Strength

Give me reasons. I need reasons.

Sometimes love is not enough.

                        Give me choices. I need choices.

                        Sometimes fear makes choices tough.

Give me answers. I need answers.

Sometimes answers are hard to take

                       Give me peace, please. I need peace.

                       Sometimes peace is a welcome break.

Take my mind, please. And my heart.

Take my hands and show the way,

                        Take my freedom and captivity,

                        Take my feet and lead away.

Give me patience. I need patience.

Take my restless spirit and hold.

                        Give me balance; equilibrium,

                        Calmer life, but with actions bold.

Leave my worries and my thoughts, please,

In a lake that’s deeper than miles,

                        Remove the fretting and the workplace;

                        All the trials that forsake my smiles.

When it’s written I feel better,

Like an ocean has subdued, consumed

                       All the reasons that in life I

                      Have been wound up; upon presumed.

Now the melee is behind me

And my refuge is in sight,

                    Quieter moments, pad and pen here

                    Soothing words I have to write.

Gentle thrumming, plucked in time, the guitar chords

Within my mind, music strumming, tempoed to my written words.

                   There are reasons why we suffer, moments lost that crush the soul,

                  Angry thoughts blurring serenity, fragments chipped from what is whole.

I can do this, just like you can, I can rise up after fall.

Time to think, pull together, remember why I’m here at all.

                   Too much doing, no time to think, too much action, moments lost.

                  Days like this, in life so chosen, I stop, at last, to count the cost.

Senseless

I never felt it coming;

Spectral form seeping through

And into,

Wisping and mingling

With my air.

Breathless seductions

Tasted,

Inhaled to mix with my blood;

Cells cleaving,

Time transfigured.

 

I never heard him leave.

He glided through the door

Soundlessly,

My sigh at his parting

Louder than

The soughing air

Around his form.

He melted into nothingness

But left with my heart.

I never saw it leaving.

 

I never sensed such silence;

Void without his voice,

No beat from a heart.

Give Over, Woman. That’s Mince. Or Not?

There is no knowing on the soul’s flight exactly where you’ll end up. Just because your soul seeks something, an answer, doesn’t mean that it will direct itself to the correct place. Mainly because other souls are doing the same thing. And they may miss each other, like ships passing in the night or one firework zipping into the sky while another is already in full bloom elsewhere.

The great thing is, though, with souls that a momentary lapse in judgement or direction can be corrected and redirected without waiting days and weeks or years. With its ability to hop through space and time, it manages to keep up with more news and happenings than its counterpart, the mind, can do in everyday life.

Like astral GPS of a higher standard, soul may move and flit from time to time in past, present and future. Glimpses of life lived and still to be lived on earth can etch themselves on spirit, embed into the core and be filed on return to the body.

When I say return I do not, of course, mean that the soul has left the body to lie dead in the world. Rather it has unravelled the umbilical cord that keeps it so attached to the human and exerted its right to travel but still to return.

In endless hours of sleeping while body rests and mind grasps the realities of day, creating wondrous images, soul vacates and explores, transmitting messages through the umbilical connection while mind incorporates such visions into dreams and weaves a tapestry of seen and yet to see, of been and still to be.

Soul exists apart from body, simply encased for the duration of one lifetime but always and ever present and alive to soul self.

One lifetime on physical, planetary plain could never really be enough to learn all we need to know, to understand in order to one day rejoin the communion of souls. By the essence of spirit and the journeys they are capable of, greater enlightenment may dawn in the everyday existence in more fuller measure than would otherwise be possible.

Those moments glimpsed by soul in time and space and recollected in odd waking human moments are what, I believe, deja vue to be. Already seen, yes, but not by human eyes in another lifetime. But by soul’s illuminated vision as it flits through dimensions unknown to us. Life glimpsed and lodged in subconscious until the moment arises and we may say, ‘I’ve been here before.’

I find this a great comfort in life to know that I have arrived at a time that my soul visited. Like I’m on the right path of my journey. Or one of the many right paths.

In parallel plains of time running concurrently it may be there are many lives being lived by self, each one born and directed of different choices taken in time. Past, present and future creating a gigantic loop, concentric circles connected by radii that make all lives possible.

