m in control. The tic’s bold, so consumed with satiating its desire, it doesn’t know or care that it’s life is in my hands. One day I’ll squash the tic, making a blood stain on my leg, smiling with gratification of my power over it. It’s funny to watch little creatures plying their wares, I feel compassionate for their limited life span and the narrowness of their existence. I play with them, and while others are scared, I’m intrigued. In the end, the game will be played out again, so I entertain myself with my current companions, a symbiosis of sort, the tug and pull of life sharpening my senses.  

There’s another way to see this game. Being gifted and talented on many levels, I’ll draw success in a variety of forms. This abundance isn’t meant just for me, but for others. I’m a stream of cool water, those who are thirsty can dip their hands in and draw from my abundance to satisfy themselves. I’ll be filled again, not by them, but by the hand of my Big Daddy (God), who is my source and fountain. It’s my purpose to be filled and emptied in service to others, to humble myself and provide for them, no matter how shallow or misdirected their desires are. Hunger is hunger, thirst is thirst. God causes the rain to fall on the just and unjust. Perhaps in satisfying their errant desires they’ll soon grow tired and turn to my source. I’m thankful that if not for twists of fate and circumstance, I’d be the tic. This inspires me to continue to give and provide, not with reluctance, but with satisfaction, knowing that, if not for God, I’d be the sucker.

02232012

Love’s Mortal Wound

“He sees death in the prostitutes who have witnessed the death of honor, and daily multiply the death of love, who bleed away their own lives 50 times a day beneath the relentless stabbings of countless conjugations” – Ed McBain

Our love has suffered a mortal wound

Feeling your name pulled from my chest
Stumbling thoughts, its you I kiss
Waiting for the next heartbeat
Feeling it deep in my bowels
nothing like it in the world
earth shaking my heart unfurls
Cant seem to find the easy forgiveness
Its costing me, running like a blood stream
I wait for you, like a passing cloud with no rain
Promises left unfilled, I break for you,
Inescapable vines, my love
bears a mortal wound
Distant hopes like mirages,
disappear in the change of your light
Promises like the morning fog, quickly gone in the light of truth
Strange though the pleasure you bring on the wings of pain
Surreal your gentle touch on the stroke of punishment
I sway under your movement, you never break your stare
I ran once but found you everywhere
I can’t help but feel the passion 
that gave love a mortal wound


Also published in Broowaha


09072011