all part of the process.”...Then he disappeared.
Open House
There is a sacred beauty in openness.
Do you feel it?
Open fields. Open air. Open spaces.
In these places...Words fail me.
Time stops.
I stop.
Nothing else matters.
My heart craves openness.
Open arms. Open heart. Open mind.
I crave this, yet fear it simultaneously
Afraid, once open, perhaps I won’t be enough...
Or even worse...
What if I’m too much?
Breathe in. Exhale.
Believe, all is well with my soul.
It is well with me.
I can never be too much
For those gifted to see.
See me as I really am...
Made to run free,
Wind in my face. Sun at my back.
Grassy fields beneath my feet.
Living in Love
As I was created to do...
Connecting with those, who live open too.
No Body
Trapped in flesh, bound by senses
What we see isn’t what we see
So you see, we are defenseless
But I hear it in the spirit
To be free, we must be senseless.
One Blind
One of the kids left a single blind askew,
Thought I woke up at morning to a clear sign from you.
Brilliant sunlight, spilling right into the room,
Chasing off sadness, disappointment, and gloom.
And of course, ego mocked me saying, “Girl, you’re clearly dreaming.
Everything is something, when you’re searching for meaning”
Everything is something, when I’m searching for meaning.
Finding Myself
I always thought it was weird, the concept of finding myself
As if there was a way to re-wind myself,
Back to the beginning.
In the beginning, there was this mystery:
When I was eight years old, my teacher asked me,
“When you grow up, what do you want to be?”
Off the top of my head, I simply said,
“Mrs. Perez, I want to be free!”
Even in my youth, I had this hunger and thirst for truth.
A yearning and burning desire to vibrate higher and explore never-ending galaxies.
I was painfully aware that my perception created my reality.
So, I would spend my free time
Lavishly decorating the rooms of my mind
With thoughts of higher things like love, death, and immortality.
And yet, here I am, a grown woman
Still trying to find myself.
I’m currently engaged in the intricate art of making time for myself.
Candlelight, table set for one
I’m learning to wine and dine myself.
You see, I’m still my harshest critic,
Why can’t I just be kind to myself?
I can easily sing the praises of the quasars and stars,
But I can’t see the beauty in my own constellation of scars.
I blame it on having the untrained eye of a junior space cadet,
Perpetually distracted by a voice inside screaming,
“ARE WE THERE YET?
Are we there yet?
Are we there yet?”
On good days I can hear my Father’s voice inside, he says
“Sit back, relax, and just enjoy the ride. You’ll never arrive while you’re physically alive.”………. And now I understand,
There is no such thing as “finding myself”.
I’m on a journey to daily remind myself, that as a man thinketh so is he.
I think, therefore I am.
The creator of my own destiny.
Self Portrait
She wore deep scars and missing pieces,
Hardened skin, and weary creases.
Can you see who the masterpiece is?
She closed her eyes and saw that She is.
Heliotropism
Wild as the flowers in her hair,
Free as the soul in her eyes.
Creator created. Creation creating.
Wild hair. Free eyes. Flowering soul.
Something new is being created.
Can you feel it?
Hair stands at attention
Fueled by possibility.
Can you taste it?
