Singing

you have been singing
in my heart all day
singing cream into coffee
singing birdseed into feeders
singing groceries into cart
you have been singing
in my heart all day
singing fear into peace
singing grief into gratitude
singing joy into each part
of me... singing, too

My Love Flies Swiftly

My love flies swiftly over mountains and streams
searching for you,
swirling around you,
embracing you with invisible arms,
my arms...
which ache for you
my lips...
which long for you
my heart...
which swells at the very thought of you.

My love flies swiftly over mountains and streams, its scarlet feathers piercing brilliant blue sky,
catching an updraft with its escort the hawk, who loosens its talons' grip softly,
gently dropping my love
into your day.

Toothpaste Grin

Brushing my teeth,
a smile begins to build and overtake my face;
a full-on foamy toothpaste grin smiles
back at me in the bathroom mirror.

I peer into my eyes and there you are,
a pulsing blue flame of intensity.

A giggle ignites spontaneously,
bubbling into lilting laughter,
spilling around me,
a full-on frothy toothpaste embrace.

I look at my face and there you are,
love's radiance, ignited by your touch.

Gifts

This past weekend, glorious gifts were gently placed in my open hands; gifts of breathtaking scenery, connectedness and tender, sacred, funny moments with a generous and loving kindred spirit.

One of the gifts is a Canon PowerShot SD630 Digital ELPH camera. Yes, my blog will once again include photos. I know, it's been a long dry spell since my rant at HP and I heard you all murmuring behind my back, wondering what it was going to take to get a camera into my hands. Everyone can take a collective deep breath and offer up a hearty gracias!

So...here are some pics* from my weekend trip to South Carolina. The drive takes you through the Cherokee National Forest and the Great Smokey Mountains. Suffice it to say, I was humbled and wanting desperately to be a passenger instead of a driver so I could crane my neck to take in every vista, mountain stream, soaring hawk and mountain range.

On the drive back early Sunday morning, I was navigating through driving rainstorms and low clinging fog. As I entered a 15 mile stretch through the mountains, the rain let up a little and the rising sun sliced its rays through mountain passes. In front of my very eyes, rainbow, after rainbow, after rainbow materialized, arching over the road from one mountain top to the other. Some were low enough to the ground I could see the rainbow's end on the pavement and as I drove through them, the air around me changed colors.

Luckily, there were no cars behind me.

Coasting, awestruck through arches of diffused light

What a gift...thank you darling.

*these are not 3 pictures of the same rainbow, but 3 different rainbows materializing one behind the other

Scraps of Wisdom.14

THE INVITATION

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living
I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for love
for your dreams
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon...
I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life's betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your
fingers and toes
without cautioning us to
be careful
be realistic
to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand on the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
"Yes."

It doesn't interest me
to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after a night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.

It doesn't interest me who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the center of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep
in the empty moments.

Oriah Mountain Dreamer
Canadian Teacher and Author

Ribbed for Your Driving Pleasure

Driving for hours on end can be mind-numbing, not to mention butt-numbing. I know from first-hand experience because in the last 6 months, I've driven round trip from Tennessee to Texas 4 times. That's 13 hours in the car...one way! Yes, the number you just read is thirteen (greater than 12, less than 14!)

Last Friday, I drove back to Tennessee following my stepdad's funeral. My mind was occuppied, so I was in Arkansas before I knew it...just me and the truckers bopping along 1-30 and I-40 with some choice tunes blaring. Let's see, how can I put this delicately...hell, I was in the midst of a most gratifying sexual fantasy when for some unknown reason, the car drifted onto the shoulder of the interstate and Eureka, Arkansas! did I discover something that's going to change every hot-blooded American woman's driving habits overnight!

What the tires of my car drifted onto are officially called "shoulder rumble strips." They're supposed to alert the driver when you're about to drive off the road by making a high, rumbly noise and sending a vibration through your vehicle. Let me tell you something sisters, the Department of Transportation has done us a tremendous service. This is one government agency I can get behind 100%!

So of course, this discovery led me to thinking the DOT should really flaunt this safety measure in a media blitz that would clog the interstates with thrill-seeking women from coast to coast. I've developed some slogans to help them get started...feel free to add some of your own in comments:

Today's Interstate for Today's Woman...ribbed for your driving pleasure!

or

The Shoulder...it's not just for breakdowns any more!

or

Got Rumble Strips?

So, the next time you're on the interstate, spend a little time drifting on and off the shoulder and you'll reach your desired destination in no time!

Giddy Up!

She Calls

When your words come to me
across this new geography
my own rise up to meet them
to find what will complete them.

They seek the one who calls them forth
who gives them reason to be born
and sweet intentionality.

I Respond

You hold one rein, I the other
they lie loose in our laps
giving the dapple grey
lead to fly over the snow-encrusted lake.

A slight tug on the reins
slows the supple steed
and the spinning, intoxicating scenery
comes into focus
long enough to catch our breath,
for our eyes to meet.

