Broad Enough To Bear It

Borne of teeth and bone and things hard enough to carry it and not subdue its seriousness in unnecessary folds of flesh. 

This task I undertake.

Ignoring its consistent knock at my door, it enters the crack the moment my eyes close and I give pause for peaceful slumber. It is there. Every night it is there. 

I know I must learn to know the changes will change me. I have aged enough to view the curriculum, but am hesitant to learn the lesson. 

I hold you within my heart. Always I will. The sadness will not lapse. The torn river will never dry, but only ebb steadily along below the surface. My small vial of tears I keep behind my Breastbone will crack forth painfully and sprinkle my cheeks.I will miss you. I will mourn you. You will always be the Flagship that bears the Parade of All things that bring me utter bleak dark sadness and longing and loss.  All these things I know. And I know... It will not end. 

So if I must carry this,.. and carry this I must,..

I must not fear letting go to move forward. There will be more. There is always more. As long as I don't get mired in my fear and stagnate. I cannot see what I do not open my eyes to.

My Back must be Broad Enough to Bear this.  

My Back is Broad Enough to Bear This. 

Disneyland of Hope and Fear

 This is what they are all here for.  The Masses.  The Bald Brigade.
      All wearing the same unplanned uniform; a sea of fuzzy furry hats and comfortable shoes,
Eyes shiny with a mixture of pleading Hope and Fear. Smiles, nervous and sticky, meant to placate and entice the white coats behind the desks and the doors.

 This IS the Brave New World of the High school mandatory reading list.
A Circular building designed to convey Hope, Strength, and Competent Efficiency.

"The Answers are Here." the Marble Hallways seem to Echo...

 Colorful tanks of Exotic fish line the walls of the 8 Floors,
     A professional piano player Floods the Main lobby with Tchaikovsky's movement...
paralogically lowering the stress in the air and the skin of the Masses.

Lucky to be Here.  And They know it.   - Heads nod and bob to one another. A secret morse code of acknowledgement and understanding. Coughs are masked in Respect,. Sanitizer is offered on Every wall.  Spacious rooms offer an aversion to overcrowding,. insuring you feel individualized and not just "one of the masses."  Games, puzzles, magazines, books, musicians, an Art gallery, a jewelry market,..
....Doldrums are vanquished in this place of shiny, smelly- good, colorful, hope.
                                                                 

 .....It ticks and it hums and it runs smoothly like a Swiss watch. 

             No questions are met disparagingly..                                                                                  Paperwork is handed off from one to the other as neatly and precisely stacked as Russian Nesting Dolls.

Children? Oh my no,.. Children are harbingers of death and bear disease on the plains of their neophyte  washed hands. . . They- must stay in carefully sanctioned areas.

Lighting is diffused, natural light pours through an abundance of windows giving a sense of Peace. A garden terrace is offered in which to escape. A feeding-meeting-greeting place aptly named the Waterfall Cafe' offers Only well prepared Holistic inspired Organic dishes....

Fall.  ....Into the 8 Floor rounded Marble Hands, Close your eyes Peacefully,.. Gratefully,.. as you gaze upon the Art, the Fish, the Enormous cylindrical tubes of Water- air bubbling steadily,. circulating upwards. 

Know that your Name will be Called.

             Know that you have a Name.     Here,.. Every Question is Answered.  Every Fear is Addressed...

This is what they are all here for.   The Masses.  The People of the Hidden Enemy.  The Victims of the Life taking "c'' word.     - They are here,..for the Hope.- 

They are here at this Disneyland of Fear.

The Shadow In The Room

Moving Forward. Fear tangles my feet. Too many worries on a cool autumn birth. Your pride unhinges you. My words massacre your wings built feather by feather. The shadow has entered the room. You opened the door for it,. and sensing my fear, you cast no light upon its true meaning thinking mistakenly that leaving it to loom amidst your welcome would save my soul. I needed the light upon its face for its brutal terrifying armor of secrets to fall away. No light was I given.  Slowly the winds spun the dust winding between the three of us in the room until there was nothing clearly seen. Confusion heightened my terror and words poured from my mouth unbidden in a plea to protect my visceral insides, instead they shattered on the floor into a million shards of poison glass embedding into the heels of our soles and our souls. You ran bleeding for the door. Intent upon my certainty I pled for the removal of the shadows,.in the wake of the moon's wax,. I realize you never had any intention of admonishing the shadow from the room, instead wishing me to eat my fear with hands bound in blind faith, to accept the sting without explanation, while my eyes and ears lay in the darkness clutching at passing clips of light through the windows edge.

The NightMares Run

She rode bareback atop the sweaty fur of the NightMares again last night. 
The hooves quickened pace sounding and resounding in her eardrums. 
Their ears lay flat against their dark heads, froth pouring from their lips and bared teeth. Their nostrils flared...crazed eyes; white orbs in a black sky.
The Nightmares ran wild; and she carried with them.


