Celestial

Celestial

It was the ripple of purple that grabbed my eye.

It tumbled down my bare back in the mirror flashing in the sun.

The sun turned my skin the color of warm honey, melting amethyst and amber into a phantasm made real by spark and glint.

A single moment of exquisite beauty caught only in a snapshot in my mind.

A closer step and the evidence of the years would foil the illusion, bringing it crashing down, revealing the list of imperfections that taunt me.

I remain one moment more till that celestial body carries away the momentary celestial beauty that was gifted to me.

You're there Somewhere, I just can't find You

I'm back on my knees

staring up at your window

where the image of you

that I have chosen to make my visual focus

is SO clear.

Except.

It's dark outside and I can't see you.

You are gone,

and I feel that way too.

I'm searching tonight.

Somehow you are a tiny baby

dependant upon your family

for everything,

lost to me out under the stars somewhere.

Somehow you are also a king

seated on a grand throne

an entire world in your hands

standing like bodyguard

between judgement and grace.

Somehow you are also living in my mind as an intellectual understanding,

grasping at a concept so big

I can only reach for the tip of it

and pray my hands can graze it.

Somehow you are also living in my heart

filling me with your grace and life

satisfying my soul.

But tonight my window is dark,

and the interruptions are endless

and my heart cries out for someone to listen.

But no one has time

so I am trying to figure out how to find you

on my own,

when the lights go out.

It's crazy how many places you're in

and still, I'm not in them somehow.

How It Felt

How it Felt

I am the parched world

ripping myself apart for a drop of water

killing, hurting, defiling,

so ravenous am I.

Cracks wrest open in my chalky skin,

twisting wider and deeper into great dry gorges

whirlwinds of dust strike through me.

Clouds of dust and dirt rise and cover me

and darkness overtakes me

as I choke on air that fills my dry lungs with piles of dirt and sand.

I am gasping, desperate, dead.

And then:

a drop.

And another.

And the water begins to fall,

fall,

fall,

fall,

fall,fall,fall,fall…...

BOOM!

A great deluge rushes fiercely over me.

My parched and dried up body fills with water.

Clean, pure, sanctified water.

Oversaturated, I can hold no more but still it comes,

still it washes over me in great waves

sinking to my core.

Still it keeps coming.

I am drowning,

I am dead.

The sun begins to come out of the clouds

exposing my death

exposing my life.

I am the wet world,

fertile and ready to grow.

I hold a tiny seed that slowly sprouts,

unfurls,

wakes to a fresh new world.

I am a million questions budding,

every breath a new revelation,

eager and hungry,

I am fed.

Suspect Secondary

Suspect Secondary

Sitting here in this exact chair yesterday,

giving Carol her break,

I was thinking how amazing it is to me

how close we've come after tearing so far apart.

I was thinking that feeling safe and secure again had sort of crept up on me over time.

I was thinking that though I really wanted more of your attention, I didn't deserve it anyway and that i could be happy in this relationship as it is.

I was thinking that so much of the time when you weren't able to be there, I had a pile of friends to shore me up. To hold me up when I started to fall.

I was thinking how lucky I am.

Was.

I'm talking.

Why aren't you?

Now I'm sitting here, 24 hours later, totally broken. Having worked so hard for nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

You said you would help me, be there for me. You said we would do it together. But I keep begging for help and you keep not answering.

I had no idea what you were thinking but really, would you rather let me hurt me, us, again?

Would it be better to grill me on all those good calm comfortable days?

Because yeah, that's such a better idea. That's an awful lot like watching me stand on the edge of the bridge wondering if I'll jump, and thinking ‘no, this is a bad time to bother her, I'll tell her I'm concerned tomorrow when she's having a better day’. If tomorrow comes without incident, or just comes.

I'm talking.

Why aren't you?

So what if I get mad? We'll still be dealing with it. I won't be blissfully wandering around thinking things are so much better now that my bipolar isn't running the show. I mean, it's beating the crap out of me, but at least it's not ruining everyone else.

And now I realize you're just holding me at arm's length, waiting for me to hurt you again.

Now I know that every time I sink into the  mud, and l desperately need you, it's going to do nothing but put me under suspicion again. Great time for that.

I used to be your one and only.

Now you're married to bipolar,

And I am your secondary.

Your suspect Secondary.

Now I know why you're not talking.

Now I understand my place.

Empty

Empty

This empty page

This reflection of me

This empty page

Where I don't dare say what i'm thinking

This empty page

This reflection of me

This empty page

That can be filled with fear or happiness

This empty page

This reflection of me

This empty page

That can comprehend hopelessness

This empty page

This reflection of me

This empty page

This empty life.

Raging River

Raging River

Written for Patients Like Me

(What Touched By Fire Means For Me)

I burn from within,

torrents of flame rage through me,

words in every order

carried along in its current.

They heat my hands as I race

to write them down fast enough.

Idea after idea after idea

errupting, pouring out of me.

They are in control

I am a vessel that never runs dry.

But my human body collapses

under the searing pain of

relentless inspiration.

