Blue

   Alex is a pianist. He has played the blues due to disappointment and frustration. Piano study gets hard and demanding, sometimes. When I play "the blues" everything seems hopeless and never-endingly difficult. No light at the end of the tunnel, no possibility of success.

  Here he is on a decidedly different day. How could he possibly get almost every pin in the webelos book. Every pin!  I wonder if this day was more emotionally saturated or the day he wouldn't play another note? My sneaking suspicion is that the blues feel deeper than the joy. I may be wrong. Is it in our mortal DNA to let the blues infiltrate our every cell? Can we let our joy fill us equally full?

      I would like to hold space for that desire. Today I felt that joy creeping up my spine and I wanted to bottle the feeling. Breathe deep! Breathe the blues away!

I write on Fridays with a large group who inspire me. Only five minutes and without much thought to perfection. I write, prompted by one word that sends my thoughts to the keyboard and hopefully make sense.

Rise

    Rise And Fall

Your frothy feet run onto the sand

licking up pebbles

and just a fast as you rise

you recede.

I love the sameness

I love the change

I hear the uncertainty in your coming

I hear the certainty in your retreat.

When I am filled with dread with what might be

I remember 

You rush in

but you always fall back.

I write on Fridays with a large group who inspire me. Only five minutes and without much thought to perfection. I write, prompted by one word that sends my thoughts to the keyboard and hopefully make sense.

Follow

   As each needle slides delicately into my skin the warm energy begins to move more freely. I choose to follow the movement by relaxing deeper. The choice is mine but the freedom is new. Muscles relax in places I've never noticed. Each release follows the warm energy making a pathway through every limb and every organ. My acupuncturist holds in her hands healing from frustration, sorrow, and the effort of holding myself together for one more week.

   I walk out of her treatment room totally accepting of my body and soul. I gifted her this painting Wednesday. She was grateful and placed it on a bookcase. With the soft sound of Erik Satie"s Gymnopodie floating between the gurgling of her rock fountain I left something behind that I had created. It seemed at home there.

   

I write on Fridays with a large group who inspire me. Only five minutes and without much thought to perfection. I write, prompted by one word that sends my thoughts to the keyboard and hopefully make sense.

Retreat

      Warm sun, quiet, and solitude make a fine retreat. Fisher Pond offers that and so much more. I forget the resources I have to rejuvenate my soul. They wait for me to surface and remember.

    Curly ferns relaxed as the sun whispered the promise of more days of warmth.

    Criss-cross of twigs and pine needles carpeted the floor. Lichen decorated tree limbs in variegated green.

   Dancers dressed in neon blue darted from leaf to leaf, each grabbing the stage for a solo.

   I came in the morning and left in the afternoon refreshed. Light shifted higher into the sky and tipped towards the west.

Some rocks wore pelts of moss to cushion their rough edges.

    My friend, an adventurer, came to witness. I watched as she documented the yellow flowers on the lily pads. In just a few weeks the pond will be almost completely covered with plants. Only the edges by the rocks will be clear. Change and renewal show me pictures of hope. Hope is a verb. It grows, morphs into unexpected outcomes, and leaves a trail of new promise. I need to be on that trail, always.

     More posts on Fisher Pond. And here.

Meet

    Would you like to eavesdrop on a conversation? To be fair these two women are only struggling with what we all struggle with when we meet the opposing inclinations in our nature. I have, with judgmental side notes, put their comments under a magnifying glass.

   " I haven't been to the gym in days" (I haven't been good)

  " What has been happening in your life?"

  "I have been cutting down blackberries in my neighbors yard" (Doing good)

   "That's nice."

   " It is the only way that I can keep them out of my yard." ((Confessing to being self-serving instead of being good)

    "Oh..."

    "The neighbor has been in such poor health." (Restoring the doing good impression)

     

      

   That kind of conversation goes on inside of me all the time. I want to do good but I seem to be majorly influence by a self-serving attitude. Am I bad? Am I alone in this fallen nature? Do other people do good without thought?

  Moroni 7:13 "But behold, that which is of God inviteth and enticeth to do good continually; wherefore, every thing which inviteth and enticeth to do good, and to love God, and to serve him, is inspired of God."

    Scriptures give a different picture. It is God's influence that entices us to do good. 

   Ether 4:12 "And whatsoever thing persuadeth men to do good is of me; for good cometh of none save it be of me. I am the same that leadeth men to all good; he that will not believe my words will not believe me--that I am; and he that will not believe me will not believe the Father who sent me. For behold, I am the Father, I am the light, and the life, and the truth of the world."

   I believe I have another huge reason to be grateful. I appreciate and love my savior for showing me the good. I appreciate him for enticing me to be good. When I am good, I thank him for that.

I write on Fridays with a large group who inspire me. Only five minutes and without much thought to perfection. I write, prompted by one word that sends my thoughts to the keyboard and hopefully make sense.

Door

   A doorway can be an entry point or a barrier. What lies beyond scan be a mystery or a beloved refuge. Doors hold hostility or welcome. My master knocks and often I am absent. How can I show him that coming through my door is what I desire from him?

    There are times when my door is only a facade. The ruins are visible but I am long gone down other paths. I deceive myself into thinking he will be fooled by the exterior. Woe is me! I want more than that in our relationship. When he comes knocking I want to be in my Sunday best, the table set, and something warm on the stove.
    Revelations 3:20
       "Behold, I stand at the door and knock: if any woman hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to her, and will sup with her, and she with me."

 I write on Fridays with a large group who inspire me. Only five minutes and without much thought to perfection. I write, prompted by one word that sends my thoughts to the keyboard and hopefully make sense.