Will she be at every funeral? Will she be at the wedding? Will she stand up in protest? Even the living, breathing dead- should be left in the grave. Does she carry your mark? Can she ever stop haunting us? And move into the light? Can she allow the living, to have their time? Her's has come and gone. Yet, she will not go. Just when it seems that she has been exorcised-- Her spirit, her presence returns. You call her back, you encourage her to stay. In my heart I ask her to go. You deny that there is a spirit at all, I show you the glimpses, I show you her shadow, it is everywhere. You do not see, or you see and do not want to see, because then, you would have to ask her to go. You deny her to me, but not to yourself. All the while she will wake me in the night. She will be there with my unborn children. I feel she will be there untill you take your last breath. She will be there and you will give your sorrow to her, and not me. She is a ghost......
We traveled down the canyon to the place we had both been as teenagers. So much more dangerous then. Willing to take risks. We talked of broken bottles, scraped skin, fear, remembering fear of how high that place was. Scaling cliffs, wanting acceptance at all costs. Hand in hand and separately we went. Stopping at the cliff that used to have water. Now all that was left was the deep and ominous pool we used to watch daredevils and fools slide into off the narrow smooth, high rock, we stood looking down at it silently and spoke of past adventures and stories there, wondering who had put the metal hooks in the steep face of the cliff to swing into the deep pool, and pondered how they had gotten there, from the top--or from the bottom? The sun was shining, the sky so blue with one lonely gratuitous cloud over the mountain--for us. We gathered rocks and threw them into that pool, so far down--so far away now. The loud clunk of their weight and surprisingly loud smack on the surface--to sink down to God knows where. How deep is that pool? We took guesses but neither of us really knows. Down the path it was lush and green, the road that had been broken apart narrowed in what was left of it. you and me. hearing the story from your lips after all these years that there was an earthquake in the '70s--never knowing this as a young girl. That explains the old rusty cars at the bottom of the canyon. The road went somewhere and still does--whats left of it. I realized I was afraid and wanted to turn back, wanting to bring some type of protection to return another day. Protection against what was wild. I wanted deep in my heart something to look forward to. We will go back and we will linger. We will throw rocks off steep cliffs into deep pools of water and wonder how far down they go--you and me. Together.
I woke up in a really negative frame of mind this morning. I'm struggling financially again. I have been trying to practice prosperity thinking and doing little things here and there the past several months to change my inner and outer beliefs about money. I hate feeling like this and have been trying to pull myself out of this negative mood all morning. Finally after praying for a change of mind and to have all the bad feelings and fear scooped out of me, I was led to a website of an author who has been through a near death experience, and talks about gratitude. Here is what I am grateful for:
I have a boyfriend who loves me very much, who stopped by work to cheer me up.
I have a mother and sister who have exposed me to the world of art (I can go home and work in my art journal, or do another collage. Because of them and the classes they have taken me to, I know how to do these things.)
I have a great apartment to live in with everything I need.
I have a car, that runs like a tank and gets me everywhere I need to go.
I have a job and know that another paycheck is on it's way.
I have a TV, with new and exciting channels, thanks to my converter box, it's like having cable. (I know this is dumb, but it's the simple things that count, like a channel with endless cheesy '70s & 80's movies 24 hours a day, it makes me happy)
I am healthy. I don't have any disabilities that make everyday life more challenging.
My life has amazing potential for growth & miracles.
God is here and loves me.
Today it's too hard to try to practice outwardly all the things I've learned about prosperity, but remembering to be grateful inside is a definite survival tactic, and is taking me to the next place. Pippi may have had a suitcase full of gold coins--but she was generous, grateful and even when she ran out and her Papa asked if she needed more--she said no thanks, they only cause problems--he threw her a new case of coins anyways before he left on his ship, but in that interim, I doubt she worried about how she would pay the rent on Villa Villekulla, or feed Old Man and Mr. Nelson, or cater to Tommy and Anikas whims. These things probably never even crossed her mind--cause she doesn't have fear, she doesn't have fear of having or not having anything--It's all the same to her, maybe that's why she's so prosperous.
So here it is...finally. I've started a blog. A place to express myself artistically and post my writtings and artwork. Things don't get written, life does not get written to just sit on a page, with no one to read it. It wants to be read, out loud or silently. I don't always spell or punctuate the right way. Sometimes I don't like periods where they should be, or to begin a new line where it should be, or have a capitol letter where it should be. See Mr. Kerouac, he will explain everything.
Spilling the donuts
It was summertime I was young I picked up donuts You were next door at the neighbors I walked up the side walk to hand you one and dropped the box I could see you felt sorry for me and helped me clean it up all was not lost you took one I don't know if you wanted one or if you felt bad for me. I keep dropping donuts always one short of a dozen a dozen good intentions the best of intentions don't work out dropping the box always dropping the box. I'm still afraid of spilling the donuts.