Finally, found drained and broken

on the floor,

they start the drugs again.

The liquid ice that consumes my fire.

In a haze I see the river calm, and drain,

and freeze solid.

I am forced inside an ice cube

and kept there.

Contained.

But while I lie in torture

a flame flickers on deep inside me

and slowly it will melt the ice

and I will once again

embrace the current,

and let it take me

wherever it wants to go.

Inspiration

Inspiration

Suddenly!

I saw a glimpse of it:

that desperately easy ability to write.

To let words flit across my page

like a butterfly on a warm current of air.

It licked my mind

and fluttered past my eyes.

I slowly stretched out my palm,

and it grazed my skin and landed there.

Terrified of the devastation I will face

when it flutters away again,

I watch mesmerised

as tiny feet and silken wings

brush my blissed hand.

She is magnificent,

iridescent purple woven through

filigree black velvet wings.

Her beauty is natural, and flawless.

She won't last long,

everything that touches her wings

will make them ever more ragged.

The very flowers that sustain her

are slowly destroying her.

I hold her so very carefully in my hand

and wonder,

how long will she last?

Why I Love My Job

Why I Love My Job

For Tiny Aaron

On my shoulder

the solid weight of you.

On my cheek

the touch of a tiny wisp of hair.

In my hand

the loose round ball of your head.

On my hip

your little limp legs.

In the crook of my arm

your baby powder bottom.

On my shoulder

your soft mouth sucking on my skin.

In my ears

contented sighs and gurgles.

Across my neck

the rhythmic pulse of featherlight breath.

As you lay across me in slumber,

we rock us off to sleep.

Annahallé's Song

Annahallé’s song 
Written in tandem with Leonard Miller

Page by page, one stroke at a time turning numbers into roller coasters, dripping crimson over a sea of images forged by words that crossed the lines, head bowed heavily over a book as thick as the unrelenting Russian mud that thwarted the Germans. Long soft hair piled messy on top of your head, streaked with color from the fading sun. The warm lights of home bathe your desk in soft light that glints off focused eyes. From the kitchen I hear you humming because like Lindsey’s flying notes, physics is just a matter of math. This is a perfect union you have discovered. As the aroma of your favorite squash soup catches your attention I am rewarded with a grateful smile, and while my mother’s heart wishes to release you from the heavy weight of your constant drive for academic excellence, it also calls out, with tearful knowledge of the consequences, saying fly my child, spread your wings and fly.

Home

Home

For Zachary who longs for the same things I do, but hasn't yet learned the hidden secrets in the world around him.

I go there to erase this world.

To return to a deeper calling

that draws my mind and body

constantly in one direction.

Home.

But I don't mean my house.

My mind remembers trees and water

dirt and sun.

Forces greater than any man.

Home.

Maybe this pull is millions of years old,

or maybe just my lifetime.

Maybe it was born the first time I was

let loose in a field to run free.

Home.

I long to lay in the sand and feel water.

Hot or cold, it makes no difference.

Long to hear the gulls overhead

and the beach grass beneath.

Home.

I am called to deep green forest,

dense and untraveled,

dappled sunshine,

or drenching rain washing me clean.

Home.

I want to feel the storm,

let it take me.

Or wrap up in a blanket of warm sunshine

to a symphony of crickets and rustling.

Home.

I want to climb to the farthest places,

touch the sky and view the world

as it was always meant to be.

A garden untouched by ignorance.

Home.

I want to feel the fire,

taste the smoke

touch the serenity

of a night lit with flame.

Home.

I want to lay my head down on a pillow

of pine needles and get lost

in a sea of stars

and dream of other worlds.

Home.

But I wonder too,

is their world as good as mine?

Do they have a life to return to?

Family and friends to see?

Home.

Maybe someday I will hide in a

cabin in the woods,

far from world news

and demands.

But today I will go

Home.

To possibilities I didn't know,

adventures still to be had,

life to be lived and loved,

surprises not yet revealed.

I will be

Home.

I will wrap myself around the love of my life.

I will kiss my children and read to them.

I will teach them to dance in the rain,

to be happy not with where they are,

but who they are with.

Because that is

Home.

Home waits for me in many places:

in a forest, in an ocean, in a desert,

at a fair, in a hospital, in a school.

On a patio with a little red wagon.

In a giggle, in a laugh, in a baby's tiny cry.

In an angry fight, in words unmeant, unsaid,

in forgiveness, make up sex, patience.

Even in anxiety, fear, and sorrow.

Home.

Where with God's grace,

there is always tomorrow.

Grace

Grace

2 Peter 1:2

When we are hurt we cry out to the Lord:

Why me, Lord, why me?

When we lose things we place value on we cry out to the Lord:

Why me, Lord, why me?

When we experience racism or discrimination we cry out to the Lord:

Why me, Lord, why me?

When we experience loss and grief we cry out to the Lord:

Why me, Lord, why me?

When we fail, when we stumble, when we fall we cry out to the Lord:

Why me, Lord, why me?

When we are betrayed or left behind we cry out to the Lord:

Why me, Lord, why me?

