The Storm

A swirly gray, the storm in my head.
I know I’m not afraid in the storm.

Soon it will clear.

Soon the sun will be bright and my feet will be light.
I will be better.

The cool water that passes my feet is never the same.
I will never be the same again.

I was borne of the storm.
A child of chaos.
Now I step out, grown.

With each clearing, with each ray of light,I stand wiser and stronger.
My eyes see anew. My mind, clearer.

I am not the same water.

Some day the gray will come again.
And I know, I will not be afraid.

Peace And Tranquility

Her Plate

Hot and flakey

crispy and dry

The bread crumbles in little shards as she presses the layers together.

A clean plate becomes a brown dust-filled landscape

and she picks it up

revealing the oval shape of her sandwich.

In a mouth-watering bite she delights in the salty beefy flavor

cool meat against her tongue

and hot toasted bread.

The peppers of the cheese take a bite out of her mouth

as the melted cheese takes over her tastebuds.

And the coolness of the spinach dip dressing

rescues them all

As it moistens the dry toast

cools the burning peppers

smooths out the salty meat.

And she chews

savor the flavor,

As if on a journey to a new land

her mind takes pictures with her senses

The smell of the wheat

the shine of the cheese

the sharpness of the peppers.

And in moments

her journey to an adventurous place is satisfied.

And her plate is returned to the counter.

With only a white oval remaining

in a brown sea of delicious dust.

The Root

You cannot do it.

You failed.

I am ashamed of you.

What? Do you think that's good enough?

What do you want?

Can't you see I'm busy?

I don't have time for this.

Why can't you be like everyone else?

And with these words, a child hides.

He hides in his books.

He hides in his blankets.

He hides his tears behind smiles.

And it starts.

The roots have started to grow.

Secrecy. Shame. A constant outward search for inner peace.

And it starts.

A family who was to protect

has created a blackness,

a darkness.

And the roots of his pain take hold over his soul.

Through his smile he cries.

And begins his wandering journey on the path they've created.

The restless, hurt, wandering, addicted soul.

Red Balloon

If a beam of light

had a mass

it would be lighter than air.

Like a red balloon filled with helium

pulling me up and up.

That is what it feels like.

Peace.

Peace in a beam of light.

Heat, warmth, pulling me up

lighting up the darkness that was once my inner awareness.

What was dark is now light.

I see it. I feel it. Glowing, like the glow of a sunlit red balloon,

floating

up

up

up.

And inside I feel it.

The soft gentle glow of peace.

And I know now that I am so very very good.

Me. I am me.

I am my soul.

I am not my body, my thoughts nor my feelings.

I am good. So very very good.

As are we all.

Souls, with our short time in these bodies.

Able to love ourselves.

For we are all good. So very very good.

And in my soul, in me, in my inner awareness,

I choose contentment.

I choose to see the truth.

And ignore the rest.

To love others, to give, and care.

This is the nature of my soul.

And of yours.

We are all one.

Glowing, floating, warming light of a red balloon.

And all very very very good.

Tick Tock, Outside the Clock.

The clocks are stopping

time has slowed

the tic pauses eternally before it's next tock.

And time is hers.

She rises and falls with the swoon of the tide.

Her mission is certain

not bound by time.

As the world continues

so fast, so hurried.

The calendar days are ripped and thrown.

And contently, she breaths.

Calm, at peace.

Her purpose is clear

Her life is her mission.

Time cannot bind her.

To love, to give, to teach, to act.

These missions are not slaves to the clock.

But rather, masters.

And when she wakes at her own pace,

She need not worry about the time.

For her breath, her touch, her voice,

her talent, her gifts, her hugs,

her sharing.

These are why she is here.

And hurried she is, no more.