Tag Archives: belonging

The One Reality


As she drew the curtains to let the sun in, her Big Ben door chimes rang out. The bay window afforded a view of her front door, but no one was there. The bell rang again, this time, with a strikingly sweet diinnnng! She entered the hall to find that her roof …was gone! The sky seemed to envelop her, sucking her in; no boundaries, no past, no future, no time – just – unfolding present. The deepest blue she had ever experienced evolved into a permeating nurturing pink – a conscious intelligence that knew every moment of her and it loved her without limit, without judgment, without expectation of any kind.

Behind her hundreds of “her” people had gathered, and their arms thrust her with such enormous speed – Whoooosh! Like child on a swing – it took her breath away, though she had no sense of breathing, only of the white light – closer and closer – it should have blinded her eyes with searing pain, but didn’t. She couldn’t look away. It, too, knew her with complete, perfect, and even amused love.

All too soon, from light years away, a pin prick voice called her name. Immediately she began to fall and the light, still brilliant, grew smaller and more distant, and she knew it was consciously letting her go.

“Don’t send me back! Please,” she cried. A sound – a loud, sharp CLAP dropped her and she was back, standing at her open front door where a ragged stranger was asking for a glass of water.

“Of course, come in,” she said and gently ushered him to a chair. At long last, she truly understood: the only reality and the only real choice is love.

Last May on Whidbey 062

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Filed under Fiction, Flash & Micro Fiction, Spiritual wisdom, Uncategorized

Beloved


I am child of toboggan and of a family that played in snow

Dad chose our Connecticut house for the half acre yard,

its graded slope was perfect for tobogganing.

I am child of a mother who cut my snowsuit

from the warp and weft of my father’s WWII Marine uniform

Between her singer sewing machine fingers

magic happened.

She buttoned me up and wrapped a knitted red scarf

round and round my little bundled body

then, kissing each of my dinner-roll cheeks

she looked into my eyes and smiled.

I knew I was loved.

I am child of a family whose interlocked legs

made space for me at the front.

Tucked under the curling toboggan’s hood

nested in my sister’s lap within big brothers’ reach

I sucked and ducked gallons of snow dust

guided by parents’ voices: lean this way or lean that;

and the toboggan flew like a snow-Ferrari

until it tumbled at the bottom of the hill

dumping all of us

boots and mittens flailing

tears of laughter freezing on faces

my mother’s eyes shining, burning like a winter-hearth fire

reminding me Who I Am

before I forgot.

Decades of seasons and snow wove their tales

of forts and slushy meltdowns

until miles of death and years of living changed my view.

Today it grew cold and it snowed.

I grabbed my new yellow ergonomically designed snow shovel

and I worked all morning while flakes descended like long forgotten memories

until at last, I gazed with satisfaction at my newly cleared drive.

Exhaling clouds of frost, velvet roses feathered my cheeks with her warmth

I felt her hands bundling me up

and I saw her eyes gazing into mine

And I knew once more the love that glows against winter and cold

And I remembered

This is Who I Am.

 

 

 

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Labels – A Ghazal


 

        

Senior Volunteer’ pasted in black across yellow back, gave the elder a respected Name label;

Actively Aged, Useful Though Old, Worthy, Mature, Wonderfully Wise or another Refrain label.

Girls skipping ropes, rush in between beats – Double Dutch – such treats are only for those whose feet can time, while voices sing rhyme, and stay within rules of the Jumping Game label.

Teen declares, with disdainful stare, a desire to be independent, though dresses alike, no matter the sight: exposed underwear, displayed with such care, to earn his cohort’s Same label.

Disabled: the symbol that flashes to mind when wheelchair goes by with human inside; observers cry should they speak or go there, to the person with chair and the lumbering Lame label?

 Hundreds pass by the bewildered, hungry eye of the mange-mangled beast on the leash; though beaten and abused he remains to amuse at the circus; he wears a Tamed label.

 Scarlet letter on breast of woman – at best a victim, not witch; alone and bereft, her mores were left behind. Wanting to touch her lover so much she risked the taunts of notorious Shame label.

 “Munroe, Marilyn” said the tag on the red-painted toe as the body was rolled by gurney outside. They would hide motivation for suicide and disguise the truth with a Vain label.

We praise those whose beauty surpasses their duty to offspring that suffer neglect; in their endeavors to glitter and gather, we sanction their chase of the elusive Fame label.

 Politicians and presidents strategically plan and play War while they fight without bleeding; though brawn is revered and courage endeared, a hero goes home as a Remains label.

 Would Cindy exist without a sweet tryst, or a story, or some category, to prove she belongs to the pulsating throng of people whose aim is just to maintain some terribly Mundane label?

 

Image: Google: rlv.zcache.com/writer_shirt-p2356882776358568 

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