Beginning a new type of cleanse

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Today is my first day off in twelve days.  I had envisioned being horizontal on my couch for a large portion of the day but an important task that I have continually buried in my brain has burst to the frontal lobe and changed my plans for the day.

Everyone collects things as they go through life.  Eventually you begin to share your life and you welcome another person’s things into your collection.  But sometimes those unions fail, for whatever reason, and after the division of that union some things get left behind.  Today is the day I begin the process of no longer possessing those things.

My entrance way will no longer be a storage locker for junk.  My plastic shed will no longer hide the numerous boxes that have since become apartments for families of rodents.  It’s time to claim my space and make it mine again.

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The bug jacket is ready and the 14 yard waste bin is in my driveway waiting anxiously to be filled and, although the mosquitoes may carry me away before I’m finished, I’m really looking forward to this cleanse!!

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100 word song – Can’t keep

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It feels like I’ve spent my life on the beach,

one tiny grain of sand among millions,

a nameless, faceless granule of existence.

The force of the water beckons and I sit motionless,

idly waiting for the tide to take me,

wanting to feel that rush of adrenaline,

but I never take that step closer to the shoreline.

I can’t keep hiding in plain sight,

simply watching the sun set over the horizon of my opportunity.

I can’t keep waiting for that water to reach me.

The only obstacle holding me back from adventure,

my biggest stumbling block

is myself.

~~

Written for the 100-Word Song Challenge at My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog.  Click here to check out the challenge and join in the fun!

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Maybe I should have paid attention in my high school Physics class

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It never ceases to amaze me – the amount of hours one works in the real world is directly proportionate to the death of the creative mind in the artistic world.

I remember my Physics teacher in Grade 11 throwing around words like ‘inertia’ and ‘for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction’ but I don’t remember studying the direct correlation of physical exhaustion and prolific brain death.  Sure, the basic functions in my body still happen – I breathe in and out, I walk and talk, but the rest of me seems to be on autopilot – like that object in motion that tends to stay in motion.

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I want to be that object at rest.   I want to remain at rest (for at least 24 hours).  I want to have my brain back – the brain that wakes me up at night, swirling words around in circles until I can grab them all from those word clouds above my head.  I want the ability to form those words into whimsical, thoughtful or romantic lines and be able to feel that creative flow coursing through my veins.

I wonder what Newton’s theory would be on my chances of winning the lottery and being able to retire?  Time + creativity = true bliss.  Take that you crazy scientists!

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Energy never dies, it just changes…..

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“As long as there is one person on Earth who remembers you, it isn’t over.” ~ Oscar Hammerstein, Carousel

~

I speak aloud to them and their faces later hover in my dreams,

those gone before me.

Perhaps it was their time.

Maybe they were taken before I was ready for them to be gone.

They leave a void on my plane of reality,

a chasm of memories that I jump into during random moments.

I bathe in the forgotten sound of their laughter,

I warm to the memory of their embrace.

But energy never dies.

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They yearn for me to engage them.

They delight in the moments that I recall our past together.

I keep their memory alive with every thought of them,

each recollection of their journey with me.

If I take that moment to remember,

to seek what I saw in them in the physical world,

I give those reflections a new vitality.

When I look into the darkness,

I see beyond the black veil of loss.

I see the light they brought to my life.

The case that once held those beautiful spirits may be gone,

but the mark they left on my soul never leaves me.

They remain in my heart for as long as I allow them.

Each time I look into the stars,

I know they are looking back at me.

Energy never dies.

~

(image credit: totalreikimastery.com)

 

Comfortably caged

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She sits in her cage,

singing because she finds joy,

she finds happiness in her solitude.

There is peace in her time alone.

Alone will never mean lonely,

and song is her companion.

She sings the notes

as they fill her heart.

~~

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Written for the Gargleblaster Challenge:

And so we turn to this week’s ultimate question. There are a million reasons a caged bird might sing, both literally and figuratively. Maya Angelou gave us one in her beloved poem. That leaves at least 999,999 for everyone else to explore. Tell us:

Why does the caged bird sing?

Give us your answer in 42 words, but be creative. Don’t go where we expect you to. Don’t write down the first thing that comes to mind. Think, craft, edit, and craft some more. Give us your very best.

Smelling the lilacs while my head’s in the clouds

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I have my window wide open today smelling the lovely fragrant scent of the lilac blossoms in my yard combined with the pungent odor of my freshly cut lawn.  For me, those smells are the perfect storm of essences and I could sit peacefully and inhale those fragrances all day.

I poured a glass of wine and sat on my deck with my feet up.  The sky wanted to participate in the sensory overload and this is what I got to see in different parts of the sky today.

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Early morning walk with my puppy dog.

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Interesting patterns during my drive.

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A closer look at the different textures.

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A deeper blue sky in the afternoon.

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A lovely way to end the day.

I hope you enjoyed your Saturday as much as I did.

Sometimes letters come into my brain and form words

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I feel the overwhelming desire to write.

For the last few months my brain has been stymied by the oppressive weight of reality.  Sure, a few words have trickled from my brain to my keyboard but I don’t feel like I have been swept away by the truly seductive lure of language.

Now, tentatively, I take step after step back onto that linguistic dance floor.  I wait, alone in the center of the room, until the beat of the typewriter keys finds its rhythm and the words circle around me like a hypnotic song.  I sway back and forth, my eyes close and I lose myself in the art of expression.  Like blood through my veins, the letters course feeding my body and mind with words.

This is my home.  This passion for written expression is where I find my comfort, my refuge.  And though my words are my sanctuary and my escape, they also indulge me with a sense of freedom.

These words are the one place that I allow myself complete abandonment.  I follow no rules.  I adhere to no code or convention.  I simply write what comes to mind and allow myself to become immersed in the river of prose.  I become buoyant in the sea of imagery and I ride the wave of creativity.

Sometimes letters come into my brain and form words.  I am unsure of their origin but I do not question their presence.  I simply reap the rewards of their existence, give in to their demand to be freed and serve my purpose as their translator.