Wednesday, July 23, 2014


I think I miss kissing the most. The beautiful shape of the mouth so well crafted to fit another's. Lips, especially your luscious, beautiful lips, were put on this earth for mine. Their soft, tender caress, like the velvety smoothness of rose petals; the gentle probe of your tongue so welcome yet missed so much. The combined experience somehow evokes strength and weakness simultaneously.

Naive perhaps, but I believe that kissing speaks a language all its own, not translatable into any spoken language. But if not words, then what is communicated during this ancient ritual of affection?

Between us, a kiss is an opulent sensory experience where, I swear, I actually feel my soul meet yours. Swirling and turning slowly, they meld together and become almost one in a beautiful dance that can only be interpreted by the language of my heart.

Kindred Stranger

Whoever coined the phrase hindsight is 20/20 is brilliant. He has stood in my shoes before me, seen the sky, the horizon from where I stand. He thought my thoughts before I was in the world and walked down that long, lonely road of Wonder centuries before me.

The questions swirled in his mind, like they do in mine. How did I end up here? Was I really in that place all those years ago? Why can't I remember what it felt like? Did I feel like this then, or have I changed?

Where is he now, that kindred spirit, that rare, dear stranger, who must have understood me, after whom my own soul is patterned?


Do we ever really know a person? Do we ever really even know ourselves? I mean, yes, we get to know someone, think that who they are on the surface is who they really are, what they're really about. We make decisions based on this belief. But years later, will we realize that we imagined a friend to have the qualities that we needed in another person, but in reality, were looking at them through a golden veil? Does our mind fool us into giving the people we love qualities they don't possess?

I know these are all big life questions, but that's where I'm at. These are the things I liked to ponder with my friends...I miss them--we supported one another and I didn't even realize it--true friends get my heart.


So, what do you think?

I don't really know what to think.

Which way are you leaning?

If I tell you, you'll pressure me into a decision--the decision that you want.

Yes, I probably will.

What do you think?

Well, my mind is made up. I'm not having difficulty with it, but then, in a way, you are closer to it than I am.

In a way? In a way?

You know what I mean.

No, let me explain exactly how I am definitely closer to this than you, and how this has a very different impact on me. Let's face it, we screwed up big time and at least for nearly the next year, my life will be affected while yours basically stays the same. Outside of a fleeting thought or occasional guilt, you can escape this. You can continue on with your days with hardly a falter in your step. I, however, live with this. Can't you see? Either way, no matter what the decision, this doesn't go away for me, ever. I live with it whether I'm with it or without it -- everyday until I die.

But you don't have...

Oh, don't you dare say that! It's not a choice--it happens to me, I don't happen to it. And either way, if you should turn away and close the door, I'm left alone with it on the inside and on the outside.

But I wouldn't do that to you.

I believe you, today. Today you wouldn't do that to me, and maybe not tomorrow, and maybe not next week. But what about in seven months when I'm crashing from the guilt and the hurt? Or what if I'm cranky and as big as the moon with puffy eyes and an extra chin? Frankly, I don't know you well enough yet to know that you'll be here.

Let's face it - if you don't keep it, we are both free to go our own ways.

Stop. Did you just hear yourself? You said, "If you don't keep it..." What would have made me feel like we're a real couple is if you'd said if we don't keep it, or if we do keep it. I thought you were more invested in our relationship than just a thirty-second thrust.

I'm going to very honest. Deep down, I feel we should get rid of it and here are my reasons: We aren't finished with school yet, and the amount of money we make barely supports us, not to mention one more; I haven't done a lot of the things I'd hoped to do before this; our parents will go crazy. They don't even know we are serious--they haven't even met yet; I want to travel, see the world, to learn to parachute, and study in Paris. Besides, based on what I've read, so far it's just tissue anyway.

Tissue? I don't now, nor have I ever, viewed it as just tissue. Does tissue have a heartbeat? Does tissue suck its thumb? Honestly, I'm glad we're having this discussion now, though I wish we'd had it before we started sleeping together. I can't talk about this anymore. In fact, I don't want to see you for a while.

No! Come on now! Don't be like that. I'm just...

Don't. Stop. Collect your things and go.

Monday, July 21, 2014

Visual Comforts

Mud-caked and tan with water-stained gold leather laces. They became his marker. If his boots were by the door, I knew he was near. 

They were his living journal, worn and formed for comfort and experiences yet to be disclosed, holding remnants from where he'd been. Small stones were embedded in the treads from his time on a job, like kernels of corn wedged on the cob. The caked mud was hard and shaped like jagged bluffs protruding from the soles. Grass, now turning brown, was scattered randomly in the mud like dirty, disheveled hair. 

Upon seeing the worn, dirty, clunky boots, peace overwhelmed me for he was safe and he was near. 

Sunday, August 11, 2013

The Sounds of Sunday Morning

A nestled cocoon with occasional sounds of nature penetrate the walls of cedar. The smell of freshly cut trees now erected into vertical order. A quiet respite to gather one's thoughts on a rainy Sunday morning, or a loving catch-up room to reconnect with a daughter gone for five years, home briefly to touch the safety and reassurance of home base.