Mischief, or the hunger for more
passes between us
and in an instant
we snap the reins
and shout giddy up!

You Are the Prayer Inside Me

You are the prayer of transcendence,
the prayer of acceptance,
the prayer of laughter,
of love, of inspiration, of redemption

You are the courier
between consciousness and sacred,
the halo encircling my heart

You are a feast in my mouth,
a feast in my mind,
a feast in my soul,
following a long, dry fast in the desert

'You are the prayer inside me,'
the prayer uttered in hushed tones
in the darkest of nights, the brightest of days,
a prayer that now has a name, a voice, a tender touch of grace

'You are the prayer inside me,'
radiating from my heart,
and I am whole.

Everything in Readiness

Everything in readiness
Awaits your coming.
The night is soft
The stars are hung
The owl calls low
And listens for you.
My door is open and inviting;
My heart is wide and hungry.
I will savor you slowly
One lovely bite at a time.

I Walk

We speak softly in the night
in hushed tones…
reaching for each other
across mountain mist

Your lilting laughter
is to my ear
the leprechaun’s grail
shining at the end of a rainbow

Alchemy of words, of breathing, of silence,
smoldering, unspoken passion
transforms grail into molten gold

Molten gold spins into fine thread,
fine thread sets adrift on the wind,
adorning the veil of mist between us

The alpha moment of morning breathes deep,
inhaling the mist
untethering itself from its Earthly confines

So too do I rise,
beckoned by slanting, swirling rays
onto a footpath
laid before me by the Ancients

and so,

I walk…
I skip…
I run to you

You,
who knows not how you came
to stand in the soft grass
at the break of an alpha morning
trembling heart and hands outstretched,
whispering, “Come, be embraced.”

Soon

Fatigue has settled into brain cells
into eyes turning grittily in their sockets
into muscles reluctant to stretch and contract.

Fatigue has trumped exhiliration for the moment
has lulled senses into uneasy truce with hormones
has softened all the glistening edges of desire

But still my heart is singing, skipping,
Soaring high above the boundaries of fatigue;
My giddy pulse is pounding, "Soon...soon...soon"

...and the weary rest

W. A. (“Bill”) Whiddon

Born: March 25, 1925 in Dallas, Texas, son of William and Albert Whiddon

Bill retired in 1984 from Mobil Pipeline Co., a division of Mobil Oil Corporation, after 35 years of loyal service.

Bill was a member of:

Alexander C. Garrett Masonic Lodge
No. 1216, A.F. & A.M., Dallas, TX

Oak Hill Baptist Church
Six Mile, TX

and former member of:

Fairmount Volunteer Fire Department

Greenville Avenue Christian Church
Garland, TX

Bill went home to the Lord on February 8, 2007 at 8:20 pm at his home on the lake, with family by his side.

He leaves in waiting to join him later, his wife, Catherine; children: Susan, Sandra, Shelley, Johnny and Jimmy; shared children: Dale and wife Mary, Anna and husband Dwight, Laura, Brian and wife, Carla; grandchildren: Russell, Erin, Jason, Christopher, Sean, Jessica and Jarred; sister-in-law Sadie and husband Jim and their families and brother-in-law Arthur and wife Cheryl and their families; his many friends and loving neighbors at Paradise Point Marina and so many fellow people of his life.

Bill loved his Church in the woods, all the members there and Pastor Brett Jay. Most of all, he loved the Lord.

there was a day like thursday

there was a day like thursday
that began with thoughts, no,
concerns for you;
that your tender grieving heart
had found peace in the night

there was a day like thursday
that unfurled in pink, wispy streaks
of morning light above the hills,
only to surrender to regiments
of clouds marching in from the north

there was a day like thursday
that flooded my mind, my spirit
with warm, incandescent light
that wore your name, your voice, your words,
defying the menacing darkness

there was a day like thursday
that carried its cadence in a basket,
seconds, minutes, hours spilling out
onto soft grass, dancing toward the west,
the colors of sunrise
embraced by the colors of sunset

there was a day like thursday...
a day like no other

Call and Response.2

She Poses the Question

If I am thirst
And you are quenching, soaking water
From a clear, cold spring
Whose source lies deep
Within the Earth
What, then, am I to you?

If I am hunger
You are fresh-baked bread, still warm,
With melting butter
And you feed me
Til I am full;
What, then, am I to you?

If I am homeless
You are shelter from the cold,
From wind and rain and heat
And nameless danger
In the dark;
What, then, am I to you?

If I am hopeless
You are possibility
And prayer and praise and joy;
An arc of rainbow,
Radiant light;
What, then, am I to you?

I Reply

In our waking hours,
we are preyed upon by our humanness

When standing at the precipice;
a great falling away of the Earth,
our eyes cannot take it all in
and in our humanness we ask,
“How far down?”

