From The Heart

Delicate Things

Tears on a child’s face filled with innocence.

A virgins call to open to the lovers embrace.

An old woman’s dreams.

The heart left exposed.

Eyes filled with a reflection of deeper truths unsure how to share.

Foot steps left in the sands of time.

Love that changes.

Rainbows in the sky, an old mans leathery skin.

Gardens fresh plowed, and tiny trees looking for a way to make a path.

I thought on these things. Then asked myself why they came to mind this day that’s filled with heavy rains. The wisdom I seek seems to taunt me like a mosquito looking for blood. Chasing myself through the woods, and knowing all along my tail will follow me everywhere I go.

Is this who I want to be?  The mirror shows me a face, I do not know, staring back at me.  A voice ask me to close my eyes on the edge of these woods. I am afraid, yet know I will stand between the mowed grass, and line where wooded trees grow.  Closing my eyes. Whispers feel like memories fading. Were the lessons I needed ever learned? My own selfishness grasp the ego by the balls, and ask….. what love is.  A choice I do not know how to explain, I think.

Its then my feet take me back into the woods. Knowing a union of lovers is many things. My flesh rages as though on fire. The spirit weeps inside having been forgotten for way too long.  Balances are not always clear behind the expectations, and needy places. Letting go of myself the vulnerability inside me ask my soul to show me things I thought I understood. I find I do not know what I know. All that is before me is as delicate as the breath of a gentle wind.  I do not own, or have what I hold on too.  What chooses to come to me, is a shared blessing, and choice to be treasured. Should my heart close down with fears I can not explain, I might just miss this moment between worlds. A place to see myself as I truly am. A place to grow beyond myself.

I smile at the way the thoughts inside are as soft as a hug.  When death is all that matters the dying will occur. BUT when embracing the journey the living manifest itself with truths plain, and unclouded.  Focus, and knowing this is not just about me, but about all things being equal. What we value we love.  What we love we embrace.  What we need we try to possess, and hold on too.  That is until that time when delicate things remind us we are spirit passing through, and one in all that is.

The earth calls my new name, Fern of Many Winters. I have found that sometimes standing tall means we are closer to our knees than we have ever been.  Finding ways to be true to ourselves the seasons within us change, and we are left wondering what holds us sure when we are on shaky grounds. This too is delicate, and fragile inside the clutter around us.  Coming home inside this place where life begins with life, and places we never dared dream. This ground we call existence inside the shell called flesh.  Its easy to say we do not need something when we have it in our hands.  I find I must let go inside my fears wrapped around thoughts such as these. All I have is who I am, not what I pretend to be. My truth.

Jumping as the leader of the little people jumps out at me saying, “Boo” My own shadows are strangers to me.  Knowing we are born to our natures. The real truth is we have the power within to choose which self, or shadow we serve.  I find others matter to me more than my own heart, because my own heart found it was sure inside the life I live, beyond the death that had its way. Not sacrificing myself, but embracing the beauty of all that we are. I seek a reverence inside for all that is.  That’s when I found that all the wisdom I sought was nothing more than muddy waters. The real wisdom was my own truth learning how to see beyond myself because I know who I am.

Like a body stretched with life inside waiting for labor pains to show us there is no going back.  The birthing will continue as all things change from delicate to strengths as the moments around us shine. Sweat runs down between my breast leaving itchy dirty trails like deer paths in these woods.  A baby yellow bird dies in my hands as I tried to save him from the cats. Life sometimes confuses me. Angry with death, and finding each is a new beginning. The willow trees bend with a nature that shelters hidden things. I ask did I really see, or was the moment before me blind as a bat in day lights glare. To see, one sometimes needs to close their eyes, and this too is a delicate thing.