A sordid life?

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A caterpillar trudges its weary way surrounded by dirt, trash, sordid hypodermic needles, and discarded condoms (relics of discarded loves). It searches for some forest glade where man’s debris is less abundant. Even there it is surrounded by decay, last years leaves, fungi and ever, where ever it roams, it must watch for predators swooping from nowhere to devour. The caterpillar is reconciled to such a life, encompassed by dirt, it becomes dirty.
Things worsen, encased in darkness it becomes paralyzed, trapped. All this struggle, the constant forage for food, the narrow escapes, the dreary day to day trudge, all to end this way?
Then “one day”, one blessed day, everything changes. The caterpillar is reborn. It breaks forth of its confines, a new creature, no more of earth but of the sky. Dirt and ugliness are transformed to beauty as it rises on new formed wings. It no longer deals in dirt but in clouds. It soars, high above the debris, still seeing yet distanced, to a place it can spot those birds coming. No longer encased in decay it embraces the sky.
We need not wait on death for this transformation.; today can be our “one day”.

God is far more concerned with who you’re becoming than where you’re going.

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Even if not a believer it is a profound truth of life that what we are becoming is far more important than where we are going or what we are achieving.
I’ve found some of the toughest times in life have softened and molded my character transforming the arrogance and pride of my youth to more patience and compassion.
On stating that a very opinionated and argumentative family member reminded me of myself at that age. My youngest daughter, bless her heart, said, “but mum I can’t imagine you ever being like that.” I laughed, and said you’d never believe how much “tenderizing” it took to get me this far!
The secret of contentment in old age is being at peace with yourself, liking who you have become (even if we are none of us perfect.) No great achievement can satisfy if we cannot look to our heart with the peace of surrender.

Wisdom of the waters.

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th

Learn the songs and wisdom of the waters. Did you know waters “sing”? Picture the pounding of ocean waves, a rippling stream, the soft flow of the river, even the rhythmic drip of a leaky tap.
Water sings in its yieldedness, rejoices in its path, not fearful, for it cannot be destroyed only transformed. Sometimes solid and still, binding time in its grasp. Sometimes transformed to mist it vanishes, to journey on the breath of the wind. Becoming as nothing it takes wings.

Flowing on its journey it takes all contours and dimensions, the round, rocky pool, the turbulent river, the gushing falls. It does not change its essence, rather the obstacles through which it passes change, are transformed by its presence.

Enjoy water as it cleanses and invigorates. See yourself like a rippling brook, not big enough to drown in, but pleasant to the eye and ear, refreshing to the skin. Flow on the paths set before you seeking the lowliest ground, for there you’ll progress the fastest. Things around may be stagnant, unmovable (save for our presence) but our spirits, like water, can flow freely into any mould or shape.

Life’s tragic tale.

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grapes

How very applicable to life!

We all start with the same kind of potential. Do we let the harsh sun of reality dry up our souls till we become like raisins, old and withered, or, do we allow ourselves, (though downtrodden by dominant feet) to take in life sustaining moisture, endure a long fermentation process, in which our very nature slowly changes (often in the dark) to become a heart warming, joy giving, substance welcome at any gathering?

The choice is ours!

Dream Master 2

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(from September 2014

Song Bird Songs

falling leaves

They wait in the serenity of the forest, breathing in stillness, spirits calm, eyes taking in shafts of light filtering through the canopy above. Birds pepper the silence with songs of freedom and the fresh smell of earth invades their nostrils. They don’t know why they are here or what called them, only this is where they are meant to be. Called from many places, transported on the breath of dreams to this spot, they linger, glancing at each other. A tiny leaf swirls, drifting from its place among the foliage. Separated from its peers the wind bears it as it wanders slowly downward. A bud that swelled in pride and opened its mouth to the sun has shriveled and let go its hold. It sighs upon the wind seeing no purpose in its demesne, not seeing the eyes tracing its course upon the air. The wind unseen, the leaf…

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Life Water.

