Welcome: An Introduction

Sharing the insights I discover as I explore and experience the mystery that is our reality. Join me in my journey and share yours.

Saturday, January 18, 2014

The Temporary Lamentations of a Mother: A Poem

                                            Picture taken recently on a solo hike through  a state park near our home.

The Temporary Lamentations of a Mother

Where are you Peace? Like a mirage
Her form shimmers and taunts,
Dancing alluringly in the distant horizon;
Calling, beckoning, only to dissipate into
Darkness when I come close. Impossible
To grasp, too elusive to seize.

Thoughts go back to this morning,
Perched attentively in a half lotus
Position. Listening to the harmony of
My home slowly enter into my awareness
I became one with my breath, rising and falling
rising and falling, to its own uneven cadence.
Sounds of birds in the distance outside my windows,
their songs accompanying the rising sun
spreading her glorious garment
open wide before a new day,
the hum of our refrigerator, the muffled sounds of my
Husband snoring; all participants of
The disjointed orchestra of life playing
Its rhythms out all around me.
My breath having its own small role as
I bear witness to it all; my soul taking
A momentary break and simply resting
In the moment.

Hours later I find my bedroom door locked.
Mommy just gave herself a time out.
Two little criminals, bliss-snatchers,
that once gestated in my womb
are now placated after a bout
of intense bickering and whining.
Tears dried following stern admonishing
they now joyfully watch a movie together,
snuggled close beneath a cozy blanket.

I try to breathe deep again, finding grounding
in the present, finding a foundation of peace
from which my words and actions can compassionately
extend themselves from as the day continues.
I am no fool. I know full well that the crashing waves
of ambivalence and resistance will once again rise up and fall
Down mercilessly on the shores of my experience.
This temporary break in chaos is temporary indeed,
So dictates the law of Impermanence.

But there is no foundation, that’s all an illusion.
There is just a watery flow of intentions pirouetting
with various inputs and outputs, some dark, some light,
shifting and pulsing. Life’s river beckoning me in to either
Drown or heal me who knows.
I laugh at the absurdity of it all. Life, a kaleidoscope
of pain, loss, sorrow, ecstasy, peace and joy. And plunge
myself into her dark and swirling waters.

I know soon I will exit my room, already feeling
A bit more whole again after vomiting up my
reflections In prose. My soul putting on her dancing
shoes, for she now realizes she chooses to dance
amidst Joy’s gay tune, after all, why not?
Leaving sorrow in broken shards at her feet,
unlocking the bedroom door only after unlocking
the light hidden within her deep recesses,
I will welcome my offspring once again into my arms;
realizing  that we don’t need to seek light,
We have it within ourselves all along and
we can conceive and bring it forth on our own.

Saturday, January 11, 2014

Alone: A Poem


I wish this world would leave me alone for awhile,
We've danced our dance and she offers little worthwhile.
Just a sea of ever swelling absurdity,
Phony characters wearing garbs of superficiality.
Give me the shelter of an old oak tree,
Skirting the curves of a gentle river.
It is there my heart will fly free,

Releasing an ecstatic shiver.
Peace to be found in observing life at play,
The moon to keep me company at night,
The song of birds to fill my empty heart by day.


I wrote this short poem this morning. A gentle rain was falling outside and I longed to transport myself to my favorite perching place alongside a river that has captured my heart, oftentimes mending it when it feels shattered. Longing also to drift down the trails that etch themselves criss-cross through a mantle of evergreen that broadly adorns her curvacious figure.

When I am out amongst this living sanctuary, a kaleidoscope  of earthy tones, I feel completely free to be myself, unhindered by the shallow and superficial expectations of man. Unencumbered by the superficiality that seems to define this material world. To simply be and bear witness to a living, breathing web of life unfolding before my senses.

Well, an exodus to her waters today is simply not doable.  Who knows the next time my heart will find itself soaring with the hawks that circle above her or riding her many currents that boldly race southward to sweep up more admirers in their voyage towards deeper waters.

No matter where I find myself I have her form etched in my consciousness and need only to look inward to be reminded of the peace such solitude and beauty affords. Peace that my heart aches for during times of uncertainty, restlessness and/or grief.

