Trying to capture the blue bird with a camera in the spindly tree with one flowered bud proved to be futile.
It has made me think once or thrice in the last hours since, that my love life was sorta similar.
Me equals the bluebird.
Sorta trapped in voice, caught up in a web that covered my hearts eye.
Searching for something so outside myself, I denied myself.
It comes with quite a jolt realizing I carried this torture for so long.
Pretending to be strong. I wasn’t. Did I give everything I have?
Not quite, says a piece of my soul. It has been given back again.
In Gods hands.
Moments of dot connecting.
Life giving life.
Sometimes backwards in my journey of self-defence.
Odds have been fought against when are backs have been to the fence.
I looked for that flame most every day.
Hands weak, heart strong.
I have wondered often where this is coming from.
Honeysuckle wind swept thoughts crashing at times as the sea I do admire.
Perhaps it reminds of you and I.
Standing alone against demons of our own.
Those should be sent away with the tide, white waters cleansing our souls.
October of last year I went on a bit of a rampage and having a catch phrase that went like this:
Fuck it, I’m Fifty.
Seems after having some years of shit residue, that was probably not the door I should have chosen to walk through.
A culmination of many I shouldn’t have made that particular choice in.
Regrets are few, more.
Whats done is done.
I had to learn to shut some doors and perhaps there are some memories better left suited in an armoire inside.
Turning the other cheek has always been my style so others wouldn’t see my trembling smile.
I wished to change that and came on much to strong. When my soul knew what to do all along.
Just forgot to listen.
Although luckily, blessedly, as it has just been revealed to me, another door opened. This one putting some things in perspective.
My 3 year old gbaby girl and I were hangin out and speaking of Lola. Her daddy, my sons companion for close to 10 years. A red pit bull with the most soulful eyes.
My little angel looked across the backyard and spoke of a lovely white gazebo. You could still see the white shining against the dark interior at this time of dusk. She told me, “Lola is in heaven, in the dark locked tower.”
This was some days ago when she regaled me wirh more words of a bad guy over to the left which we fended off together.
But just this very day it dawned on me that of course it would seem to a child that heaven is indeed, a dark place. After all, once you go through heavens gate, we usually think we will never get to see our beloveds again.
This is not true.
The lights shine more brilliantly, just hovering around us.
You’ll catch glimpes of this precious and beautiful thing if you faithfully trust in God.
I know that much for fact.
I am here to still hear that door opening.
And perhaps it’s the moment for a new mantra, like thank