When we sin and find ourselves ashamed yet still we cry out to the Lord:

Why me, Lord, why me?

We are covered in Grace, too all encompassing to comprehend. Why do we not cry out to the Lord:

Why me, Lord, why me?

Wonderful

Wonderful

With mention of Peter Matthiessen and his book: The Snow Leopard

I know you'll think I'm being sarcastic,

but I'm not.

You see, as I started to ‘clean’ my house

all I could see was this:

I have 3 broken doors in my house and

couches we got for free on the side of the road…

at least five years ago.

They are perpetually covered in dog fur and one has a ripped arm rest.

On the floor there are potholders mixed in with small electronics projects,

endless wandering socks,

lost earrings, forgotten spoons,

and a Christmas candle window light that may never work again, and it's no loss.

I have a huge basket of mending,

three sleeping bags blocking my piano waiting to be washed,

and music for said piano everywhere.

There's a tall music stand for the violin player who is gone most of the summer, and little piles of reminders of her everywhere.

There are decorations for literally every holiday known to mankind all over my house because there are some no one could bare to put away.

My chandelier is a sham, and it hits everyone in the head,

my kitchen ceiling fan hasn't worked in years.

There are trinkets from art camp, youth gatherings, concerts, gymnastics meets, and cross-stitch projects overflowing from every surface.

There is a guinea pig living on my dining room table.

There are two more upstairs.

There's a finger sized fern living on my teen-agers desk and it is my job to keep it alive for weeks at a time while she's gone.

My blankets are ratty,

my towels are shredded,

and in general my entire family has a blatant disregard for laundry,

until they need a specific Leo immediately and we haven't seen it in weeks,

or discover five minutes before we walk out the door that a school uniform shirt is ripped.

We have mugs for cups,

blankets for curtains,

and we brush our teeth in the bathtub because the water to the sink is broken,

and currently, it's my room that's a mess.

Of course,

There's the Lego nativity Noah made me,

And the long string of driftwood and seashells hanging in my dining room that took my husband's hands to create.

There's the little blue sherry glass Anna long ago insisted on bringing home and giving me as a gift.

There's the cardboard angel Lexi made me,

And the typed and alphabetized list of recipes Anna made for the back of my handwritten habblescrabble recipe book

and the tiny blue rain scented candle that my penniless neighbor child gave me that will always hold a place in my heart.

You see, Ethan Allen doesn't live here.

But my life is full of children and friends, and love in every way. Those guitars in the corner?

We play those.

That violin in the table?

I hear it almost every night.

That bass in the back of the choir?

I dream of him singing whatever I just heard him sing.

That couch cushion on the floor?

Look out for the backflip.

It may seem that the physical is falling apart,

But the real is still there.

And when I come down off my mountain of expectation,

And you ask me if I saw it,

I'm going to cry:

“No! Isn't that wonderful?”

When the Music Fades

When The Music Fades
For my children
Lightly based on Heart of Worship
By Chris Tomlin

When the music fades

and you have walked away,

that is when I know…

that you have brought to me

something that's of worth

and you have touched my heart.

I'm seeing you in my memory

so small in my arms

having no idea

who you would become my child.

I'm sorry love for the times I've failed you

but you're my pride and joy

and I will love you always.

When you leave my house,

and go into the world,

it kind of breaks my heart

But I know you'll find

all the ways that you can be

a blessing to this earth.

I'm happy love for the joys you'll share in

the adventures you will take

and things you'll learn out there

But I'll be waiting here every time you come home

because it's just too quiet

when your music fades

away.

The Journey

The Journey

I saw a sailboat skuttle by

Underneath a black/blue sky

Lit by a skyline of glittering lights

It sails out into the secrets of night

Fading lights and gentle waves

Whispers of the dreams we crave

Destination no one cares

Content with the journey

That takes them there.

What I Remember

So here's what I remember

Running and running and running from utter darkness

Fear

A kindness that you don't understand

A familiarity

An excuse to finally be the full version of me

Real

Long afternoons in the sun drinking coffee and telling our stories

Laughing at long shared jokes and memories.

A much needed friendship.

Trust

Fear

Texts from a far away savior

Held by the hand and led to support

And comfort and love.

Two women rising up before me with strong arms,

Strong convictions,

Passionate devotion.

Fear

Elation

Standing above the world,

Finally finally finally free,

Cutting my ropes loose with reckless abandon,

Till

A voice. A message.

Breaking.

And breaking.

And breaking.

And breaking.

A man who made me laugh

And laugh,

Let me push the limits

Too far.

I pushed too far.

I invited it.

Reveled in laughing torture

Talking about real,

mixed with history

And musicals, and food,

Economy and elections.

Remember a face,

Humiliated and

broken,

Broken,

Broken,

Angry and scared,

Furious.

Worry, and fear and anger and betrayal

Pain pain pain pain pain pain pain pain

Nightmares upon nightmares

Screams, fights,

Anger

Fear

Ropes.

Goodbye,

Over and over and over

I'm sorry

Over and over and over

I deserved it

Over and over and over