Freeform like freewriting
the blank page is my canvas
my pen, my body
an instrument of expression
My spirit soars as my body connects
to the music, to the lyrics
to the words of inspiration
I draw out and play out
There is freedom and softness.
Here, I can be fickle or full of praise.
I dare to lavishly adorn the page
and my space with beauty and charm
with joy and creativity
I embody this place, this space
It is mine for the taking
And I bow in gratitude
a mindful prayer of spirit
freeform and tangible
for all to see
Tag: space
Rest big or small
a cozy space
to breathe
a lavender-scented mask
luxuries but not necessary
I am grateful for this space
this cozy place to rest
I am the author of my story
The captain of my ship
I steer toward calm waters
I hold steady during the storms
They come and go
as is life’s journey
rest is my anchor
rest is my healer
So long ago I read the quote,
"I am my own healer"
Little did I know it would be
many years – decades –
before that intention became my reality
I choose rest
Today it is my birthright
to heal and feel
I am one with the earth
Let’s make it a good one
The magenta slide beckoned us all.
The sun was shining.
The clear air filled our lungs.
We were not supposed to be here today.
This slide, this green open space was
Not on the agenda.
But isn’t life marvelous?
Our well-thought out plans went
Right out the window.
One cancellation.
And a shift,
A rift in our schedule.
Let’s make it a good one.
Let’s not squander it,
Smooth it over with more tasks.
The gaps filled with joy,
A playful laugh.
A child calls out to his mother.
You run into my outstretched arms
And call to me, to watch you run,
Watch you play.
A smile forms across my face.
My lips blow you a kiss.
We were not supposed to be here today
But I’m glad we did.
My Inner Warning System
Why can’t I just be satisfied? The happy, fulfilled factor is always a temporary state. Once I receive my desired dream, shouldn’t I feel bliss all the time? Pesky little irritations should have no power. Is it selfish to do what I want, for a change? Like a short gratitude yoga practice. Can that be allowed? Is there space for me, too? And when I can’t find the space, Exhaustion, overwhelm, irritability And frustration take the helm. Each one is a teacher, A guide that I’ve forgotten to put myself first. The groundwork has not been laid. So, of course, I am easily thrown off course. When you’re stuck in the weeds, All you see is weeds. There is no space for a higher perspective To see a clear pathway out. The pause button is lost, too. Oh, this is my inner warning system That I forgot to check in with myself today. When I connect to myself, Through journaling, yoga, or meditation, I remember that I always have a choice And that I am a work in progress. I fall. I get back up again. I remember. I forget. And that’s okay, too.
Summer in the ’90s
In the third floor apartment Overlooking the street and cars below With my notebook and pencil in hand, I nestled in to meet the muse And be inspired. I had no space of my own. Just a single-subject notebook, Wire bound and lined, With the words, “Oceanography” or “Psychology 2” in large penned letters On the pastel front cover. It was my private, personal space To journal, to explore my feelings, Writing poetry As a teenager with no money And nowhere to go. So I traveled in my mind. I devoured books by VC Andrews And Stephen King. The stories and characters swirled around in my head. I often dreamed of a tropical paradise, An escape, a place of solitude and independence. I adorned my wall with a huge poster of an idyllic palm tree. That poster became my view. There is no breeze to be felt From the window When you’re on a top bunk In a small room I shared With my younger sister. I took those bored, hot summers And transformed them the best I could. Looking back, I was laying the framework on what it means to be inspired. And now I’m never bored.
Healing Insights 