Crow Messenger

Last night, I dreamt of you.

As an unseen observer, I had no contact with you, so I could not persuade you to cease your foolish activity. I watched, horrified and holding my breath, as you were attempting to rein in an electrical power-line. You had stripped off the protective grounding plastic from an old brown extension cord, the antiquated kind with a tiny plug. You were slinging forth this extension cord, as a lasso to grapple the power-line above, from which you apparently intended to steal electricity. I could hear the wire arc as you would hit it with the cord, always just narrowly missing your target.

As I continued watching the disaster about to unfold, an enormous black crow flew down out of the sky and lit on a perch near your feet. The shining black crow seemed to grow larger, and as it was so doing, it transformed into a Native American man with bright eyes and black hair. The Native American man leaned close to your ear and whispered what seemed to be admonishments for your reckless behavior.

Suddenly, another transformation occurred, and the Native American man became a crow again. The crow flew toward me, and landed upon the wooden fence atop which I was also perched. It spoke to me in a language with which I was unfamiliar, but his words became pictures in my mind, and I understood what it was telling me.

I awakened, then, from the dream. I am disappointed not to be able to recall the information which the Native American/crow relayed to me, because I felt at the time that it was of the utmost importance....

Truth

Stillness surrounds a single ray of sunlight, shining upon the forest floor. Bathed in the warm ethereal glow, thus observes a tiny acorn: "Herein lies the truth."

Strength

"Judge a man's strength not by the volume of his voice, but rather in the depths of his silence."
~Suzette

Once upon a time...

"Excuse me, miss, but are you Arabic?"

Startled by the approach of a stranger in the cereal and granola aisle of my local mass-market retail store (can you guess which one?), I quickly turned to see the person who was addressing me. The middle-aged foreign man standing before me appeared gentle and friendly. He was dressed in a white cotton shirt, and pale beige pants which emphasized his dark skin. His hair was neatly trimmed, mostly black, but showing some gray along his temples.

Smiling, I replied, "No, I'm not Arabic." I wondered why he would have thought I could possibly be Arabic, as I don't believe I have the physical characteristics of a typical Arabic person. Blue eyes, curly auburn hair, and a complexion as white as a daisy petal is certainly not common amongst Arabic people. Perhaps not impossible, but definitely improbable.

Still, the man persisted in his odd questions. "You cannot be from here? You do not dress as they do here....you are not wearing trousers. No, you wear the long and flowing skirt of a princess! In my country, you would be a princess."

Feeling the heat of embarrassment rise to color my cheeks, I politely thanked him for his compliments and turned to select my box of granola from the shelf. "Please. Allow me," he grasped the coveted package from up above and placed it into my hands.

"Thank you," said I, and again I made my attempt at leaving. I could hear the foreign man's footsteps close behind me. "Miss, may I ask if you are married? Have you any children?", he continued after me.

"Yes, yes I am married," I spoke the half-truth, thinking to myself that my divorce is nearly final. "And yes, I do have a child."

"Ah, that is too bad. You see, I was hoping to invite you to a nice meal. Please, say to your husband that he must always treat you as a princess!" he smiled and bowed, revealing the gleam of his very white teeth.

His comments struck me as quite strange, and I laughed. What if my husband had treated me like a princess? Would that have changed anything? No, I do not need nor wish to be treated as a princess. All I need is to be loved and appreciated for who I am, not for someone or something I am not.

if on a winter's night...

On nights like this, I miss you the most.

The black sky is lit only by the crescent moon, a final sliver before becoming new again.

I long to be with you, our bodies entwined beneath a cloud of covers, eyes flash in a flurry of passion.

The window by the bed is frosted from our exhalations.

Wilted with exhaustion, we lie spent side-by-side.

Our fingers are still tangled together, the light of our love casts its glow around the room.

Your whispered words echo in my mind....

spiral

mind deranged, life rearranged

coupled with the complex cluster

only now, lacking luster

between the shadows and the light

dark as the sky on a moonless night

downward spin, search for you again

fast-forward to yesterday

life appears so simple, yet it's complicated.

some lives become so faded

and other lives grow dim, dark as the eyes of the dead.

how do we arrive at this place

looking like a soul without a face?

only one

hesperides guarding golden fruits

dragon sleeping at the roots

mystical magical majestic tree

leaves and limbs loom over me

faded fate

poisoned and pale

fragile and frail

forgotten fish

once young, now so old

swirling in a fractured bowl

water of life drains away

pools below in clouds of gray

snowblind

powdered pearls fall from the heavens

flakes of snow like feathers on the wind

fleeting beauty - so delicate and temporary

gone in the blink of an eye

like life itself

downfall

night is folding in, holding me in

dark embrace, soul with no face

blackness sinking, emptiness shrinking

nameless void, voices devoid

time waits for none, time i cannot shun

thoughts of hope, slipping down the slope

don't look back, won't go back

only down ever still, wander on, always will....

heartfelt

skeleton key swings from a thread in my hand.
rain is drenching through and the sun is missing again.

december day is bleak, winter wind wailing at the door.
hologram heart is full of holes, a stone washed upon the shore.

looking through the holes, what do you see?
nothing whole, a shell which once was me.

nothing left, a shadow broken there.
a light across the floor, dust floating through the air.

november night

you stoke the fire as my brush strokes the canvas
two souls burn with desire since that kiss on the campus
the last glow of the evening fades into the night
winter stars are shining and shimmering their light
as loneliness comes creepin' in.

mountains apart and the miles, they span between us
i keep you wrapped in my heart as gravity enfolds us
the november winds, now they are a-blowin'
and the river of time, it shows no sign of slowin'
then loneliness comes creepin' in.

lying here without you, this bed just feels so cold
absence makes the heart grow fonder, or so i've been told
counting down the days until we can be together
life goes by in the blink of an eye compared with forever
but for now, loneliness comes creepin' in.