The visual image above may be, in astral reality, an all-encompassing universe, the radii being worm holes that allow soul’s journey in and out through time and space. No need for soul to don travel gear. Simply extend the cord, ensure attachment and soar freely into other worlds of reality.

For many years now, at least 20, I have been haunted by the idea of this outline as an explanation for so much. My explanation. And, quite possibly, off the wall when it comes to ‘real life’. But it fascinates me as an idea and as a possible/probable reality in the spiritual field.

Light, photonic elements, become part of the all and a rejoining of light to light explains to me what heaven may be. Some sense of spiritual communion with the source of all light in a non-physical, analytical way. Merely a connectedness of all in spirit and light.

Is this a possible book? It’s an outline. Every time I try to work on it I get lost in the permutations and my mind goes in and out and sideways. I would read a book like this. I’m just not sure anyone else would. Unless they were allowed to remove their strait jacket to turn the pages. Lol. My husband has just informed me that he wouldn’t.’ Get to the point, woman,’ is really his way.

I’ve come at this from various angles over the years. Then stop. I just can’t seem to grasp the right approach to it. But I can’t let it go. Help!

My opening line remains the same every time.

‘Rachel travelled through the night, destination always unknown.’

Soul Rebirth

Flights of fancy flood imagination.

Other beings, other worlds creation.

Anticipation of these other parts

In minds and inter-galactic charts

Where maps reveal a stellar, cosmic plan,

An interlinking with the thoughts of man.

Spirits drifting in these other plains,

Watchfulness and interaction gains

Experience for all we see on earth.

A time for thinking new. A soul rebirth.

History Rewritten

Diamond hard scoring glass,

Durable

On fragile,

Tally the marks leaving

Goals scored,

Unscored,

Nothing won,

Only grieving.

 

History written,

Read,

Unread,

Reread,

Lessons learned,

Unlearned,

To be learned.

Dead

 

On pages.

Living on

In memory,

In mind.

Newer truths,

Better ways,

Some hope

To find.

 

No answers

But questions

Why,

How?

Is it time?

Not yesterday,

Nor tomorrow

But now?

 

Ways forward,

New paths,

Roads untravelled

To seek

Guidance,

A road map,

Willingness

To speak

 

With honesty,

Integrity,

Intention

Purest.

Solutions

Always present,

Search,

Cease duress.

 

Who writes the pages?

Is it Time itself

Or we who

Do not speak

While invisible hands

Etch future,

Ignore past,

Encode only bleak?

 

New history

Unwritten,

Waiting

For ages

Past,

Present, Future,

Different story,

Fresh pages.

Only This Second

Dreams unreal tomorrow holds,

No certainties, mere speculation.

Before us now today unfolds,

A brief tomorrow, in duration.

 

Only seconds, fleeting moments,

For use within our hands

To mould and shape, sweetly foment.

This at our command.

 

A vital second of each life,

Only one at just this instant.

Wasted, filled with endless strife?

Or rich with great intent?

 

What is right or wrong we glean.

Where do we want to be?

Have we slept another’s dream,

Their life, their fantasy?

 

Sustained effort, fortitude,

Decisions made, applied,

In such as this, portentous good,

Life is sanctified.

 

No mountain climbed for flag to post

Nor golden haloed wreath,

Fulfilment in what matters most,

Holding to belief.

 

Recognising small but wise,

All seconds clearly count,

They’re striven for, this amplifies

In worth by how they mount

 

In magnitude, their worth, their glory

Those moments every day

That build, arise like Taj, each story,

Monumental in their way.

 

A palace so, not vaulted tomb,

Royal beauty to behold.

Yarn chosen, woven upon each loom,

In all seconds, our stories told.

 

Of Writing

Some people are annoyed at me

And I suppose it is no wonder.

In spending hours in writing,

I’m leaving them to blunder

Through the chores

And all the dishes.

I dole out hugs,

Intermittent

Kisses.

But really,

It’s an awful ask,

To cease, desist, refrain

From task

Of writing what I have to pour

Upon these pages and

Many more.

The dam has burst,

It’s here to stay.

They muddle on

In disarray,

Mum has left

The kitchen sink,

I’ve disappeared

To write and think.

The truth is out,

They can’t decide

If mum’s depressed

And needs to hide.