In the suspended moment before falling asleep,
we are preyed upon by our humanness

When alpha waves tug us into slumber,
we cling to the undone of the day,
choosing list making over prayers of gratitude
and in our humanness, we ask,
“What will tomorrow bring?”

In our waking moments,
we are preyed upon by our humanness

We rise with a sense of newness and wonder,
as the day blots out the sacredness, you ask,
“What, then, am I to you?”
And in my humanness, I reply,
"Everything."

Stealth Lover

Were you here,

you would feel my tender touch of assurance on your cheek,
the gentle embrace of reassurance in my arms,
the soft whisper in your ear of dreams yet to come.

Were you here,

you could look in my eyes and know
these are more than mere words
on a computer screen.

Were you here,

there would be no need for questions or assurances,
for our first touch, first kiss, first tryst
will cast all doubts away.

******

Ah, sweet woman, I was there.
I came in the night while you were sleeping
and sat softly on the bed beside you.
I watched you breathing, slow and even in the dark.
I brushed your hair back from your face
the way a mother would and traced
the smile lines 'round your mouth.
I took your hand and held it up against my cheek,
your fingers curling into mine and locking.
I gently kissed the little hollow of your throat,
so baby-soft and unprotected as your tender underbelly.
I briefly leaned my head into your shoulder
and memorized the sweet, seductive smell of you.
Your eyes were closed and hints of dreaming
fluttered underneath your lids.
I could not look into them,
but I knew what they would show me;
I knew what they would say
and I believed them.
I was there, sweet woman,
and I will come again.

******

My stealth lover
has come to me
in the night

She gifts me with
her gaze, her touch,
her caress

I thought I was dreaming
when I awoke
to our scents co-mingling

I thought I was dreaming
when I awoke
to my skin tingling

My stealth lover
has come to me
in the night

I am grateful
this twilight interlude
was not interrupted
by my snoring!

What's Up Mr. Secretary?

When I read the following headline, "Gates considering next steps in Iraq" my mind immediately manufactures the following thought, "Thank God Bill Gates is lending his considerable brainpower and wealth to help get this country out of Iraq."

The next instant, I realize my mind has latched onto the wrong Mr. Gates and my shoulders drop about 6 inches. What does that say about my perception of the qualifications of anyone appointed by our current Administration?

Prayer of gratitude upon arising (with a little help from e.e. cummings

"i thank You God for most this amazing/day:"
I thank you God for most this amazing woman
whose heart is kind and wise and open
whose spirit soars to stratospheric heights
whose feet are planted firmly on the ground
I thank you God for most this amazing woman
who has unstopped, unstoppered me
whose voice can soothe and center me
whose very words seduce me
Alleluia...Amen

3 Inches!

My shuttered eyes registered a subtle shift in the light spilling across my bed as I clung to sleep. I awoke in these infant hours, stretched and rolled over to gaze out the window. Moon glow was bathing everything outside my bedroom window in soft, white ether. I rose and walked to peer out the window, to gaze up at la Luna in appreciation of her offering. Not seeing her shining face in the usual position in the sky, I peered over the tops of hills, through barren tree branches, left and right, but she was elusive. I pattered up the stairs in hopes the shift in season had shifted her to a new position overhead. My foggy mind cleared, just as my bare feet hit the cold landing and there, framed by the slender portal of windows were snowflakes, drifting and dancing through illumination from the porch light.

In my slumber, the much anticipated snow had fallen and was still falling in fat, swollen flakes. At least an inch or more blankets the gentle slopes around the retreat house. The bird bath is wearing a milk mustache and I am completely, utterly enchanted!

I walk from window to window, taking in the vista of these familiar surroundings, now clothed in a pristine winter robe. A rabbit dashes across the back yard to the security of the underbrush. I want to rush out and inspect his footprints in the snow, run my finger into the hollow places he has pressed into this soft blanket of white, but I do not move to the door, for want to hold the moment sacred.

Virgin snow. My breath escapes me at the wonder of it all. A tear of gratitude eases from the corner of my eye and slides down my cheek in slow motion, a salty reminder that each day, each moment presents a chance to be awed, if only I will allow myself to be gently awakened by the subtle shift in light.

Call and Response

She Calls to Me

What is this humming, thrumming current
Pulsing feverish through the wire
What is this singing in my veins
What is this pull against all reason
That draws me to you as a moth to flame
What poet’s voice that leads me willing...to the fire

I Respond

Come,
sit next to me by the fire
we have been chilled to the bone

Behold,
this is not a fire of consumption
but the slow burn of blue flame

Come,
I will bring a blanket
and something savory to eat

Behold,
we fit in places that are thawing,
leaving puddles on the floor

Come,
I am quivering
from the want of you

Come…Behold…Be Ablaze!

Anticipation

Amazed
Vulnerable
Poised
Puzzled
Lying on my back showing my tender underbelly
Sleep deprived
Exhilarated
Anxious
Hungry