From moisture’s touch on dust came clay.
Kneaded, to frame a heart and mind, a soul created after God’s image.
A watery immersion through the canal of love into mortality’s realms
nourishes the flesh for travel in this wilderness called life.
Very early in life, her training and life’s conditioning take place mostly outdoors. Visualizing dreams of flight while laying perfectly still on her back, she sighs herself upward, joining atmospheric forces. Her soul soars among moisturizing clouds, feeling the emotions of their limitless transformations, dragons, unicorns, turtles, an invisible tangible communion with nature’s balancing act of beauty.
What does communing with nature’s balancing act of beauty look or feel like in your life?
What is written in clouds of moisture?
Truth or Fiction?
What is soaring on sighs?
Weightless illusions?
Inspiration's tickles?
Wind-tossed spectacles?
Innate yearnings, heart's path?
Oxygen deprived?
Rich soil's substantive growth?
What is soaring on sighs?
From dust came life’s frame, touched by moisture’s life gift.
To dust goes life’s withering frame while the soul soars.
What is written in clouds of dust?
I Am You, I Am Me
I Wish, I Dream
I wish to be the autumn breeze gently caressing your sensitive skin.
I dream of being felt.
I wish to be the oxygen fueling an eternal fire in your heart.
I dream of being warmth.
I wish to be the white-capped waves playfully splashing your life with laughter.
I dream of being smiles.
I wish to be the eagle's wings carrying you beyond your horizons.
I dream of being strength.
I wish to be the heart, might, mind, and soul, rhythm's unity for your song.
I dream of being notes.
I wish to be the flashing lightning illuminating your darkest night.
I dream of being sight.
I wish to be the morning dew, sparkling with sunlight's touch, refreshing you.
I dream of being hope.
I wish to be the sunset's charming colours painting beautiful memories.
I dream of being light.
I wish to be the moonlight's reflection stealing your breath, priceless moments.
I dream of being time.
I wish to be the infallible anchor for your ship in safe harbour.
I dream of being trust.
I wish to be wholly furnished, perfectly tuned, steadfast for all your needs.
I dream of being true.
I wish to be the
essence of all that is me, in the spirit of goodness and truth,
lost and rescued, found in the center, for you, of me, one in unity.
I dream of being
the essence of all that is me, in the spirit of goodness and truth,
lost and rescued, found in the center, for you, of me, one in unity.
Later in life, her training and continuing life’s conditioning take place mostly outdoors. Spellbound, watching dust clouds swirl towards her, she feels specks of sand and grit sift through the grey-flecked strands, tangling them to brush her cheeks. Standing still, she sighs. Her solitary figure on a dried-up riverbed casts a shadow. She feels the crevices decorating her life, one well-lived and blessed. Seeking shelter while crawling, walking, and stumbling through dust clouds ravaging her thirst, she overcomes the fear of change, letting the wind carry her thirsting soul to an oasis. A deep well of quenching goodness awaits her reach within where love, peace, comfort, and silent assurances satisfy. Vital replenishment comes while writing her story in clouds of dust, taking the form of moisturizing clouds. The ground, firm and cracked with ageing dryness, her shadow obstructing light, and yet the woman standing or laying still, soars silently. Her life’s happenings, written in clouds of dust and moisture, imprint her soul, heart, and mind with nature’s communications.
When young, I dreamt of myself flying. I would lay for hours watching the changing pillows and strips drift across the sky, night or day. My mother started this tradition, a family laughing and guessing whether camping or in our backyard. Stars and clouds. I would run on the lawn and jump the ditch as if flying, trying to catch a cloud or overhead jet taking off or landing. Looking up began early and continues to this day with awe and thoughts.
Is my life cryptic? There have been times where it seems so, but then life happens. I contemplate, pray, read, reflect, write, and learn. Understanding what the finite mind cannot, but recognizing the truth in feelings teaching my heart, I bow my head with wishes and desires. When in fulness I rest, I hope my legacy will be the essence of me, which is what I wish for you; you in me and the ‘you’ I am not, that is you (all whom I love, my dear ones).
Knowing me, myself, and I is the adventure of my contemplative voyaging life.
Perplexed?
=> Lost in your own clouds of dust and moisture?
=> Is being lost a bad thing?
=> What have you found?
Life Happens . . .
What is written in your clouds of dust and moisture?