Do you have a place where you long to go that restores and refreshes your spirit? A place that above all others your heart feels most at home? If so, please feel free to share in the comments section.

Thank you!

Friday, January 3, 2014

A Matter of Perspective

                                                                                   Sometimes it's all a matter of perspective. 
                                                                                  (picture is a rain  drop taken while on a hike)

It's been awhile since I last posted. My family and I have been experiencing lots of changes and life has been swiftly flowing. This morning I woke up at 2 am, an hour after my  dog last nudged me awake to take her out. I realized it was futile to stay in bed as thoughts began to race in my head and I rationalized that it would only be two hours earlier than I usually wake up. Oh, what the hey, why not?

I sat in front of the computer screen and felt the urge to write. It's been so long and the house was so quiet. I love a quiet house. Lately my children have enjoyed playing video games and watching movies. That has become more and more regular now that we are well into winter and it's freezing outside. I find the sound emanating from the glorified box in our living room irritating and it oftentimes causes me to retreat in my own room while it is endlessly drones on as the wind whistles a hollow tune outside.

What to write? I wasn't sure but didn't feel too philosophical. An image of a woman I will see later on today that I work for flashed in my mind. I was reminded of a moment while cleaning her house that we had not too long ago and decided to just write about that. I put it in the form of a poem but I probably could have just made it into a post. It's just the form it starting taking at 2:30 in the morning! I wanted to share it now because if I don't post it now I'm not sure I will.  It's unedited so pardon the roughness of it. 

I would love your thoughts! Please leave them in the comments section. Thank you!


I tell her the story of Buddha,
Born a prince and curious about the world.
Exposed to a suffering he never imagined
outside of his once insulated life,
He sought to rid the world of it.

As I sweep the floor I come to one of my
Favorite parts of the story. On the Eve of
the Buddha’s enlightenment, the demon Mara
Attempts many times to defeat him. In his final try
he sends  fiery arrows across the waters at Siddhartha.
As they sail on a sure and steady
Arc towards our hero, finding detachment and compassion
He transforms them into flowers that fall harmlessly
At his side.

We reflect on that.
I turn my eyes in her direction.
She has become more than a woman
I come over and help do the things that she can no longer do.
She has become a little oasis I find myself venturing to twice a week.
A warm place of laughter and shared moments.  
Peaches, her cat, runs her left flank
alongside my calf in a gesture of affection
as I reach up to dust the corners of the ceiling.


She is a woman that is no stranger to fiery arrows.
I go in her room to put the vacuum away. A bedroom
void of a bed for she can no longer get in or out of one
on her own. Living every moment now in her chair.
I remember the first time she told me that.
The image of stretching one’s legs out under the covers
On a soft mattress filled my mind. What an awful thing to
Never be able to do again. And at only fifty years.
So much more time left sitting and reclining. Reclining
And sitting.

She tells me of when her mother found out she had MS.
“Amy,  you should really think about the things in your life
that you might have done to deserve this.
You must have done something really
bad to make God punish you like this.”
Shocked, my friend immediately
expressed her rejection of such an idea of God.
God does not punish. God is good.
And God will turn her fiery
arrows into flowers, her sadness into joy,
her suffering into opportunities to give and to learn.

She asks me what I think and I agree. She is not overly religious
But holds a quiet and simple faith tucked in the folds of her
Heart. A sacred place I dare not tread with my skepticism.

A glowing optimism emanates from her countenance
and serves as the vessel that carries her above the
Furious waves of heartache, humiliation and turmoil.
I feel I can relate in a way as I  share that same sense
that we can transform ugliness
Into beauty, obstacles into stepping stones,
frustration into peace. Sometimes it seems all a matter of
perspective. A matter of unbinding ourselves to the
material that has a way of sticking to our consciousness
Like sap to bark.

I gently close the door when I leave,
warm skin meeting winter's icy chill.
Pulling  out of the lot and into the dark night, 
I glance in my rear view mirror and watch as
the light from her window
melts into the retreating distance.