It’s 9 A.M. on Sunday morning. The booming sound of shots Pierces the quiet atmosphere. Usually like clockwork The shots of gunfire ring like a Sunday sermon. In those moments at the range, You feel connected to a higher power. You may even feel that power in your hands. The handgun is a tool. There’s challenges, targets, and goals. You can set your eyes on the prize. Like all good things It can be loud, hot, and messy With occasional painful flying projectiles Of the shell casings. When the round is complete, We all work together to clean up the debris. Maybe that’s what I crave sometimes. Working together so we can enjoy A distraction and clutter-free space. It’s all in the expectation and communication of the group. We can protect ourselves with safety precautions. Be responsible Americans. The target is clear and tangible. We can see our growth and our setbacks. Each day is an opportunity to try and improve Again and again.
In the subtle quiet moments of solitude
There is time to pause and examine
The obscure thoughts that enter my mind.
My heart finds a steady rhythm,
A glowing jewel that is the ultimate dance of life.
I write and reflect on the obscure and profound,
What is deeply personal to me
On any particular day.
I reconnect to that child,
Who may have hidden parts of herself
That society deemed inappropriate
Only to emerge onto the page,
Uncensured, for my eyes only.
I understand there are risks
For living an examined life.
The appropriate societal norms
Are under the magnifying glass.
And I can truly see them for the first time.
I am encouraged, not disheartened.
Change and growth is always possible.
Even my own beliefs and values have changed
And evolved into a reflection of my adult life.
I am inspired, not recoiled
As I try my best to stay mindful.
I am seen and heard,
If only through my own eyes and ears.
It is enough.
It is what truly matters.
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 doorway opens. Heartbeat to heartbeat Seeds clutched in my hand Waiting to be sowed Not knowing what lies ahead. Seeds are like ideas and words. Some have a way of Flowing into the heart and mind. Germinating into core beliefs, A shared memory or story. Where it originated Sometimes a mystery. Seeds can root into an entire story whose words and thoughts can empower and create growth. Some stories have to be Pruned back to allow in more light And space for new growth to take shape, To embody and take root. It all starts with a little seed. A seed in my heart that germinates into thought, Speech and the written word. Those fruits can then be passed From me to you. An offering from the heart.
Each Season has a reason A root cause A call to Mother Earth An honoring of nature’s rhythms. I, too, can play a role in this delicate dance. A celebration with Its own unique beauty Its own story to tell An expression of emotion of life itself. And all the stages One not better than the other All necessary and Interdependent on each other. Humans throughout time Have heard the call and took their rightful place at the helm at Mother Nature’s feet Ruffling her skirts, Smoothing the sheets One role not more prestigious than another. All needed in sharing the honor of her presence. Greeting her at each stage Arms open wide Accepting the gifts and the lessons To make way for Growth and space For it all to take place Together Side by side Hand in hand Guided to her Beauty and sorrow Each day a change to begin anew.