You Know what I think?
I believe that the human spirit has an organic, emotional composting mechanism.
Allowing us to take grime and hard, stifling, anger, and the most painful experiences and turn them into
tears, hope, prayer, empathy, deep thought, compassion and rays of smiles and forgiveness.
Over time and experience the shifting and settling of overwrought and passionate garbage that one accumulates
is fermented and composted into healing emotional soil or soul for which a whole bushel of new growth or
a single rose is produced. This growth, this wisdom is subtle sometimes and often missed, but once in a great while
when one is open, you may witness a garden grow before your eyes
***
I think in the deepest reaches of our hearts, places one thinks not to wander,
a secret longing, and hidden wish begins to form and grows with the beauty of Gods Green vine.
Long and strong, filled with fragrant, tantalizing allurement, temptation to one, adventure to another.
At first, this "vine", it tickles the hushes of your whispers, pushing away such thoughts,
our consciousness dares not go,
Curious intuition standing tall and still, looking up with with desired eyes at seduction.
I think this uncharted road, this shift in moral compass is simply writing ones own path.
Following ones secret longings into a place outside of ones comfort zone rather it be love, breaking all the rules and "just going for it" or standing toe to toe with your own moral image and being able to look such challenges, seductions or adventures in the eye and see it for what it is. It is simply life gnawing, picking at and edging you on...Go live, go do, go be, learn and see, hopefully the lesson will be part of a life with out presumption and filled with happiness and seductive passionate adventure.
***
You know what I think?
I think a mother should have a room of her own. A room with candles and a ceiling fan, a room with Mom's favorite books and magazines strewn across the floor. A wall with her favorite art and pictures, colorful scarves and scented perfumes. Masons jars for cheap wine and flowers, an antique table found at a summer sale topped with trinkets, boxes, seashells and jewelry. A turntable and favorite albums, posters, cards and dried rose, dried herbs and sunflowers.
I think a mother should have a room of her own. A room to escape, to daydream or cry. A room all her own with her favorite treasures, her place to hide.