The bird with a gentle mournful hoo-hoo-hoo repeats the rhythmic song as its ancestors have for a millennium. If it were asked to stop, it simply could not--this is its purpose.

A rambunctious chatterer noisily disrupts the green and blue serenity splitting the still quiet of the morning. Sleepers stir, their breaths become shallower as they rise to the surface of slumber, but fall away again as the stillness returns.

The gentleness of the birds waking in the trees harmonize softly as all awake, but then build to a crescendo as sleep leaves them and they begin the celebration of a new day. 

Sunday, July 21, 2013

Wish for A Friend

I have a friend from a far-away land

where the women are beautiful,

draped in vivid colors,

with thick, black crowns of glory,

that sway as they dance

and entice the men who admire them.

They are all that is beautiful

with timid but searching black eyes

under ebony lashes.

Most men ache for such women,

such beauty.

My friend is unique, though admittedly,

the only one of his type that I know.

His beauty runs deep

where his soul pulses.

He is a thinker of life.

He plans his future and his place in the world.

His vocabulary includes words such as

beautiful to describe life's experiences,

and the people of the world.

His heart's eyes search for beauty

in all that he does,

but without naivete.

His secrets are the untapped beauties

beneath his surface.

Though we stand on distant, separate piers,

I am blessed to have a glimpse

of such a rare jewel.

While our lives are worlds apart,

we share a bridge of understanding

that I hope withstands all of time.

May you find your kindred spirit

with whom to share all of your dreams.

May you live a long and thoughtful life,

and be blessed in the ways you bless others.

Sunday, October 30, 2011

the heart loves who it will

the end of another week and i'm overwhelmed by myriad emotions. it's occurred to me in the past few years that life is comprised of a series of interactions with people. some people accept me at face value and meet me where i am without judgment. others will always mistrust and minimize my value even though i have advocated for them throughout our relationship, unable to either see, want, or accept my support. some will gladly accept love and support when it is offered, but it is a one-sided relationship--all taking and no giving.

but what has become so clear is that life is a series of events where we love, only hoping to be loved in return. but regardless of how much we give and how much energy we put into loving others, whether or not it is received, appreciated, accepted, and returned is beyond our control. love is not a currency for which repayment is guaranteed, for as it has been spoken a million times, the heart loves who it will.

Friday, September 4, 2009

Love, Color, and Comfort

Color is everywhere in our lives, yet so seldom do we stop to appreciate it. When I focus for a moment on the beautiful color of leaves in the backyard, my mind fills with something that nurtures me, something like joy or love. I am filled with a passionate greed for color and want to touch it, hold it, own it, and for it to always be visible, the way the mountains are always present on the horizon. Perhaps some of the beauty comes from knowing it is short lived, that the color fades and this beauty, like our own, passes.

In Autumn, I am drawn to orange and believe it is my favorite color. It's hard to pinpoint the emotion that it conjures up, but I think it is beauty and mischieviousness. But not just surface beauty. The beauty is deep and includes the sounds of the season, the changing textures, the smell of dampened earth and leaves, the feeling of a warm sweatshirt on a brisk evening, and inhaling cool fresh air under a crystal blue sky.

I have a love affair with the color purple, shared with cobalt blue and orange. I yearn to wrap myself in a purple quilt made by loving, wise women,. The house in which they live as all the earmarks of comfort, security, and unconditional love, as though in that place are all that a person needs to live a beautiful life forever. Loving, wise women remember what it was like to be young, but aware enough of their own mistakes to gently guide young women in their own journey. Their warm home has crowded rooms of old creaky chairs, a large table around which the women sit and talk about their past loves, several couches adorned by afghans and quilts where it is permissible and even encouraged to have a nap at anytime, where there is always hot soup and fresh bread, where the pantry shelves are lined with jars and jars of homemade preserves, all beautifully labeled in the hand writing of the beautiful women who are like guardians of young women. And where love and comfort hang in the air like an incense so subtle that you don't realize it's there, though they are palpable. The women understand that all women are sisters and that we all stand together in a circle, hands held, that excludes no one, that grows as new women join, and fill the space of those who previously stood in the circle but have left the earth.

Thursday, September 3, 2009


Simple yet warm and comforting. Almost rich, and something else for which I cannot find the word. Is it the woods and quiet, the austerity that tells me you aren't hidden by trappings and superficialities? How there are no distractions and I am here in this real, simple beauty tucked among the fall trees like being sheltered in God's loving hand? Is it:


Peace - I think it's the feeling of peace. And with peace comes warmth, luxury, quality, and richness. I have felt it before but didn't know the feeling...had never named it before, nor paused to consider it.

Perhaps this is how Jesus felt when he went off to pray, or better still, what he was seeking when he went to pray. It feeds my soul, nourishes, and fills me again with energy to continue to work and love--to leave pieces of myself scattered behind, but to do so for the higher power. To do it for my own self-righteousness would not matter because I am so insignificant, so inconsequential--doing anything for me would be as though not doing it at all; it's value and benefit would all be lost. Therefore, if it is not for a very significant creator of mankind and the universe that we try to do good, if there is no such creator, then all of life is pointless and means nothing.

But I know life is not pointless for from it comes love, and if nothing else, for life to be simply about love, is to have participated in something quite grand and beautiful.