SOUL WHISPERINGS…

It is so far below beneath the noise it is hard to hear.

A scent wafting into consciousness that wasn’t discerned because of the clatter. The nuances in the hues of daybreak or the colors at sunset. Are you too preoccupied with the clamor in your head to notice? Can you free yourself from the grips of your past, at least for a moment, and take a breath in the present?

Nature’s free gifts fill a hungry soul. But life’s challenges can interfere with absorbing her wonders; the rustle of a leaf falling, the bird chirping near-by, the locusts still humming in the distance, a tree frog who nestled next to my coffee cup on the deck…

Find ways to come out of the din to the light of the present. Do it over and over and again. The whispering’s of the soul will be heard…

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The Studio Beckons…

As the days shorten and the wind blows the studio beckons. After months away it feels good to be back with new ideas. This base is a ceramic flower pot found at a garage sale for three bucks. Samuel made a wooden top from treated lumber. Cory, my son in Boston, enlarged a simple design that I traced on top. It makes a very nice table for a cup of coffee on the little deck… 

The Cruelest Abuse

Families are more interested in their reputation than the child sexually attacked. Be quiet and love your attacker.

To expect a child to swallow all that terrifying trauma and go on instead of intervening and assisting the child to process it causes life-long injury. At 64, my highly reactive startle reflex has not improved along with many other things. Some challenges increase as years pass. One does not ‘get over it,’ heal, or move on because no one came to help. All that trauma went inside causing more damage. The bleeding never stops.

Sexual attacks to a child are as horrific as being hit by a locomotive. In that case all come to help. She is allowed to talk about it as long as she needs to with incoming sympathy, compassion and condolences. Processing trauma helps heal the brain and all other systems. Without that processing the brain is injured and she is affected on all levels, spiritually, emotionally, and physically.

But a child is hushed up because of the fear of how their reputations will be affected. The pretense of caring is put forth but no real care is given. People hurdle together to protect themselves.

Will one person stand up, bear witness, possess character and say this is wrong, and put a protective arm around her shoulder? The attacker needs to repent and beg forgiveness with true sorrow. That is what the family needs to focus on, not hushing her up.

Going along with the pretense of family in order to have one kept me from myself where home has been found, and truth resides with authenticity. 

 

shattered yet whole

photo by Patricia

The days remain warm heating my shoulders as walking rounds in the meadow accumulate, feet crunching on hickory nuts in the path along the hedgerow. Soon the squirrels will have them all buried. The studio beckons as sun rays splash a golden yellow swath on the work table inviting me to return to the newest project sitting unfinished for months.

The deep peace felt is not that the world outside is calm and reposed, it is forthcoming because it comes from within. When one lives a life in line with their values, beliefs and morals, peace comes even if whirlwinds blow outside. The search for it since childhood has escaped me. And that is because the parts flew unconnected. How could they not?

Telling my story was the beginning of wholeness. Then telling those one thought would care but do not, caused a rift filled grief that catapulted me into acceptance once the painful tornado worked through. Then peace came. The work is done,  come what may.   

CONNECT

photos by Patricia

Dig deep below the chatter, deeper, settle into your being to whatever is there. Because what is there sustains with strength unyielding…through despair, depression, anxiety, and life’s ever changing moments.

There is where you find the steady light within the storm. There is where you find her. Love her, cherish her, and hold her till she warms you whole.

In the Moment

I feel such peace and stillness. There has not been a time when I’ve felt such calm nor connectedness within my being. I cherish this reprieve, this period of quiet happiness.

The unusual heat was swept away with the wind as leaves swirled. The walk near the creek crunches heavily as the thick carpet of newly fallen leaves crackles under the weight of my feet. Capris are replaced by sweat pants as the temperature dips from 90 to 60 and the change brings relief even though the clouds hide the sun.

The air is full of sweet earthy composting as the fruits of summer decay, the scent going straight to my core. Snapping back to Now, my eyes feast on the rusts, golds, and yellows as the lush greens wither and die. Soon the trees will be bare but there are other delights to be enjoyed as each season brings its unique smorgasbord of treats if one is aware enough to take it in.

Often during the day my tendency to be ahead of where I am causes me to internally speak, slow down. Be with what you are doing in this moment. Because I’m always rushing ahead of where I am to the destination, but then there is another. Now is the destination. What you are doing at this moment is where you need to be.

SERENITY

photos by Patricia

Sleep comes night after night and the days feel so much more satisfying and happy. This tranquil period is cherished. Walking early before the unusual 90 degree heat descends, the stillness feels like a dream world. The only sounds are locusts and crickets, the chorus heightening as each day becomes hotter.

The fullness of being with such peace is cherished. The only intrusions are my negative thoughts but that is looked on as a lesson in self-discipline. Some are dissuaded but others just run through and out.

Each morning a thick pink fog burns off as the cool night warms with the morning sun. After the red ball rises and warmth trickles in, all windows are shut tight to the hot day. At suppertime they are opened and box fans suck in the chilly night air. By morning the thick quilt has been pulled up to our noses.

The once yellowy meadow dried and purple erupted in clumps. By the creek vast stillness sinks in deep as a long breath escapes while leaning back in the chair. Two enormous carp vie for the sweet grass where the water has overflowed due the beaver’s business at readying for winter by reinforcing the dam.

This sweet reprise can’t last, but while here is wholly appreciated.