Change and Progress: Learning to Birth Risks

Change and Progress: Learning to Birth Risks.

I am gestating in the womb of change and progress.

I am developing the skills and strength to become reborn in my own image without the yoke of false hope, without the bearing of bloody lies, without the praise for being different tainted with shame. The strings and ropes that moored me to the shore are severed with my clear consent. I am no longer anchored at the pier of someone else’s demands and lack of mercy. What is no longer necessary for my survival is falling away rapidly, some of which is regret.

I Regret that I didn’t realize sooner what was occurring. I Regret that my need to hope that things would improve could not be sated by the harmful actions of others. Regret that I saw the omens, realized the map, and ignored my compass.

 

But there will be obvious bouts of discord as there always are when rebirth is occurring. There is always pain, but that is the labor of passion. That is the direction of one’s eyes being opened to a new dawn. That is the sanctity of new life being brought into the world despite the age of its possessor. It is a covenant union between life and the living. It is where, just outside of the comfort zone, new and wild adventures are committed to memories with delight. It is where the spirit remembers why the pain is sometimes deeply necessary. It’s there so we remember not to walk that path any more. That pain is there as a guidepost, a milestone, a mile-marker.

My future destination is still being navigated, charted, and lined into a clearly mapped path. But I fear the end result out of resistance to chaos, upheaval, and the possibility of error. I am petrified that I will be stillborn. I am so frightened that I won’t evolve into something or someone I recognize. I look in the mirror and wonder what’s next, what am I going to do? I play the Wo-Co-Sho (would have, could have, should have) game and the What-if’s because my uncertainty in the future is wrought with cautious ambition.

I know better. I know that I am being guided by the blessings, gifts and goals painted on my dreamy canvas. I know that what is to come is not for me to know, even if I can see glimpses of it. I know that once I’ve arrived in THAT place, it will match my vision and I will weep once again with gratitude.

But, for now, I will gestating in the womb of change while I grow into my new spirit self. While I bloom, blossom, develop, and change. The risks that are involved, while in this state, are negligible.

It’s what comes after the rebirth and during that process that will engage every moment of bravery required of my soul spirit to achieve that which my heart remembers, requires, and desires above all else. My courage will come when it is needed as long as my feet are still moving towards my own evolution and reconstruction of who I am destined to be at this time in my life.

My umbilical chord hums with rejuvenation and possibility. The anticipation of new sprinkled with historical re-validation, and written onto slightly off key musical staffs, create wonder in my spirit. I wonder if this music I hear is loud enough to be heard by others. I wonder if this tune I write will inspire others to seek their symphony, to take the risks that encourage growth into the sonata after the dirge has bilged their spirits clear of the desperate attempt to belong where they don’t.

Some of the music my spirit knows are still empty notes played at random while the steady rhythm of my heartbeat drives me forward. The harmonica plays. The violin strings. The chorus of bass (because it’s all about the bass, ’bout the bass, no trouble) drives the beat forward. I am immaculate but still dusty and bloodied from my last go round. I see the path to walk, nay run, and I lay my foot down against the soft walls of wisdom. I must keep moving forward.

The risk will be worth the reward despite the outcome of the final piece I’ve committed to writing. The outcome, come what may, will be life unfolding in a grand mastery of orchestral parts with some blended so lovingly with beauty that joy is easily found.

I will be reborn. I will shake free of this shell. I’ve become like a chrysalis wrapped tight in swaddling adventure, changing my colors, changing my heart, changing my spirit for the next chapter. I will be reborn because to remain where I am, who I am, doing what I’ve always done is not an option if I hope to experience the life I was destined to meet. I MUST risk everything in order to rise up and meet the challenge of my spirit. This temporary state of rebuilding is my sole opportunity for the path I’ve chosen. But it isn’t my only option or way to get there, it’s just my choice to follow this particular path.

One foot in front of the other. One step forward. One belief that I am more than what I am right now. One wise guide that tells me to bloom, to grow, to breathe, live, act. I follow this inner voice, but I’m truly leading myself on my own spiritual journey.

