Saturday, April 19, 2014

If You're Lucky

If you're lucky Someone will come into your life To re-introduce themselves in a new way They will show you that you ARE worth something The grass will seem greener The flowers will show their most vibrant colors and scents Your skin will clear You'll shed some extra pounds Your hair will do what you want it to The rain will feel like a caress You will develop a green thumb You'll have that garden on your porch Every song you hear will make your heart sing with meaning You will be energetic and strong Your passion will burn day and night - almost embarrassing you publicly You will never feel alone If you're really lucky That person will stay

Monday, March 31, 2014

beginagainagainagain Something I wrote, as grandfunkpunk Jun 26, 2000 (a true experience) One night I woke up in another house. Not my house or any house I had ever lived in. It was dark outside, save for an eerie glow. Sort of like a dark warehouse with those hanging florescent lights. Not really light, not really dark. When I came out of the room I had been sleeping in, I noticed the front door was open. There was no one inside that I could sense. I walked out into the warm summer evening and faced the open fields of wheat and shadows of mountains in the background. There was a very minimal breeze. Only enough to know that the air was really air, and not something more liquid. That this was a real experience and not a dream. Then I looked toward the sky. I saw no sky at all. I saw what appeared to be an upside down airfield. With lights on the runway and everything. Different colored lights. They began to move. Not like disco lights or anything, just in patterns � like an airport. Just when my mind began to register this awesome sight, I heard a flute being played inside the house. I turned and wandered back in. The music was slow and trance inducing. I suppose I was the snake in the basket, because I followed the sound back to the very back of the house. In that room, there was a light like the sun was shining. It was very daylight in there. Sitting, cross legged on the floor was a naked man with black hair � not really long hair/not really short hair. He was playing a wooden flute. Then he stopped. He told me to turn around. He did not �say� to turn around, with words, I just knew to turn around � like telepathy or something. So, I turned and walked out the door and was outside again without having to walk through the house. I was outside � in the daylight. The wheat fields were gone. It was all just tall green grass. Beautiful trees. The air was more clear. I could see forever. Haze did not block the view of mountains. It was as if I were seeing with hawk eyes. There were no manmade noises at all. Only animals. The house was gone. It was only me now. Just me in the grass, with the wind and the trees and the earth forever and ever around me. And I was naked, just as naked as everything else. Then, I heard the flute again. I waded through the grass that smelled so sweet. Then very suddenly, I was upon a lake. I could see to the bottom. Huge colorful fish swam about, along with snakes and salamanders. There was the man playing the flute across the lake. When I looked at his face, he stopped playing again. He said with his mind, �Welcome to the beginning.�

Sunday, September 29, 2013

My Name is Mud

Mud is an art. The vibration of the soil as it’s forced through the water is something that stirs you inside. It combines with your own vibrations, so you’re actually working together. It starts in the palm of your hand, and travels to the outside of your fingers and up your arms and shoulders, and spreads throughout you, like love. It loves you, just like everything else you can touch. Even if it stings. That’s just that thing’s way of loving you. If it refuses to touch you, then it’s just afraid of you. You can’t be afraid to touch it, first. Some people are just like mud is, most of the time; still and waiting for you to touch them. To pick them up and mold them into something you can use, or just touch them for the sensation of joining to them. Maybe they think they feel like mud, because they’re sad, or feeling worthless. But if they’d only realize that mud is the basic foundation of so many things, they would see themselves differently. Maybe their idea of mud is all wrong.

Tuesday, March 19, 2013

clothes basket time machine

Today, I noticed that my clothes basket is cracked. The one I got when I moved out of my parents' house. The one that represents my freedom from a crazy life, and my entrance into my own self. Now, I wonder if I hadn't let anyone else use it, would it still be cracked? Is it time for a new clothes basket? Or is it time for a new me? I'm a little sad.

Thursday, December 27, 2012

Doodle with the Paint Thing

Sunday, April 01, 2012

Cakes, etc.

This morning, during coffee time, I StumbleUpon a site with a slide show of the 50 most beautiful wedding cakes. It is a sad day, my friends, when cake is judged mainly for its beauty. A melancholy day for me, indeed, since wedding cake is one of the joys of my life - or was. As jaded as I am on the institute of marriage (bitterness, guilt, a sense of inferiority, where this is concerned, so just don't go there), the cake is the thing that makes the word "wedding," in general, tolerable for me. Oh, I have recently been to a wedding where the love permeated even my evil dark lord-ess humbug of marriage reality. But, when it comes time, at the reception; after the dinner, after the drinks, every sound stops when the toast goes up - the anticipation as the happy couple cuts into that cake. Every guest wonders how they will present it to one another. Will they smash it into the face? Will they gingerly place a small bite on the tongue of their partner? WHO CARES!!!?? Gimme some of that soft, vanilla-almond, melt-in-my-mouth, creamy, buttery frosting sensation! It is the highlight of the whole event.

But, wait! Screeeeeeeeetch! Who put the brakes on traditional frosting? Who came up with the evil "fondant" that puts cake in jail? Where is the code to break into this stuff? Where does it go, after we've wasted a full three minutes rolling all the special, shiny dots and dribbles that have hardened into a fortress? Is this the result of others like me, perhaps? Symbolic of breaking down the walls of fear, doubt, reluctance, suspicion and cynicism? But, stop it! Wedding cake is one of the very few things I kept faith in. Whoever says, "Nothing good is ever easy," is misinformed. I sink and melt together with traditional wedding cake frosting. It is good. It is heavenly. I don't care if your cake is crooked. I don't care if the colors aren't exactly right, or if you have a scene of Atlantis or the Second Coming on there.

In my world, there will be no fondant. True artistry is in the flavor and texture of food. If it's pretty, it's certainly a bonus. Like everything else in my world, what counts is the truth of it all - what's inside.

Saturday, January 21, 2012


Nothing new to report, here. The weather is strange, though. Foggy, and in the 40's. An unusual number of tornadoes, for this season.

I awoke somewhere around 5:00 a.m., today. Rude, as I'd promised myself and announced to everyone within earshot, that I was going to sleep until I was ready to get up, today. My body and my mind obviously have different ideas about what "ready to get up" means. The brain went straight to the job issues. Lovely.

There are a zillion things I need to do, today. A priority would be to get my car worked on. Another would be to do some laundry and grocery shopping. Something I need to do, but is not urgent, is to color my roots and get a hair cut. I so wish I could find someone who can cut my hair in a style that I don't have to screw with to make it presentable.

At around 8:30 p.m., or somewhere within 2 hours +/- that hour, I have to pick up my eldest son from the school. He's on a trip to TN, for an ROTC drill meet. At least I think I have to pick him up. He mentioned something about his dad going on the trip, if he didn't have to work, but that was never confirmed. I love the communication.

The other adult in this house is still asleep. The day is getting away, and I still haven't showered or eaten breakfast. I need to get on it.