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Tuesday, October 21, 2014

getting ready to move

"the owner of the house i have lived in for many years has notified me that he will do little or nothing to keep it in repair. He has also advised me to be ready to move.

at first this was not very welcome news. in many respects the surrounding area is quite pleasant, and if not for the evidence of a somewhat declining condition, the house seems rather nice. yet a closer look reveals that even a light wind causes it to shake and sway, and its foundation is not sufficient to make it secure. therefore i am getting ready to move.

as i consider the move, it is strange how quickly my interest is transferred to my prospective new home in another country. i have been consulting maps and studying accounts of its inhabitants. and someone who has come from there to visit has told me that it is beautiful beyond description and that language is inadequate to fully describe what he heard while there. he said that in order to make an investment there, he has suffered the loss of everything he owned here, yet rejoices in what others would call a sacrifice. another person, whose love for me has been proved by the greatest possible test, now lives there. he has sent me several clusters of the most delicious grapes i have ever eaten, and after tasting them everything here tastes very bland.

several times i have gone to the edge of the river that forms the boundary between here and there and have longed to be with those singing praises to the King on the other side. many of my friends have moved across that river, but before leaving here they spoke of my following them later. i have seen the smile on their faces as they passed from my sight.

so each time i am asked to make some new investment here, i now respond, "i am getting ready to move."  (streams in the desert)


Sunday, October 19, 2014

possibly

when i give my mind permission

to dream

it does

it enters happily

into the cloistered inner halls

where thoughts abide

emotions hide

it sorts and picks

and touches

housecleaning

arranging

busily creating

space to dream

i should go there

possibly

more often


Wednesday, October 15, 2014

holding time

i never to a dying went
where hours did not drag
like moth with broken wing and bent
or half a masted flag

i never to a birthing went
where hours did not fly
so happy was the world to hear
a newborn baby's cry

perspicuous is the world with hours
as if it's fair to tell
the haste to hear the infant's cry
the holding at the knell

dh 16/10/2014

Saturday, October 4, 2014

little me

this is me, age 2. i love the little innocent face, the deep wondering eyes, the tentative eyebrows, the finger to the mouth as if holding back a thought.

this is me.

before the world changed me.

i look at this picture, then i ask, "where did you go, little girl?"

and the answer comes softly from deep within..."i'm here... i'm just waitin'..."

my little self. i love you.

over the long slow decades of my life, this child has remained in her hiding place, waiting, watching, whispering way back in the corners of my mind.

she's aware, and so am i- now.

as i learn to integrate her into my conscious mind, we grow together. we commune. we love each other.

someone said to me the other day, after they met their little self for the first time, "this is really weird."

i quite agree.

but it's real.

just because we grow up, doesn't mean the little one does. the parts of us that get left behind because of pain or trauma are there waiting for acknowledgement, for healing, for the grown-up courage that we hold out to them.

and the HEALER stands in the shadows, quiet and gentle, hands outstretched, to bring us together.

it's really weird. it's REALly weird.

and that's ok.

isn't it, little one?

"yes," she whispers. and she is content.