I have shared my love of the skies
With my children
Just as my mother has to me.
It is a connection to the cycles,
To the phases.
A generation of past and future
All tracked by astronomers.
The regular rhythms and rotations.
The future can be predicted
It goes unnoticed.
If not for my calendar
And my lunar yoga practices,
I may lose that connection.
Unaware of that rhythmic dance
Of the cosmos always happening
Hidden behind those clouds.
Beyond my human sight.
There is magic and certainty,
Mystery and always beauty.
Where does inspiration come from?
It can be a fleeting idea,
A word or phrase that lights me up
And I want to become the explorer
of my own inner terrain.
It happens in solitude
And when I’m out in nature.
I feel most connected to
The wisdom of my heart.
Beauty always surrounds me,
Even in the mundane and hard times.
I just have to be willing
And open to see it.
When I connect to my heart and breath,
I feel I am taking an active role in my life.
I’m not getting carried away by the rushing tide
of emotions and circumstance.
In that moment, the magic happens.
I no longer have to struggle.
I can literally go with the flow.
Again, I return to the explorer within,
Who recognizes the difficulty in truly letting go
With surrender and vulnerability.
There is peace and ultimate freedom
To find creative solutions,
To take a beat before I react,
And to connect to my inner wisdom.
How does inspiration and the sacred come to you?
We emerge from our winter slumber.
It is still dark outside.
The sun has yet to greet the horizon.
The house is aglow
Lit with joy and glee
For Christmas is here.
And the big Jolly Elf
Emptied his sack
The giving and generous spirit he is.
The children can’t hardly wait!
They’ve counted down the days.
It’s taken so long, it seems,
For this day to appear.
The presents are lovingly wrapped
In festive colored paper
of snowmen, Santa himself,
Reindeer and penguins.
They shimmer in the
Sparkling Christmas lights
Under the tree.
It's the moment we’ve all been waiting for.
Let’s tear into the mysteries
That lie beneath
The paper and tape that sheathes its true contents.
Paper is tossed into a huge pile.
Opened packages are placed in neat rows.
A surprise accompanies a feigned smile,
Or a true delight.
I savor the magic in the air
Music softly plays
A fireplace flame flickers on the screen.
The kids sneak a bite of candy or two.
There on the floor,
Under the tree now bare
Its goods all opened
All before breakfast.
The lives that dream beyond the window pane
a glimpse into the soul
but I can never surmise what is really there.
I see a middle-aged woman bending over
is she too old and unable to stand upright?
Does she use a cane or a walker?
Is she always carrying a heavy load along with a heavy heart?
She is bending over to what I can’t see. I am curious about her life. Does she suffer? Did she ever feel pride and proud of her accomplishments?
I can wonder and assume. I find that I transpose my feelings as if we share one heart, one life, one soul. But the story is not mine.
She is bent way down and I can just see the top of her grayish hair pulled into a high bun on her head. What mysteries lay out of my sight.
Now she moves. She is standing once more. Her arms are full with the warm embrace of a child that she lifts up so they can talk and see each other eye to eye.
The child and the woman are smiling and the woman starts swaying a gentle dance. Is there music? Is there song?
Her eyes and face are bright. She no longer seems bent over, weak and worn. She is full of life with the sweet babe who lights her soul and mine as I continue to pass on my way.
A smile on my face that she is not suffering nor am I. The world is lovely and has tender moments and I’m grateful to be the silent witness of this loving magic that fills the air.