Categories
Poetry

Rain

Today, there is rain.

And the most beautiful peace.

Categories
Poetry

Wildflowers

I must remind myself:

the wildflowers will wait.

Categories
Life

The Consciousness of Plants

The garden is abundant with Calla Lillies.

There is something about them that I know, something that speaks to me through the softness and sway of their leaves and sweeping, cupped petal.

Theirs is an energy much like the soft breeze of spring that I love so much. It is an energy elegant but dear, and I know that I am that. I know I am that very same softness.

I am not a vegetarian, nor am I a vegan, although I care deeply for animals and respect them just as much as I do the human folk I share a table with. I’ll eat the animals, though, because plants are also alive and must be sacrificed in order for my body to consume them. That consciousness lives within plants does not seem a far out idea for me to accept…because I feel every inch of their life.

Plants, trees, flowers, herbs… I believe they are all very much alive, and as conscious as you or I. Live a day within my skin. I assure you, you would believe, too.

Our limbs grow without us consciously commanding them to. So do those of plants.

We become diseased without consciously intending to, sometimes with death the end result. So do plants.

I eat plants because I have to, just as I eat meat because I have to.

I don’t take either for granted.

Life is beautiful life, down here on this great big spinning rock of ours.

I cherish every curve.

Photo by Nico Becker on Pexels.com
Categories
Life

All My Softness

I am home when the beautiful song of my heart is at peace.

There is nothing loud, here, nothing beyond the birds and the rippling pools of shadow on brick.

I am just me, in all of my softness.

Me, in this beautiful place, home.

I have loved tenderly, here.

I will always love tenderly.

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com
Categories
Poetry

Withering

A rose. Think of it.

How like a rose we are.

Beginning as seed, gently, a bud.

How we open,

slowly,

never seeing our petals born;

never guessing when, at last,

the last

will fall.

And when we wither,

wrinkle and darling grey:

the beautiful rose that lived.

Think of it.

How easily we forget who we are.

Devine and growing.

Think of it.

Think of how lovely.

Photo by monicore on Pexels.com
Categories
Poetry

The Orchard

As I sit quietly, alone,

with the birds as my friends,

I watch the orchard

sway with the breeze

and I ask myself:

Is it the orchard, alone, I see?

Or has the orchard become

the miraculous creation

of the wind?

Categories
Poetry

Seasons

And when there is sun

such as this,

and when there is beautiful drift

and swaying trees,

I see life as it is

and I know it is good.

For, the mind, I know

tells stories.

And yet

perfect truth

is this touch of fresh air.

Just another season.

Another precious season

of darling life.

Categories
Poetry

The Rose

Even the most darling rose

is a work in progress.

Be the rose.

How beautiful

that she will show you the way

to freedom.

Categories
Life

The Beautiful Things

There are days when the wind blows my feelings in storms over the sea of life, and on these days my old friend fear rows back to me and makes himself known. Do you need me, he says, can I hold you a little longer, he says.

On those days, I am human. On those days I worry and I cry and I tense up, thinking I might have lost something precious that once held me perfectly. Thinking, oh no. What if my life tumbles into bits and pieces, again?

Then there are the moments that shine like a diamond struck directly by the suns brightest ray. Moments of Devine breath. Like the other day, for instance, in the garden. The silent whispers were there again, and not in some imaginative fairy world kind of way. In a very real feeling kind of way.

Somehow (and you all know by now that I am completely clueless as to the how and the why of these sorts of things) there was communication happening between my heart and the earth. The weeds for heaven sake, weeds I once would have gritted my teeth at and angrily resented. They were silently singing. I couldn’t help but love them dearly.

Have you ever looked into someones eyes and felt they were speaking to you without words? If you’ve been in love before, it’s certain that you have. This kind of energetic communication happens between man and nature, too, apparently, and I am the first to say how surprised I am about this glorious darling of a thing.

And it is glorious. My goodness, it is.

There is no human language to describe a Devine beauty such as mans union with nature, but I truly hope that if you’ve not yet known this depth of beauty in your life, you one day will.

If not, I have been here, giving you my words and my heart, hoping they have been enough.

No one should leave this planet without going to this lovely place within themselves.

And so it is I send my wish out for all the world to find their way.

And so it is I am grateful.

I have found heaven at home.

Photo by Min An on Pexels.com
Categories
Poetry

The Wind

The wind, I think,

is peace.

The breath of the earth.

The song of the trees.

And we will bathe in her softness,

today,

and every day.

The wind, I think,

rolls all days into one.

May she catch us

and show us

the truth in her song.