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from July 2014

Song Bird Songs

TqiIZnU

Listen to the song of the waters. Did you know waters sing? Think of the song of the ocean, rippling streams, the soft flow of the river, even the rhythmic drip of a leaky tap. Water sings in its yieldedness, rejoices in its path. It knows no fear, cannot be destroyed, only transformed. Ancient of ancients, here since the beginning, sometimes frozen and still, biding its time; sometimes evaporated journeying through the air. This transformation is difficult but the journey shows far vistas that would have remained unseen had it not risen.
Like life water takes all shapes and sizes. It is the situations through which it passes that change, that over time are transformed by its presence. Things around are stagnant, unmovable (save by its passage) but it flows freely into any mold or shape, seeking the lowliest ground for there it shall progress the faster.

 

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THE SPARK. (re blog from May 26th 2014 flash fiction theme of “flash”)

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light

Flash!! Darkness entered my life in a sudden, blazing, blur of light. The curtain fell, an excruciating blanket of night, one of those unforeseen, irreversible accidents, and with it descended a cage of fear. At first the pain was too intense to permit ought but its rending presence, but slowly, stealthily it came, hedging me in, with its cloak of nothingness.
There was no solace. A man, led like a child, provider no longer, a dependent. My pride withered, my self image decayed. Slowly fingers became my eyes, a stick my mapmaker, my ears bodyguards. Days dragged to months and months to years…

My release came from an unexpected source – my nephew. In former days I had played the fiddle – he remembered.
“Play uncle, play!” he said. I was too morose. But youth will not be gainsaid. Eager ten year old fingers firmly placed the bow in my hands and at last I played. I felt the strings vibrate beneath my fingers as if in sympathy, the bow slid across the cords drawing a rasping song from the friction as if it understood. Tears fell in gentle streams as my fingers remembered past skill, but something was added. The music now sang my own heart cry, the strings echoed my sorrow, wringing forth a sweetness.

I heard a stifled sob from across the room. My brother was crying. I’d played many times before but never touched the heart of another. It was the first of many. From that day I have played, my fingers truly becoming my eyes with a sensitivity I never had before, born of that flash. A spark reduced my world to ashes, but like a phoenix I flew free, reborn.

my ivory tower

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ivory tower

(Flash fiction fun re-blog from May 25th 2014 on the theme of “fairy tales”)

Well it didn’t look much like an ivory tower, with faded red brickwork and pealing white window sills it didn’t seem the type a prince might climb, but to be honest I didn’t look much a princess either, dumpy, with bushy dirty blond hair and a generally unkept appearence. I was studying law trying to make ends meet with an evening job at the local Indian restaurant.

I met him at the library. I was using the computers as my internet was off. I must admit he didn’t look much like a “prince charming” either, tall, skinny and  experiencing an outbreak of juvenile spots which I’d had my own episodes with, but he had nice brown eyes. He glanced up as I sat down and gave a half grin.

“Your internet down too?” It was more a statement than a question.

“How did you guess?” I gave the prescribed sigh.

“Easy, you’re a student I can tell. What are you studying?”

“Law, and you?”

“I.T. would you believe!” We both laughed and the ice was broken.

He never was a prince; save perhaps in the inner recesses of his heart, but the coffee we enjoyed together after never tasted so good. He offered to look at my connection and got it working, after that we were friends even when his was hooked up again.

He began to invade my tower (though he always used the steps even when the lift was broken.) Slowly I began to change; I died my hair honey blond and invested in a straightener. I encouraged him to eat better and in doing so began to lose weight myself. As he filled out I slimmed down and we became a more presentable pair, even the spots cleared up after a while. My ivory tower had become a cosy brick home. My prince moved in bringing modernisation.

But the greatest surprise of all was when he came to eat at the restaurant where I work. He fitted right in; he was the nephew of the owner you see!

First Snow.

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light snow

I look out my window and the world has been transformed so silently I did not notice, tiny snowflakes, each so unsubstantial, fall gently from heaven repainting the landscape in purest white. Soon footsteps will mar the perfection, cars will leave their ugly tracks, but now in this moment all has been transmuted to beauty. Even so life’s changes can sometimes sneak silently upon us, not in blizzard or cloud burst, but in tiny gentle drops burying past ugliness.

(Sadly the photos i took when I wrote this didn’t come out but this downloaded one is appropriate).