The Gift Is Time

To be thankful (here in America we do - for whatever dubious cultural background, presently celebrate Thanksgiving. Or, many do. It's present in the streets, in the movements of our neighbours, in the ads that play watching a movie through YouTube).

isn't hard at all.

I am thankful for many things. And even though I skip the turkey and the mashed potatoes and even the gravy (I have no need. I had those treats in several settings, for which I'm truly thankful. These treats were associated with people - sweet, lovely human beings. I'm thankful for the memories we created. "A sample of different kinds of Thanksgivings," said my love. So it was).

I am thankful for the most precious gift of life -

time. 

        Time to be.

Turtle time. From journal.

Thankfulness

Thankfulness

is a funny thing.

Cannot be forced, like too cold icecream

you swallow too fast

                      to make someone else happy.

It can feel tricky to muster,

In the middle of the muck, the almost impossible, 

difficult to even lift your foot over,

 challenges.

Though sometimes,

it just flows,

                     breathes,

                                  (because you can breathe)

pulsates in waves, in the slow moving pulse 

of living that can never, ever be captured by any camera, or recorder, or even the craftiest of artists.

It's just felt. It can never be static.

It moves when life moves in the right rythm.

I'm thankful.

Yemaya by the offering tree, Louis Armstrong's park, New Orleans.

The Land

The land. The ground under our feet. The land, its people. Its people are the land. The land can carry many people. We come. We go.

Social fabric. So silly, so surface. 

It is on the surface,

                                  only.

 In the rocks, in the trees, runs the land's steady energy. Like a slow heartbeat.

It cares not about games. If it's not childrens' games. Or better yet, adult children still playing hide and seek.

Hide first, then seek.

The land,

                 the land,

                                 the land.

A morning walk

Curiosity Didn't Kill the Cat

"Curiosity didn't kill the cat. It gave him nine lives."

I found this sentence,

in my own journal,

drinking morning coffee.

This is one brilliance with journal writing. You can write messages for yourself to find. You may not even know what they mean when you write them. These messages are special. Specially designed you might say. Just for you. You talking to you. Absolutely brilliant, is it not? 

"Curiosity didn't kill the cat, it gave him nine lives."

Then comes the question - what does it mean? What did I mean?

I have no idea to tell you the truth. But I'm surely curious to find out. 

A good way to start the day for sure.

Photo- courtesy of Pexel

Weaving Story

I'm weaving a story now - of my life. It's nice. We need stories, to make sense of the world - and ourselves. Sounds egocentrically perhaps. It isn't. It's the most important story of all.

Walks - Roots

You have to be careful though, it so easily gets kidnapped. Cause others want to make sense, of your life - too.

Sometimes with the best of intentions, sometimes not.

Journal - Dreaming Elf

I just realized my watch stopped. It's a silly watch found by my love on a street in New Orleans. A silly, golden, pretty, wonderous thing. It's easy to get a little freaked out by watches stopping - if your a symbolism nerd that is. We all know what stopping watches and broken clocks usually mean - in storytelling through the ages; time stands still, something is lost, or the like.

Walks - Pretty things on the side of the road

But I don't think there's anything to worry about. Or, perhaps that's exactly what it is. In the best sense of the word. One life ends, another begins - with all its worries, struggles and wonderous, wonderous things to see, to be, to live within.

Travel Tales From Unknown Realities - Chapter 4

A boy, a family, a pony, a seemingly ordinary day, and then, a very mysterious encounter. This encounter gave a mark for life. Storytelling time continues. Michael tells tales. Chapter 4 of Travel Tales From Unknown Realities.

Sacral Chakra, Sex Chakra, Holy Creativity

 

Love of the Creative Chakra or,
Holy Creativity