I am singing Suite Judy Blue Eyes.
My mother comes to me in dreams wearing purple, wearing blue, smiling, arms open.
I miss him and there is nothing I can do to change that.
Except drive to the swamps and scan the fields, the still frozen waterways for the ghost trails of snowy owls.
There is the dualistic sensation of everything falling apart, of dire circumstances looming, and the breaking dawn of positive at-long-last change. Of things, of life finally congealing to rise.
There is an urge to maximize my resources: money, physical energy, time. I think of each of them carefully. How to use what I have to my fullest benefit, to sculpt a fulfilling life. A life I finally agree to live.
I am working quietly behind the scenes in support of the rise, my rise. I am stepping over the wide chasm in the sand carved by my mother's death. Money, energy and time are focused on the old and new urges of my soul: a business, flowers, nature, horses, people I love.
Words have failed me regularly for the past year and a half. I hope a new well will be dug. I miss the soothing flow. While waiting, in support of my rise, my urges, I am writing pictorial poems. You can now find me here~
Life is moving on.
My soul seeks its bloom.
Please join me.
