Blinding Grace

Line by line

 

Time,

passes, encompassing the soul

in exuberant joy.

Changing  life in fits and starts.

 

Turning, sweeping, leveling

like Autum wind,

Melding  new and old

into One.

 

Creating a blinding image,

more beautiful and rare

than eyes like mine deserve.

 

God,

in His infinite glory and faithfulness,

Pours out Grace upon Grace

Leaving me face down

in Wonder and Praise.

 

Proof of Life: Buji-nin

 

A young man, tall and strong-jawed born of a line of military genius, sarcastic and exuberantly witty, played in the Age of Aquarius. He haltingly tested his professors with his grasping mind and profane insubordination. As was meet and right in the eyes of all he questioned and disrespected he found himself in the uniform of a soldier.

He no longer played at board games with tiny men as his intellect now turned to the horrors of an unjust war. Profanity became his definition of life, death and insubordination a daily examination in existence. Humility swallowed up all traces of surface haughtiness with the degrading, unceasing cries and pain of children, mothers and comrades.

The strong-jawed man returned home diseased, wounded, angry, confused and carrying his own scars. In his consuming genius he grew to love, respect and master his enemy’s languages, customs, religions and gods. Buji-nin is a tag name he has gave himself, (-DT Suzuki would sometimes sign himself meaning “no special person”).

He is, after all a child of Aquarius-questioning, rebellious, prone to wander as were we all. No generation is like another. He is one shining star, proven hero and prophet of ours.

Still as fiercely humble, haughty and questioning, the strong-jawed, witty Buji-nin enriches my soul with his tales of a life lived fully, on the edge, out of the box sharing constant challenges of genius and profane sensibility. I wish you could know him.

A wounded warrior of the ages I am proud and honored to call friend-Buji-nin.

NOT FINE

Heart screams come in waves

Changing voices UN-explaining

Waiting in loud desperation

Musings on Artistic Fantasy

“Sunday morning coming down…”. We remember or have heard the line from that country song. I seem to hear it in the deep soulful voice of Johnnie Cash. I had my share of those dark empty awakenings. Enough to be thrilled and blessed with joy this Sunday to awaken to a world of freedom from self. In this world I have boundaries to express my greatest fantasies in writing and art.

Now to be sure, art is in the eye of the beholder and is intrinsically relative, but mine is definitely primitive, unpredictable. Art to me is fun and fantasy. A fellow blogger asked me recently what my favorite art “subject” is. Wow! I could not answer her. I suppose the closest I can come is “Fantasy”. Here I reluctantly and with fear and trembling, post a few of my pieces. “Sunday morning coming out…”. Feedback from any and all will be graciously accepted!    

 Cheers and Happy Sunday!  

Myra

 

 

Valentine Wish…

Oh, my love-my one without many romantic boxes-let the wood nymphs, the fairies, the good white witches and all cupids gather around you!

Let them cast all their magic dust, pollen, leaves and spells upon you. Let Cupid prick you softly yet firmly with his arrows so that your “amas” blasts forth!

Let The Spell be cast. Let The Knowing be complete. Let my hopes be fulfilled.

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Oh Grantor of Wishes for romantic feminine hearts, gather all Casters of good spells

together on this day for Lovers!

Let my lover and I go happily into the  magical forest, neither dressed nor undressed,

neither hungry nor fed, neither afraid nor unafraid.

Let us go…only together completely and utterly in Love.

Girl Stuff

I have one of those silly Pinterest pages-you know, the one with boards. One of my boards is titled “Joy Is”.  Most of it is filled with pictures of rooms I like, accessories, cute little grand- baby clothes and photos of places I would love to travel to.

This morning the first thing I found myself doing was digging in my piano bench until I found a book of Mendelssohn. I turned to a piece I haven’t played in years and gave it a go. Well, not so great. What happened as I was playing was I saw these images from my Joy board in my head and knew what my post would be today.

Music makes me who I am. It is a part of my soul. Every piece I have ever played since my first lesson in the 3rd grade. Moreover, each photo below is a part of me as well. The girl part of me loves shoes, daydreaming, writing the next great southern novel, lovely dresses, believing I could compose a sonata and returning to my days as a teenager-full of hope, my first boyfriend, identifying with songs on the radio and romantic woods in which to set up housekeeping.

After five decades of living I am still the same me. Young girls become brides, mothers, grand mothers and wives. In between we have careers/vocations/callings and grow ideals, set standards, gain wisdom, try and fail, sometimes we succeed, see the fruits and blessings of the years as well as the regrets.

Strong women keep on. We keep on being who we are. I do. I know no other way to live, to grow, to share, to be true to myself and those I love.

I have not lost that loving feeling. I still close my eyes when I kiss. I hope there is still tenderness in my touch, in all I do, say, think and dream about, write, in the music I play, in who I am.

Girl stuff grown to full bloom-Womanhood. It is so much wonder and fun.

Coming on Christmas

I love Carley Simon’s song “River”. In that wistful ballad she soulfully croons in her pure, true soprano that “it’s coming on Christmas, they’re cutting down trees, putting up reindeer, singing songs of joy and peace.” She goes on, “wishing” she “had a river to skate away on.”  

As I gaze at this magical photograph of my tiny granddaughter enveloped in the shimmer of her Christmas tree, my thoughts turn to years and Christmases gone by-those of my childhood and those of my own children at her age. All over the world and in our own homes it is coming on Christmas. We are cutting down trees., putting up reindeer and singing songs of joy and peace. Traditions we hold dear, love and cherish from generation to generation. 

However; instead of wishing for a river to skate away on, I wish to have a star as my plumb line to keep me focused on the truth of Coming on Christmas. The One who continues to bring joy and peace.

Loved Forever III

Heaven has broken into my heart again. Just when I thought this soul of mine was filled to the brim with all the love it was possible to hold, expend, give, encompass or expect-still more is coming! 

A mother’s heart is a wondrous, bottomless well. I ponder the infinite expandableness of it. It’s ability to love is like the womb, growing to hold all it is given in blessing. 

Come, new One. I am waiting. We are expecting-our arms, hearts, homes, hands, eyes, all-to welcome, see, hold, know and joyfully greet you. You are now and always,

Loved Forever

A Coming Change…

Today is still dark outside my window.

A promise of sweeping chill.

My mind and senses groan for the coming of it like the bee to the flower.

Come, Fall in all your glory!

Come with your cleansing wind!

Brush away the stickiness in my head.

The old stuffy clamminess, heat, and stuff of piled up

summer  dog-days weighing me down.

Brush through my hair, my brain and soul.

Let me sprout a pair of wings perhaps, that I could dance on your breeze!

Or set me free upon the air in a huge rising balloon so as to see the entire earth.

Let me sense, touch, taste, breathe, live into the crisp sharp newness of Fall.