When all I try

To say to them, is

I’m pouring ink from

Out of pen

Upon the whiteness

Of the page,

Please understand,

Don’t fuss

Or rage

At absence in

The living room,

I’m stoking fire

Of words

To bloom,

Like flowers

On the window sill,

I’ve not forgotten

Boy or girl.

But I am out

And this is it,

Live and learn,

Don’t give a shit

If ironing’s done

Or who hit whom.

Sort it out.

I’m in my room

Feeling freer

Than before,

Open mind,

Closed bedroom door.

What to say to

Those who matter,

I’m here beside you

But you must cater

To my needs,

When after all

I work all day,

Cease not at all.

In evening’s light

I spend my time

Fixing words

That want to rhyme,

Shaping thoughts

That form in mind,

Reliving dream

I have to find

To end the pain

Of silent pen.

I’m still here,

You’ll live again.

 

Video reading Of Writing

Procrastination

Speak

Words of comfort,

Think

Before beginning

Or ending.

Enlist

Deepest thoughts

And heart’s belief.

 

Imagine

Loss so great.

No time

To repent

Words

And actions.

Regret

To grief.

 

Now.

Not later

Or tomorrow.

Time slips

Away.

Opportunities

Lost,

To this thief.

Time Stands Still

I walk alone

On midnight street,

No body there

To meet or greet,

But shadow walks close by.

 

Street lamps cast

The company,

Formless shade

Strolls next to me,

Reaching for my hand.

 

I gasp to clasp

What’s offered there

But nothing solid,

Only air,

An empty yawning space.

 

A light appears

In front of me

From void

Beyond eternity.

Your form appears within.

 

You stare so long

I start to sway.

You rescue. Distance

Falls away

And time stands still for two.

 

Midnight still

And caught in space,

Mesmerised

By one of grace

And heart of precious ore.

 

I blink just once

And now you’re gone

In recaptured chasm

You belong.

Light fades into dark.

 

A nearby clock

Begins to chime

Each stroke, the passage

Of our time.

Midnight once again.

 

But shadow still

Walks next to mine

Embodies closeness

Outwith time.

You will always be.

 

Video reading Time Stands Still

Shenanigans With Chores

 ‘I walked him last,

It’s your turn now!’

‘I dusted and I hoovered!’

‘Stop hiding in your bedroom.

I know all these manoeuvres.’

 

You have a chore, just do it,

Or do you like my voice,

Nagging at you, picking faults,

Like, ‘Clean up all you toys.’

Or, ‘Why is there a banana skin

Lying on your floor?

‘There’s mould in that there tea cup,

Sat behind your door.’

 

A sigh escapes their pursed up lips,

Tiny hands on narrow hips.

‘We forgot. We’ll do it now.’

Then thinks. I see the cogs

Turning swiftly, pistons up and down,

Like lily jumping frogs.

‘Could we finish this game first?

We have to save our place,

We’ve almost captured all the zombies.

Don’t want to restart the race.’

 

I sigh too. Well, childhood’s fast

And gone in too short time.

‘Well, get that zombie if you can.

Five minutes more is fine.

But, after that, pick up your room,

Grab a duster and a broom,

For my broomstick has quite an itch,

You know me, I’m quite a witch.

Five minutes more, or maybe ten,

Then I’ll fly up here once again

And use my magic on your butts

And on your pairs of feet.

You’ll hop and skip till all is done.

And then we’ll have a treat….

A trip to town,

Or to the park.

We’ll have some fun,

You know, a lark.

Some outdoor time

When chores are done…..

What’s that you say?

Your game can wait?

You’ll pick up now,

It’s getting late?’

 

‘Let’s get done, Mum,

Don’t delay.

There’s work first, then

We get to play.’

 

Still standing there, with mouth agape,

I barely see them zoom,

Hither, thither, seconds later,

The tidiest of rooms.

 

‘Well, come on, Mum, our hands are full

With rubbish and a cup.

Have you done yours yet?

We’re all ready.’

Well, blow me down

And, f***!

 

A tiny bribe,

A trip outside,

Mummy’s company.

A little glow

Begins to grow.

I’ll make pizza for our tea.

 

Well, it’s the little things that mean so much,

Tiny hands in mine,

Skipping through some pleasant days.

And the house? Ach, it’s just fine.