It is the fear that moves me …

I am on the brink of change, a personal evolution of sorts.

The unknown calls to me, like a siren from the sea.

It beckons, and stirs life into my stagnated being.

Fear surrounds me, but, it is this very fear that motivates me.

There are times in our lives when we must jump into the uncharted darkness, blindfolded, and without hesitation.

In doing so, I believe it’s possible to truly find one’s raison d’être!

For to long I have felt as if existence was everything.  The day-to-day rituals that I once loved, now feel suffocating,  as if I’m being smothered by the banal.

Change is a funny thing, it can brew for years within your being without outlet.  And then one day, without warning, the churning, heated, fluid of life, fills you to the brim.  Your only recourse is to let it spew forth.  If you don’t you’ll drown, slow and agonizingly, from the inside out .

I no longer subscribe to ‘can not’.  Instead, I choose to embrace the positive forces of the universe.

A life not lived fully is a life squandered.

There will be no more waiting for the world to come to me.  Instead, I am reaching forward to grasp the unknown.

 

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Quiet reflection …

It’s quiet now.

The soft whir of the computer

is the only sound that permeates

this dense – dark – silence.

Heavy blue eyes

flutter

in an attempt to resist

the Sandman’s

calling.

It’s as if my body and soul are once again connected –

refreshed and rejoined after a day of hectic undertakings.

It’s during these late – peaceful moments

that I allow myself to focus light on the 86400 seconds of the day.

Clarity.

Compass.

Continuation.

Tomorrow …

Sentimentality …

Sentimental pieces.

An unsent card –

receipts –

a

dancing ballerina –

memories of moments shared.

I don’t know what to do with them all.

Currently they reside in a neat pile

next to pink leather.

Sometimes I wonder what it would feel like

to be heartless.

Without the inclination to keep happy – Summer windswept bits.

But if I was, would I be the same?

Not likely.

In the place of warmth

a

frosty maiden.

Cool and controlled.

In the next life?

Perhaps …

Late night moments with oneself …

It’s late and I can’t sleep.

The softness of my bed is no help

instead it mocks my tired body and mind.

Check marks on invisible lists,

thoughts of new beginnings

and

other minutiae

keep me awake.

Lavender scented lotion,

smoothed gently into warm skin

promises relaxation –

yet here I sit.

What will tomorrow hold?

Is laughter the best medicine

for aching muscles?

Should I have papaya or banana for breakfast?

Does milk thistle really work?  Do others have trouble pronouncing thistle as well?

Is anyone thinking or dreaming of me as I write this?

Does it really matter?

When the flowers sleep do they dream of honeybees and dew?

Doesn’t it take two to Tango?

Will the soft secrets I whispered into the night find their way? Or will the leaves on the trees catch them mid-flight?

When I laugh does that mean I exist?

Is life really a bowl of cherries? And if so are they Ranier?

If I asked you what you were thinking would you tell me?

Why does a unicorn finger puppet make me smile?

Is it strange that I would rather dance with the devil than talk with an angel?

Do llamas really wear pajamas?

Should I stop thinking?

I think so …

If I write this all down will time finally stand still in my head?

Do you know?

Thought for the day …

Sweetness is a gift,

given without expectation of return.

It is not lost with the ending of communication.

Nor is it lost with distance.

Instead,

its molecules

hang in the ether

and

cross oceans –

To touch

surround

and

linger –

Permanently.

Happiness is …

an iced decaf latte

warm sunshine

a pups smile

productivity

Wen hair (no, really, it is)

new beginnings

loving my body

sweet – juicy – organic pears

a long walk  …

(for starters)

Life is lovely.

Pieces of life …

I’ve begun to pack away bits of life

Crystal pretties – ducks and bunnies

Voodoo dolls

Shells with memories

Artwork saturated with sweetness

A pink memory book that holds one finished page

but is littered with notes, receipts and sparkly pieces,

that still wait to be fastened.

Wanting to belong.

Yet somehow knowing they never will.

A dried flower falls softly to the ground – undone from its hidden place..

Books with earmarked pages

all gently wrapped  and placed in green bubbles and brown cardboard.

One soul defined –

and

heart remembered –

stored

but

not forgotten.