Feathers and Stones

I have seen your feathers and stones in my dreams.

Sometimes they hang down from the stars,
and sometimes they appear to float as leaves on a stream.

The light plays upon the feathers and stones,
casting shadows onto the surface below.

As I walk between the shadows,
above me appears a web woven of golden thread.

With the tips of my fingers, I reach up to feel the delicate web.

Instead of the web, my fingertips touch your hands....

Bent. Betrayed. Broken.

Bent. Betrayed. Broken.

I lie abandoned in the wake of your flood,
entombed by the memories you have left me.

A scattering of ashes from the flame of love we once shared.

My fear was that I would awaken from this dream of being with you.

Now, I find myself alone inside the nightmare of my life,
hopes and dreams razed to a pile of rubble beneath my feet.

Bent. Betrayed. Broken.

Gone are the days of up the hill and down the hill and up the hill.

The second breakfasts of Saturdays are now long past.

No future memories to be made on those autumn days,
whispering on the porch swing together.

No lit candles of Michaelmas nor wanderings through the Christmas villages.

No meteorites zipping past as we lie and laugh in the cool mountain air.

Bent. Betrayed. Broken.

The Gift

Longer do the shadows grow,

As the sun is slowly sinking low.

The clouds are edged in gold,

Like a ribbon on a gift you can never hold....

One Fish, Two Fish, COPD Fish....

Last night, I ended up retiring to bed far later than I should have, but I kind of avoid going to bed when I have a lot on my mind. After filling my evening with various activities around the house (i.e. emptying the dishwasher, doing laundry, rearranging some stuff), I finally dragged myself to bed around 2AM. I nestled myself under a mountain of sheets, quilts, blankets (yeah...I get REALLY cold, and I think my body's thermostat is either malfunctioning or missing...) and turned out the lights.

Lulled gently to sleep by the ambient trill of crickets on my iPod, I was set adrift amidst a sea of dreams.

That is, until I was awakened.... No, it wasn't something outside, nor a restless spirit who wandered in from out in the cemetery beyond my yard. It was something much closer, and much more bizarre. A coughing fish. That's right, my fish has developed a cough! Can you believe that a fish can cough?! I turned on the night-light beside the dresser, and peered into the little fish bowl where my nameless Siamese Betta lives, and there he was: coughing his little head off. I spoke gently to him, trying to calm him down. Finally, he appeared to regain his composure as he proceeded to beg me for a freeze-dried worm. Crazy fish! Tonight, my nameless Betta shall find himself sleeping somewhere other than my dresser....

What, exactly, do you have in mend?

Push. Pull. Prod.

Stretch. Release. Retract.

Bend, crease, fold.

Finally, a fracture appears at the fold. Will it crack and break completely, sheared off in one clean line? Or jagged and irregular, like a laceration?

Maybe this can be fixed. Mended somehow. Can a badly abused heart even BE mended? What do you use, double-sided tape? Super Glue? Rubber cement? Bondo? Needle and thread? Denture adhesive?

Echoes

Unanswered questions surround me, echoes within a dark cavern of shadows.

Love

Love.

The most basic need a human being has.

Love is everywhere, surrounding us like the very air we breathe.

And yet, it seems, so very hard to find. Or at least pretty difficult to keep around in a somewhat permanent sense.

No, I'm not talking about the kind of eternal love you feel for your family, or your friends, or perhaps your favorite Aspen tree out in the yard.

I mean the romantic kind of love, that kind of love which makes you catch your breath as your heart skips a beat.

Love that causes you to forget to eat when you're hungry.

Love that prompts you to imagine a special someone when you hear a certain song on your iPod.

Love that makes you sigh as you rest your head on your buckwheat-hull pillow at night.

Love that causes you to gaze up at the moon and the stars, and to think of the wonder of it all.

What happens to us when we fall in love? An endorphin rush? Something more? A collision of molecules? A melding of minds? A fusion of souls?

And what happens to us when we lose that love? Do we lose a piece of ourselves? What if a big enough piece of us will not be left to keep going? What happens then? Do we fade away into nothingness? Do we wander around like an empty shell of a person, mumbling to ourselves? Or do we pretend like we're okay, that we don't really need love to feel like a human?

I have lost love before. More times than I would like to admit. Sometimes I console myself, thinking "it must not have been REAL love, since it didn't last...." But I'm not fooled. I can't forget.

This time when I lost love, I think I feel it even more deeply than the last time I lost love. This time is different. This time, love just disappeared. This was not simple love. This was complicated love. The kind where we had "Implied Dates" and "Plans for the Future". Plans like going to Asheville for a winter holiday. And going camping at Rocky Knob. One day he called and wanted to meet me for dinner. I had already agreed to meet a girlfriend of mine that evening for dinner, so I politely declined. "I love you," we said to one another. I haven't heard from him since then. I have called. I have texted. I have emailed. Not like a crazy woman, mind you, but just a couple of times over the last month. My mother suggested I check the obituaries in the newspaper. "What," I asked? "Are you nuts?!" The funny thing is, I actually did. Every day since that day, I have pulled out the obituary pages and I have looked, just to make sure.

Yes, this time is different. This time, I have no sense of closure. Nothing really culminated into "The End". So, here I am. Sipping my coffee. The newspaper lies open, waiting for me to read it. This time, I reach for the comics instead of the obituaries.