Random Notes from my book

As the kids run through the grass, they kick up passels of summer gnats that flutter like dust in the sunlight.

Clarinets lined up like a firing squad splattering shrill notes on the crowd with missing rhythm and imprecise playing. SPLAT! WHACK! ting! Sploot! Trill!

To stretch my aching back, I bent oddly angled and realized by the horrified look of the salesclerk that I must have looked like I was trying to poop my pants.

I am an evil monkey today
I can behave exactly how I wish
I’m proudly wearing my top hat
they ignore my empty dish
I have crashed into the universe
it has politely punched me back
so I’ll sip my bitter coffee drink
while plotting my next attack

“Curse you vile human!” vs. “Have a blessed day!”

Blessed is a bisexual word. It can go either way. The argument is stated whether it be the Pagan or Christian way. Blessed or Bless-ed belongs to both or the other.

If you can’t see your shorts beneath your shirt, go change. That’s not attractive.

New Moon

New Moon

New Moon

Will you come spiral a dance with me

without your shoes or dress

on the naked earth

with a smile and a blush

your only adornment

under the dark of the moon

or the lavender of twilight

gleaming highlights of stars

on the curve of your knees, hips, and breasts

while the lungs of summer exhale

its final breezy breaths

until the wheel has come full circle?

Will you surrender to the rhythm of night

embracing the cicadas and crickets

as the treble notes of the living dark

while the thumping of our feet on the dirt

rustle leaves like the skirts we puddled

at the edge of the clearing

where the last of the season’s fireflies

beg for a mate to relieve their lonely hearts

while we build momentum in the cooling air

wildly sacrificing modesty for our natural state of being.

These Are My People: Carrie Jones

Always!

Love is an active participation one to another.

It is a tribute to those who taught us

who moved our spirits

who shook up our souls like a snowglobe scene

we kept dusty and hidden on a shelf that we don’t remember building

but suddenly are embarrassed to realize was there all along

Love is an active embrace of warm energy

It is an honoring of those who taught us

who helped us realize our worth

who took our broken pieces scattered everywhere

and meticulously hugged each one until we learned

until we believed that we were worth the love they gave.

Love is an active bond between two spirit kin

It is an abiding reminder of those who taught us

who helped us understand what forever means

who took the disappointments and broken promises

and ALWAYS loved us no matter what.

Love is Always.

Always love is the greatest gift I can forward

because it is given to me every day for always.

Propaganda Unbound by Jimbo Slice

Jimbo Slice is my friend’s fiance’. He writes poems and hides them on Facebook. I told him he needs to put them up for people to experience. He gave me permission to post the poems he writes that hit me in the guts. This is one of them.

Here in America

we are taught to believe

that we all can make it

we all can succeed.

Happiness, fame,

Luxury and greed

Is ours for the taking,

If only we believe

that we are

what we’re worth

and we are

what we need.

 

Here in America

we are taught to believe

That we’re nothing but heroes

But we’re deceived.

We’re not a collection

Of objects and things,

Of clothes and music,

Of power and bling,

We’re misled

and deluded,

shallow and fake.

Our money is made

For the wealthy to take.

 

Here in America

As impoverished, we cling

To the lies and illusions

That as children we sing.

Our myths and our dreams

Are nothing but words

Fodder for poets,

Politicians, and birds.

 

Here in America

We were all taught a fable.

But it’s far, far different

When we see the table,

minus the bread of the truth

and the fruit of our dreams.

Propaganda unbound

Of thee, I sing.

Risking Rebirth

I am hibernating in the womb of change and progress. I am developing the skills and strength to become reborn in MY image without the yoke of false hope, without the bearing of bloody lies, without the praise for being different tainted with shame. The strings and ropes that moored me to the shore are severed with my clear consent. I am no longer anchored at the pier of someone else’s demands and lack of mercy. What is no longer necessary for my survival is falling away rapidly.

Some of which is regret. Regret that I didn’t realize sooner what was occurring. Regret that my need to hope that things would improve could not be sated by the harmful actions of others. Regret that I saw the omens, realized the map, and ignored my compass.