Tendrils of wet mane curling around her eyes so only bits and pieces of the landscape did she see...
Her small damp frame clung tightly to the curve of the spines, the rise and fall of the neck.
The Darkness. 
and She was here no More.


She rode naked again on the Nightmares last night. Slick sweat covered fur between her thighs.. Froth and wind blowing past her cheeks as the pounding gathered beneath her. 
and She was here. No more.

The Changing of the Hour

                                                                           The Changing of the Hour

          A chance to have answers. The ability to know the future without staining your hands on tepid tea and damp, dank leaves.

 This is my desire. No one knows for sure what tomorrow will bring or if tomorrow will indeed even arrive. We make plans. We buy a                             

 leather jacket for the big fall party, we pick out dresses for our bridesmaids, we plant tomatoes for the summer harvest, we imagine our     

 mothers teaching our child nursery rhymes on her knee as we stroke our unborn within our bellies. But,.. no one really knows if the party 

 will happen, if the wedding will go on, if worms will steal our food from our mouths, if the baby will enter the world already fast asleep. 

 No one knows. This is why I shall have God over for dinner. 

             I will host a dinner party for God within the confines of my garden. It seems quite appropriate, as this is where I speak to Him the 

 most. I also know God to be understanding and non-judgemental, so I do not think He will care if his shoes see a bit of dirt or if the cat 

 rubs against his linen pant leg. I will set a simple table thrown with white gauze and fresh cut hydrangeas. The breeze will be slight so it 

 blows the enticing scent of fresh baked baguettes across the lawn. There will be sweet tea,.. because God is Southern. It will be served in 

 mason jar mugs,.. because it tastes the best that way. A fresh cut watermelon, arugula and citrus salad will rest atop my antique blue and

 white plates. All but the citrus will have been grown in that garden by God and I.

            We will exchange pleasantries and He will tell me how my Aunt Jean has taken over the Sunday school classes and is the best cook

 to enter Heaven this Millennia. He will say she made chocolate pecan pie for His birthday and it tasted so good it was a sin. The leaves will 

 swirl around the fence of the garden and the chickens will fall silent as it registers in their small bird-brained souls that they are in the 

 presence of their maker. I will tell Him about how grateful I am to be granted this chance at life and how much I see Him in the everyday

 happenings. I will say, "I saw a dragonfly larva pulsing through the koi pond today", and He will say, "Yes, that was I." The time will

 pass quickly and the sun will burn amber behind the illuminated trees as the evening waxes in.

           God will rise to leave, thanking me for my hospitality and He will pause,..turning in His exit.  "Carole, you wish to ask me things. 

 Things you fear the answers to more than the questions themselves. I know that the past few years have been very hard for you, and I am 

 proud of the way you have learned and grown. To quote a friend of mine,."your heart grew nine sizes that day",.. you are very much my 

 child so as your Father it is my duty to protect you and guide you as you grow." "I know you have been angry with me. I know that you do 

 not understand why things have been the way they have and will be the way they will be, but know that I am all around you. To know joy; 

 you must know sadness. A tree that grows under the weight of pebbles and the plight of insects will be scarred, but will grow stronger than

 it's brother who was raised in a field and was provided it's water rather than having its roots grow deep."  Anger and resentment will rise

 within me like a deep crimson blood. Tears will pour from my face unbidden. Like a child scolded I will not understand. My unanswered 

 questions will clog my throat like a swollen wine cork. A woman to the world; yet a child in the shadow of my Guide. The night will seem dark and the stars will mock my cries with their twinkling glow. One day. One day I will understand. 

Forward to Back in Time

Sleep lays entangled at my feet.
 What ifs form soldier lines along the back of my mind.
 Questions rise red replacing my blood. 
Breath comes a steady wave across the room; Lulling and enticing sleeps reassuring embrace.

Wrested in the Arm of Unrest

It falls heavy like rain on the seeds of peaceful slumber. A passion planted; quenched not of thirst but quenched of its first budding evening leaves. 

Be quiet Soul. Ask not whispered questions. Heart do not pound. 

Love has no window,.for there is no lock or knob or glass that exists within the skies which wings imploring of love do fly. 

Insane; the effect it has.

Inexplicable; the way it causes my body to throb and pulse both in joy and in trepidation.

I knew not worship before I knew not love.

Cruel masters make dogs of froth and teeth or of cower and trembling fur. 

No master have I, because it is willingly I place myself upon this post.

Take not for granted the ease of my supplication. Do not see my silken armor as a weakness; easily pierced.

My eyes are open and see within the All. 

Like a fox, I am easily tamed by a beloved devoted master

Like a fox,.I watch the movements of your hands and the intentions of your gaze

Like a fox,..At the slightest wavering flag of ill intent I will parlay my heels and be eyes once again that watch in silence from the shadows.