Worth a Telling


I can feel my self becoming removed from the conversation, from the room, from this place.

As though I have been here many times before yet am now born into “such a time as this.” It is easier to let my self be free when I realize this story is not about me. I do not have to carry the answer, the load, the laughter, the grief, the joy…I get to experience it but I am not the atonement… but I am worth a telling.
I am the spring day when the daffodils and hyacinth bloom after Winter’s death and fill the world with the heady scent of new life.

I am the dark rich dirt that lies thick undercover in the deep forest with moss and fungus growing out of it. I am the bright orange fall leaf that gets to trip and twirl down the city street in front of two lovers taking a walk. They try to run and catch me but they cannot. I am not their love affair.
I am the stark bare trees of Winter’s blast. I dance among the stars and sit upon the moon whenever I feel like it.
It is really not a mystery yet remains mysterious. It is truly not difficult to understand.

I do not have answers regarding quantum physics nor the dimensions that I live in, for they are many and some are not of this world. I only know that my heart provides my body and brain with new oxygenated fresh red blood more than one hundred thousand times a day! Imagine such a miracle just for a moment or two.
So then you must tell your story. It may or may not help someone. It most likely will but either way you are worth a telling.

I leave you with this final thought from a writer Hunter Thompson…
“Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming “Wow! What a Ride!”

I am the girl in the dream…

I am the girl in the dream, the girl in the hour glass.
I am every blue on the color wheel.
I rise on a great floating bubble that a child just blew out of a plastic jar of soap.
The bubble is robin egg blue and I am continually moving toward you.
I am the girl in the dream, the girl clasping turquoise ribbons attached to the moon. My skin looks silver blue like the moon. My heart is an open door and the door is deep blue like a navy school uniform blazer. I turn the glacier blue door knob and I am permanently moving toward you. I am the girl in the dream, the girl who is every blue on the color wheel. I am soaring up toward the baby powder blue stars, the blue gray fog is lifted and my blue gray eyes finally see you and my Faith has been made sight.

A Gift from High School…

1975

I met a young sweet boy in high school. He was trying to find his way to manhood with a heart so kind and fragile. I, as well, had no idea how to handle the heart of anyone. I desired to be careful yet there is an “innocent ignorance” of youth that is just brutal…
This boy thought that I was unattainable as he watched me from afar laughing with other boys… Oh the angst of those lovely awful years of high school! None of us can know the “power” we have to hurt others…I certainly didn’t.

I liked high school for mostly social reasons. Academically I was only interested in English Lit, and writing with a little bit of interest in history. I suppose I was a “cool kid” in the world of “labels” that befall us in high school. However I was terrified of being a fake. I will never forget one of my classmates who could cut you deeply with his wit…he reminded us almost all of the time that we were ALL fake! I just love that he did that. (Thank you Bill)

One day the sweet boy waited for me after school and asked if he could give me a ride in his car. I said yes and his face turned red. At the time I had no idea how much courage that took but I understand it now. After all the possibility of rejection drives the human soul to craziness.

Now it is some forty years later but I have never forgotten that gentle boy…he went his way and made his life. He is a man now. A good man. I knew he would be…and even now I will smile when I remember what he said to me one day…”you are beautiful inside and out”…such few words yet having a major impact. I took those words with me from that day. I have tried to live up to them and failed many times. It made me want to be a better person…it still makes me want to be better…Thank you sweet boy…I remember…

“now to see things clear is hard enough I know while you’re waiting for reality to show…but when you have a real friend somewhere it makes all the others so much easier to bear…” Jackson Browne

Not your normal Christmas Bible reading..

Photo by icon0.com

Knowing full well the cost that lay ahead it says in Philippians 2:5-11 that the mind of Christ was this… “Jesus did not consider it robbery to be equal with God, yet chose to make himself of no reputation and become human… even to the point of death, even the death of the cross…”

The most astonishing part of the Christian story, for me anyway, is that Jesus Christ thought that giving up being God to become  fully human was not being robbed but chose to do it…when I consider the magnificence of this desire that Jesus has to save all mankind…I find I am speechless.

So if Jesus Christ has done anything for you (me), Paul says in the beginning of his passage…if Jesus has changed you, touched you, comforted you, died for you, forgiven you…anything at ALL then can you at least try to take on the same Humility that he put on to become human and be mercilessly degraded and humiliated and die for your sin? WHOA!!! What?

For me, my Christmas season has begun with me on my knees praising God and saying, “God exalted him to the highest place and gave him the name that is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue acknowledge that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.

All the Pretty Horses

girl standing near carousel

Photo by Abby Chung 

 

Joni Mitchell and a cup of tea…

I shut the door so no one can see

and dream of something kept underground

when I had to jump off that merry-go-round.

 

I loved the ride and all the pretty horses

I loves what I thought I would be.

I would have sold my blood to be published

so all the work could read.

 

 

I would wax eloquent and be held in high esteem…

all the other riders would admire me.

They would gaze at me on my grand carousel

marveling at all the wisdom I share.

 

Well now I speak in present tense…

the merry-go-round broken down and spent.

For my profound literature there is no need

I still like Joni and a cup of tea.

sjad

The Sacred Ache

hourglass-time-hours-sand-39396.jpeg
This sacred ache  only you can fill

no words can describe the place

when you shattered that hour glass of shame

all the dust cleared I heard you call my name

 

Nothing on earth fulfills this longing

I have learned this yearning is not to be despised

yet held within so tenderly and bittersweet

you hold every tear I have ever cried

 

This sacred ache that you have filled

keeps me gazing at the stars each night

I look for your return my Lord and King

each day I long to live inside your light

 

 

No one else can propagate this longing

so I freely keep it there and open

when you shattered that hour glass of shame

when all the dust had cleared I heard you call my name…

 

“Daughter are you crying?
do the tears belong to me?
Daughter I am close as I can be.
and our time has just begun.”

Mischief in the Fire

Jill Autrey Dorman

abstract art blaze bonfire Photo by Pixabay

Language is my orchestra sometimes a lullaby

Emotion is the music the poet’s heart lives by.

In the silence of my dream words go dancing through

An Image just too beautiful all logic out of view

An artist lives within me a way of beating all the odds

The sticker on the rose bush pricks discovery one again

All children start out poets I just cannot let that go

So stir the mischief in the fire and let enchantment glow

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