If happiness had a clear, unambiguous course of travel, Would you follow it to the T? Would you not get distracted by what lies before you On the path as you travel to get there? Would you go by car? Perhaps that pace is too fast And one sideways glance away, you might miss The next mark on the road. I’d choose to go by foot. I imagine that happiness is like A hiking trail with blue square postmarks. Some are new and bright blue. They are easy to decipher. Along the more difficult terrain, The marks may be dull and faded. Can we trust that we are being led to happiness? What means happiness to me May not be happiness to you. So we must have a clear definition of what is happiness Before we embark on this journey. Or perhaps it is the course of travel itself That illuminates the path to joy. Is happiness the end point?
RELEASE
Release the urge to get it right Perfection is the joy destroyer. Release the desire to sound eloquent To have the right words delivered At the exact moment. Release and trust that I will receive What I’m meant to. There is no end goal No finish line No final product. We are all works in progress And there is always room for more: More edits, for rewrites, to rehashing And then what’s left? Hacked up, tattered words Left on the page. Torn fragments. Might as well make confetti And see where the words land. That would show perfection. I don’t have to do it right Or get it right. There is no finish line where I suddenly become who I’m meant to be. I am her now. I embrace and embody her now. There is no “there” to get to. I am the joy, the connection, The creator. I am the words that you see, The sounds that you hear. They are all a part of me And a part of you too. Where does creativity come from? The seed of the soul is my guess. What seeds are you going to plant today? What nourishment does your soul desire? What would you like to plant? Place them in your palm And touch the earth. You are forever supported And nourished.
The Maker’s Mark
Singed and tattered Void of life Just brown husks of what used to be. Do I let them stand there Like marked gravestones? Do I pull them out Roots so deep? I gave them time to bounce back. Now spring has sprung And the tattered and torn are not Returning back to glory. The maker’s mark on what has been But is never more.
SPRING
A new beginning, A return to life, To the cycle of the season of spring. There is change in the air: The stillness, the silence. The cold and dark longing of winter Has turned the page Like a new calendar Or blank sheet of paper. The momentum of change, Of growth, has begun. The wind reminds me that There is power beyond my control. It can be warm and gentle, or biting cold. Spring is the ultimate awakening. Spring is transition manifest. I awaken from my slumber Like the songbird or blue jay’s shriek A sudden shift or a quiet moment into being, To stretch and embody All that was meant to be. Spring is the entryway to fullness, To the temple of my heart. The darkest longing now bright and bold. A word deeply written on the page. A forest of chicken scratch Where the blank earth once stood bare.
The Sand
I don’t often think of the sand unless I’m at the beach And I dig my feet and toes into the fine warm grains. If I look close enough, each grain is not uniform. There are clear shiny pieces of tiny rocks, Some darker than others, that make up the whole. The tide goes in and out Crashing a million times onto the shore. The sand can mold and make a temporary shape Before the waves bear down And claim it back into the earth Back into the sea. The sand, made of earth, can handle the force And alchemize the pressure Over and over again To make smoother, finer grains of rock That I can scoop and grasp in my hand Before I let it slip through my fingers. My feet leave their imprint On the damp cool sand. Each individual toe down to the heel. I see a bird’s talons imprinted Beside some dog paw prints of varying shapes and sizes Evidence of who also enjoyed this spot of earth. The sun heats and beats onto the sand. It is bleach white from the constant rays. But if I look closely, I see the individually expressed grains That together make up the whole. The sand spreads out to the horizon As it bumps up against the shore Jutting up to sand dunes and tall grasses. Sea shrubbery and florals come into view. I dip my toes into the cool waters And run back to my spot in the sand. I relax while the wet clumps become dry And loose once again. It’s a never-ending dance.
THIS
This is what you’ve been waiting for. All that striving and attaining And you almost missed it. Head buried in books Or neck hung low to read the hand-held screen. THIS Not the agenda or self-imposed schedule Not the to-do's and have to’s Or social media frenzy. THIS MOMENT All that planning for a future not yet unfolded Lost in stories real or imagined Fantasies of what you should have or would have done. And you almost missed it. This moment is fleeting. This moment is precious. You cannot buy back, will it, or plan for it ever again. This moment is all you’ve got. Do not lose sight of THIS. Even if you have to be reminded Again and again, This is all that truly matters. Though it will be gone in a moment, It is yours to hold and embody. This is what you’ve been waiting for. This moment. This is your one precious life.
FUN
Fun is whimsical. Fun is carefree. Fun is joy and glee. I used to think fun was just a happy circumstance. I didn’t know I had to Actively seek it out. Excavating through the trudgery of adulthood, I discovered that life is not Just what I do. It’s how I want to be. Like a flame on a candle. Once the wick is lit, The fuming spark of Oxygen that created the flame. It ignites. The light of joy. The heat of glee. To feel carefree, Just being me.
GLASS
The clear, cool barrier Protects me from the outside world. It provides shelter with a view. The glass is hard on the knuckles. But like all things, It has a limit to what it can hold. The barrier can be broken With enough external force. The window will not crack on its own. Even a glass pan can withstand Hundreds of degrees of heat. Only when it contacts the opposite -- The abrupt and sudden cold -- will it shatter. Glass is an insulator. It holds heat and cold. It cannot exist in both extremes simultaneously. Yet, each day I find myself In a pendulum swing between the two. But I have not cracked. Through mindfulness and peaceful presence, I am aware of the extremes before I’m swept away. I find my footing and breathe. I am not as fragile as I used to be. I am not trapped by the glass. It is a tool at my disposal. I reflect on the lessons And remember I can open the window. I can open the door and let the heat escape Before it boils over. The window may be a barrier, But the view is all mine.
A Story
A single candle illuminates the window. The darkened pane dazzles in the light. What is behind the darkness? Ever mysterious and profound. I imagine what lies out of sight. Whose lives dream and weep Behind the darkened window? The truth does not matter. I am inspired for having dreamed a little. The imagined lives outside myself have lit an internal spark. An inspiration of what it means To live. And I reflect on my own full life.
Bloom into JOY
The succulent fruit hangs from the peach tree just waiting to be plucked. With just a small amount of force the branch gives way its bounty. A tight snag Then a snap with release. The shape is like a little sun A glowing orb cupped in my hand. The orchard is full of these golden jewels. A bounty of sweet joy. A little green leaf left its mark on the flesh with a little shade from the rays. The rays gave it nourishment And now I jubilantly hold It close to me. I smell its fuzzy soft skin and take a bite. Oh, succulent ripe peach! Its juices no longer contained and they release out with the scent of summer and promise. And the creative potential to alchemize into something more than a mere glowing orb on a tree just waiting for the right passerby to bring its gifts into fruition. What seemed impossible to the little blossom when the sun whispered, “You are more than what you seem. You just wait and have faith.” And I’m at awe to see It bloomed into joy.
Healing Insights 