But there will be obvious bouts of discord as there always are when rebirth is occurring. There is always pain, but that is the labor of passion. That is the direction of one’s eyes being opened to a new dawn. That is the sanctity of new life being brought into the world despite the age of its possessor. It is a covenant union between life and the living. It is where, just outside of the comfort zone, new and wild adventures are committed to memories with delight. It is where the spirit remembers why the pain is sometimes deeply necessary. It’s there so we remember not to walk that path any more. That pain is there as a guidepost, a milestone, a mile-marker.

My future destination is still being navigated, charted, and lined into a clearly mapped path. But I fear the end result out of resistance to chaos, upheaval, and the possibility of error. I am petrified that I will be stillborn. I am so frightened that I won’t evolve into something or someone I recognize. I look in the mirror and wonder what’s next, what am I going to do? I play the Wo-Co-Sho (would have, could have, should have) game and the What-if’s because my uncertainty in the future is wrought with cautious ambition.

I know better. I know that I am being guided by the blessings, gifts and goals painted on my dreamy canvas. I know that what is to come is not for me to know, even if I can see glimpses of it. I know that once I’ve arrived in THAT place, it will match my vision and I will weep once again with gratitude.

But, for now, I will hibernate in the womb of change while I grow into my new spirit self. While I bloom, blossom, develop, and change. The risks that are involved, while in this state, are negligible.

It’s what comes after the rebirth and during that process that will engage every moment of bravery required of my soul spirit to achieve that which my heart remembers, requires, and desires above all else. My courage will come when it is needed as long as my feet are still moving towards my own evolution and reconstruction of who I am destined to be at this time in my life.

My umbilical chord hums with rejuvenation and possibility. The anticipation of new sprinkled with historical re-validation, and written onto slightly off key musical staffs, create wonder in my spirit. I wonder if this music I hear is loud enough to be heard by others. I wonder if this tune I write will inspire others to seek their symphony, to take the risks that encourage growth into the sonata after the dirge has bilged their spirits clear of the desperate attempt to belong where they don’t.

Some of the music my spirit knows are still empty notes played at random while the steady rhythm of my heartbeat drives me forward. The harmonica plays. The violin strings. The chorus of bass (because it’s all about the bass, ’bout the bass, no trouble) drives the beat forward. I am immaculate but still dusty and bloodied from my last go round. I see the path to walk, nay run, and I lay my foot down against the soft walls of wisdom. I must keep moving forward.

The risk will be worth the reward despite the outcome of the final piece I’ve committed to writing. The outcome, come what may, will be life unfolding in a grand mastery of orchestral parts with some blended so lovingly with beauty that joy is easily found.

I will be reborn. I will shake free of this shell. I’ve become like a chrysalis wrapped tight in swaddling adventure, changing my colors, changing my heart, changing my spirit for the next chapter. I will be reborn because to remain where I am, who I am, doing what I’ve always done is not an option if I hope to experience the life I was destined to meet. I MUST risk everything in order to rise up and meet the challenge of my spirit. This temporary state of rebuilding is my sole opportunity for the path I’ve chosen. But it isn’t my only option or way to get there, it’s just my choice to follow this particular path.

One foot in front of the other. One step forward. One belief that I am more than what I am right now. One wise guide that tells me to bloom, to grow, to breathe, live, act. I follow this inner voice, but I’m truly leading myself on my own spiritual journey.

TAMP: A.S. aka The End

I’ve heard it said

many a time

if I would have known

that it was the last time

I’d ever see him

then I would have hugged him tightly

Kissed him with a lover’s kiss

whispered in his ear

that I loved him.

I’ve heard it said

many a time

that it’s the little things I miss the most

the tilt of his head

the way he smelled of grass

and just him

a burst of giggles or

a gust of laughter

or the silent conversations.

I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again

I knew it was the end

of every promise never broken

of every dream deserted

of match-strike passion extinguished

I knew that because of my fear

there would be no returning to what was

I KNEW…and I did nothing.

The End