Ramifications

Connection.
Of something small.
Faling to.
Make me feel.
Alive.
Again.

Breathing.
The fresh air is.
Suffocating me I.
Try to swallow the.
Sunshine but it.
Burns my throat.

Point.
We used to have.
One of those.
It was either your.
Fault or my.
Fault but I.
Cannot seem to.
Stomach either option.
For the blame.

Changing.
There seems to be.
A lot of that these.
Days and I.
Have yet to decide how.
I feel about the.
Ramifications of.
Our actions.

Wonder

Oh the broken-hearted
spinning and mutation
of dreams:
Trampled.

Boxed in and boxed
OUT
with red tape
and raised eyebrows:
Disconnected.

Reaching outside myself
with gentle tendrils
of fragile, vulnerable:
Hope.

They are squashed
hacked off
beaten back
surgecally removed:
Disappointment.

Why oh why
all this
soul-less wandering:
Misery.

Retreating for miles
- and possibly an outcast -
I dive into my old selves
and return with something valuable:
Basics.







I have always felt a little.... estranged. Like if most of humanity is 'on the same page', I am in another book written in a different language. I have been blessed with many gifts and talents and I have a curiosity and imagination that had remained thus far unriveled - even the children I have spent time with are loosing their ability to pretend and be in wonder. It makes me sad.

I have found that I cannot live on to-do lists and assignments and expectations - even when I supplement with going to church and doing Bible studies regularly and I am growing in God. I have a need to return to the basics. If I don't, I drown. I need to take walks and go on hikes and marvel at the outdoors. I need to plant things and watch them grow. I need to pull away from technology and write with a quill by candlelight. I need to turn off the music and spend time alone in the quiet and rest. I need to have a deam that I am preparing for. I need to drink hot tea instead of energy drinks and dance in the rain instead of hide under an umbrella. I need to wonder about things and go look up the answers. These are the things that keep me alive.

Not the breathing kind of alive, but the kind of alive that sparkles. The kind of alive that makes me laugh when nothing is particularly funny, but I am just so happy that I NEED to laugh out loud. The kind of alive that inspires me to change myself. The kind of alive that causes me to create. The kind of alive that draws me back to love.

People have been telling me that this is the part of my life where I have to grow up and act like an adult. Hmmm. Adults... They don't smile much. Have you noticed that? I mean, besides that polite little smile that they have been trained to give, andthat tired smile that says 'I've had a loooooong day', and that smirk when they hear the latest gossip. I mean a REAL smile. The kind that people have when they fall in love, or are ridiculously happy. The kind of smile that says "Hey you: I'm alive!" They rub their forheads, temples, and faces - always a headache. And they gray hair they say comes for from where? Stress. No thank you.

I am a child of God. I am His beloved, His daughter, His warrior princess. I find my identity in Christ, and I am satisfied. I want to grow in His grace and under his refinement - I promise He knows what He's doing. I want to become more and more His child; not more and more an adult of this world.

This is not to say in any way that I want to shirk all responsibilities and just 'love' all the time, like the hippies suggest, and worry about the here and the now. I have plans. I have a future. I take things seriously - sometimes TOO seriously! - and I know how to think things through and make good choices.

I simply miss the days when child-like wonder was acceptable, and I am scrambling to get back to that state.

Shredded

It is that
SHREDDING
of that
thing
inside of me.
What is it?
I feel it running.
All the time.
Something
is being ground to bits.
What if I need that
later?
The sound of it is
horrifying.
It never stops.
It invades my dreams.
I gives me a prickely
feeling
of unease.
What is happening?
What part of me is being
eaten away at?
Oh I wish it would
stop
- at least until I
found out
what it was.
I might need to
intervene.
What if it is important?
What could constantly be
SHREDDED
but I have failed to notice
it has gone?
What if I
disappear
too?
I have a sneaking suspicion
that when the
SHREDDING
stops,
so do I.
For I have
narrowed it down:
is what is being
SHREDDED
time?

The Moment

Everyone is asleep
but me.
Shhh:
It can be our
secret.
Come here and listen;
I will tell you all my
tresure and dreams
and everything I have been hiding.
I am vulnerable
in the middle of the night,
you see.
Lonliness kidnaps
me:
just sitting here,
in my mis-matched pajamas.
I feel compelled to
WHISPER.
To pour it all out.
Everything.
Right now.
But you aren't really here.
No one is.
You are simply reading -
You have already missed
The Moment.

The Contaminated Jar

I suppose it matters not

whether there are little bits of paper in the bottom

when nothing that will touch them

shall be eaten.

Or perhaps I have grown lazy,

or I am not awake yet.

Either way,

I am still thinking about them.

Those little tiny bits of paper,

I mean.

They are still in the bottom of the jar.

I left them.

What a terrible scandle!

I have left teensy shreds of paper

in the bottom of the sweet-n-low jar!

Which no one really uses,

but me...

I am far from the kitchen,

now;

I certainly cannot see the pantry door

or the rack that hangs upon it

and gives shelter to the jar.

What nonsense!

Why should I make such a fuss

over not cleaning it?

Because no one knows?

Because no one will care as much as I?

Because it would have been so easy to manage this insane

obsession

over smaller-than-scraps of pale pink paper?

I am loosing my mind.

I can think of nothing else.

I have decided that I will not

go back downstairs and clean it out.

I have plenty of other things to do

and this will surely bother no one but me

so severely.

Still....

I squirm.

I sigh and attempt to be amused

at how foolish I am.

But those little intruders

- that I failed to remove -

are still nagging.

And paper really ought not to nag....

Secrets

Secrets.
Used to be
so good at them.
Cover up.
Now you think you know me -
now you know you don't.
That smile could mean
anything.
Or more importantly
everything.
Who am I,
really?

But now I am
no good at those.
Let me lay it out.
I am
exposed.
Open.
I burned my mask.
You talk to me,
you talk to ME.
You know me.








I'm not crazy about this poem. It just sort of slipped out the other day. It's not one of my best, but it was sore of an epiphany of how much I have changed in the last year or two.

I'm not who I was.

My body flitted about
while my mind remained elsewhere;
my muscles were overly-accustomed to this routine.
I was totally absorbed in my thoughts
in the beauty of what I had seen
in the imagines engrained in my head
in the dreams that were awakening within me once more
in the passionate silence of my heart -
all it could do was mourn the lack of opportunity.

I sighed,
dramatically.
A waste of time –
no one was present to capture the sadness
of the moment.
My actions led me to the table.
It was already set.
Lunch was already prepared.
I was hungry.

And yet….

Words swirling in my head
made it impossible to think
impossible to breathe
impossible to eat.
So down I sat
and began:

My body flitted about
while my mind remained elsewhere….

Blowing Bubbles

I am sure you are thinking ''Blowing Bubbles'?? What in the world...? Why that name?' I'm so glad you asked. =) You see, as I was staring around my room and thinking up a name for this blog, I spotted two bottles on my desk with the soap stuff in it that you blow bubbles with. Being, well, me, I let my mind wander.
I began comparing bubbles to different things: people's lives, emotions, situations, and thoughts. Bubbles are a lot like thoughts. Sometimes there are a lot of them with one blow, and sometimes not very many. They are shiny and sparkley and when you watch them, the irredescent surface changes and shifts until - POP! It's gone. I decided that for me, writing a blog is a lot like blowing bubbles.
Please refrain from expectations. I don't really like those. This blog will be, I'm sure, a hodge-podge of things running through me that are lucky enough to escape via hand with pen and paper. There will be all sorts of things presented. Don't feel obligated to read them all or to attempt to make sense of them - some of them don't even make sense to me.

<3