upturned faces
washed by the sun
wind tossed
the tender buds
reach up
strong, intent
each one tearfully beautiful
in its becoming
every moment
suffused in the journey
finally one day unfolding
into extravagant bloom
the petals swiftly spent
drifting to earth
###
Stand for Freedom
When the words don’t want to come, I soon discover that my other creative endeavors are stymied, too.
When I feel a block in my writing, I think to myself, “I need to stitch,” or, “I need to paint.” I gather my materials, feeling assured that the project will kickstart my writing again, only to find myself staring at my supplies. I find I’m stuck in that area, too.
The muse does not discriminate. If I am feeling resistance to writing, it’s creative resistance across the board. And this is a problem. Creativity is a need, not a want, in my world.
Fortunately, I have learned a few things from such moments. I don’t know how others do it, but they work for me.
Discipline. The thing about writing, for me, is you just do it. You just show up and start. It might be a rough start, but you generally get into gear at some point.
Running/walking outside. Probably the biggest single source of activated inspiration in my life. Meditation in motion, in nature, rain or shine. Goes hand in hand with discipline.
Nature. Just getting out in it always nurtures: breathing the air, feeling the sunshine or wind, noticing all the colors, scents, and sensations.
Permission #1. Importantly, I must give myself permission to be creative, affirming that it is a legitimate and desirable activity for which I am perfectly qualified. I wrote a little about this topic here as well.
Permission #2. Every now and then, I also realize I need to step away for a moment because something is percolating. In those times, it is best to let go and allow the space. Good time to go for a run, huh?
Pretty simple stuff, but it works for me. Maybe you have some tricks of your own?
###
Stand for Freedom
Breath comes slow and easy as light begins to filter through, gently breaking up the night. Breathing yet with the earth, calm pervades, questions long released to dreams, and now forgotten. The breath comes as sure of purpose as the reaching rays of light, the unclaspable growth of all the tender, green things, the insistent push of the river.
The breath comes so sure of purpose until the myriad of little startles begin and proliferate, the alerts and notifications, the chirping of the self-holding devices somehow always there. The breath catches, its pace changes, as the chirps and tinkling bells and snippets of music begin to fill the day. Ever ready to make life easier, the beeps and vibrations assume the helm, tracking and steering breathlessly.
Breathing into the palm of the hand, eyes fail to scan the treetops, the skidding clouds, the sun pushing brightly through the blossoming catalpa, the other eyes that would speak if they could, life relentlessly unfolding and whispering away on the stream.
Without fail, night comes and pulls toward sleep. The breath falters back toward that slow rhythm, synced once again, breathing with the earth, sure of purpose as the sun reaches above the horizon.
###
the trees call out to me
grasses sing their siren call
birds warble their invitation
butterflies whisper theirs
the river murmurs its low, insistent plea
the spanning sky holds out its arms to me
as all the growing things hail entreaty
i hear the many voices of the chorus
and cannot help but run to them
instinct pulls me toward the mothering font
i am hers and she is mine.
###
So grateful to Eugi’s Causerie for this beautiful prompt!
Truth seems an ever more elusive thing on the lips of the ones that rule and sway, so scant now that every word becomes just another exhausting mirage. But step into the garden, and sit with any simple bloom. Let its beauty unfold and speak to you. Without a syllable, nature brings the truth.
inside
you hold the wild
your dance so fierce with joy
that leaps and flies among the clouds
alive
###
I walk out to the middle of the field. Like a little kid, I plop down into the cool grass and sprawl out on my back. I just lie there, looking up at the sky.
It’s one of those super-blue days, and there’s these lines of happy clouds coming across, ensemble, like a choreographed dance troupe. I lazily watch the travel of the clouds, blown along by an insistent wind.
The longer I lie there, the more I feel and hear the wind. It whips wisps of my hair across my face. I can hear the crinkle of the occasional tumbling leaf, remnant of winter, blowing past.
I glance sideways through the grass and notice the dandelions. I feel kind of sneaky looking through the blades of grass, as if I’m somehow hidden.
But, no, there I am, grown adult, lolling in the grass, just watching the clouds, you know.
I close my eyes for awhile and roll my head back and forth, noticing the strange rainbow I see pass underneath my eyelids. Then I put my palms over my eyes, and I see the most psychedelic blue.
I open my eyes again, and just lie there, sinking down into the grass as my muscles slowly loosen.
I am in the clouds, dreamless.
How many years has it been since I let myself do this simple, amazing thing?
###
Almost becalmed, the boat tiptoed through the ripples. The sails hung listless in the silence. Water stretched away in every direction to the horizon, empty of other souls.
Alone on the boat, she became aware that she was not unaccompanied. She couldn’t help but recognize and respect the rules and the whims of wind and water, nature itself.
Finally, she felt, more than heard, the susurrus of the pennant on the backstay gently answering a flutter of breeze. It gave no hint of the wild storm that would visit in the dark of night.
No matter, she would be ready.
###
100 words
Thank you, Eugenia, at Eugi’s Causerie, for this week’s prompt, “flutter”!
as the birds warble me awake
into the yet dark birth of a new day
i slowly pull away from already forgotten dreams
and the mantle of anxieties begins to weave around me
i watch as the light comes
and the birds cease their song, they fly,
as if they, too, know this world’s troubles
but the birds, they know who they are
a decision drifts like haze in the air
then takes form, a rock, left unpainted, in my hand
this day, no,
i will not wear this cloak of human constructs
i loose the creeping fingers
i can remember who i am, i can,
i do remember the air and the blue of the sky
i know the arms of the ever-giving trees
this day, i fly with the birds
this day, i am home, child of earth and stars
###
I heard a faint rustling in the forest. Suddenly, five deer bounded right in front of me and loped off through the woods. I marveled at their beauty, grace, and sheer vibrant aliveness.
Left to their unpolluted wildness, animals naturally do a good job of taking care of themselves. And it shows. They eat in accordance with their bodies’ needs. They generally don’t get obese or drunk or drug addicted. Neither do they need an exercise plan to work their abs, or glutes, or obliques.
Humans don’t even know how to do that anymore. So much to learn from nature.
###
earth sky air 