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. [The Sacred] 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, Sometimes confusion 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.