Are We There Yet?


Best. Planet. Ever. Happy Earth Day!

Random Meanderings

Space. The final frontier. Image

At the end of the journey to all of the previous frontiers, man encountered strangers. When the Neanderthal left the cave, he met Cro-Magnon. When the Greeks left the Mediterranean, they met Europeans.  When Europeans searched for spice, they discovered the Asians. When Columbus sailed for India, he met… well, Indians.

And now our explorations take us beyond the solar system to search for other stars and life on other planets.

My first question is, What then?

What’s our plan if we locate a little speck of dust circulating around a little twinkle of light in the dark sky?  What if we determine that on a unique ball of clay, the temperature is not scorching and the atmosphere isn’t poisonous gas? What do we do then?

While you ponder that…

Next question.

What if, after all of our searching and exploration, throughout all of the eons…

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The Evening Star


evening star over cemetary

An infant’s cry cracks the dawn of a day in all eternity

And who’s to say what will unfold and what shall be his destiny

By mid-morning all the lessons learned, freedom is at hand

And play ensues till afternoon when he becomes a man

Then work and duty call on him to strive for his success

But by the eve, he realizes more want for happiness

The fire of the afternoon has burned to smoldering coals

And he’s warmed by his memories as he faces being old

But it’s in the early evening when twilight fills the gap

Between the burning heat of day and slumber’s cozy wrap

It’s here where peace and contentment wait

Like the twinkling evening star

Barely visible unless you concentrate upon the very far.

Before the night overtakes it, it has a solemn place

To witness, as it stands alone

The utter state of grace

All the World’s a Stage


puppetIt started as a story

As old as all of time

Barely changed by history

Relieved of any rhyme.

A play upon a stage

The actors held on strings

To perform at any age

Both sad and glorious things.

We agreed to take the part

Not knowing how to feel

But like a puppet’s heart

Just wishing to be real.

Pulled in that and this way

Lifted time again

Our body, arms and legs sway

Dangled by some thread.

We have this opportunity

To act the story out

In whichever way we see to tell

What it’s all about.

We rise and fall with ease

Under power not our own

And dance upon a breeze

While longing to go home.

We wish for some control

Not knowing how it’s done

But the curtains too soon close

Like the setting sun.

If only we could see

That there is nothing at all to fear

For we are not the puppet,

We are the puppeteer.

The Peace that Blooms

The Peace that Blooms





The scent of roses hovers near
Chasing the pain away
Bringing us closer to the things we fear
Drawing them into the light of day.

And once we uncover the truth inside
The petals peel away into a flower
To open our hearts that wanted to hide
Unveiling the depth of our inner power.

No longer does the bud exist
It’s grown beyond its former bounds
Despite its death, it still persists
In the form that it has newly found.

Patience is all that is required
That, and, of course, an open heart
Of the souls that seek their fate’s desire
From which true love will never part.

On this journey wide and far
That starts from such a simple seed
We find that no matter where we are
We will always have all that we need.

Can I Love You Less?


“It’s a love like no other.”

baby-lovedAt least that’s what I’ve been told. I’ve also heard, “It’s the purest unconditional love” and “Like nothing else on Earth.” Maybe for you it is. But that’s not me.

You see, I recently became a grandparent, and all my grandparent friends congratulated me with sentiments like these. But I don’t get it. And it makes me feel like maybe I’m missing something.

Did I not love my children? Wasn’t that unconditional love? I cried when my babies were handed to me. I was overjoyed as I counted their fingers and toes. I saw my own hands in my son’s long fingers. Can anything compare to that?

Did I not love my husband? There were times it felt that our hearts melted together and we knew that in that moment we were both the same.

Do I not love my siblings? For certain, I love them and my friends unconditionally. They are who they are, and I accept that. We’ve shared joys and sorrows, fun and laughter. And even though I don’t speak to some of them very often, I still feel the same. Our history is still shared. Our memories are interwoven.

I loved my parents my whole life, and even though they’re both gone, I love them still.

I love my sons, both of them, equally. They are totally different and each has talents and characteristics that make him unique. I love that about them. And it doesn’t matter whether they become rich or successful or live as a struggling artist. I will always love them with all my heart.

And don’t all parents feel that way? So how is it that people freely say they love their grandchildren like never before? Do some people actually dole out less love to their children than they did to their parents? Or worse, do some people share less love with their aging – perhaps dying – parents than they do with this little person only months old?

Evidently, they do. They hold back their hearts. I don’t understand it because we are the ones who lose out. When we hold love back because of hurt. Or when we hold it back out of fear that it won’t be returned. Or when we hold it back out of anger or because we think others aren’t worthy. Or worse, when we believe we aren’t worthy.

The way I see it, love is not something that is dependent on who the recipient is…whether your parent, spouse, child or neighbor. Love is a result of the giver. You either give love or you don’t.

Wouldn’t it be amazing if you felt the same love for your father, despite his dementia and constant need for attention, that you do for the infant with her inability to communicate and total dependence?

And of course you can. Because it’s your decision how much you love.

It doesn’t matter that you have a history with someone or not. It’s the same with this little baby girl who hasn’t yet spoken my name – or should I say the name she will eventually call me. Does it matter that I don’t have to put her to bed every night? Does it matter that she looks equally like her other side of the family as she does mine? Not at all. But then, it never mattered with my sons either. It didn’t matter how they did in school. Or whether they excelled at sports. I love them fully. I don’t think I could love anyone more. Or less.

Because love doesn’t vary with the way others behave. It’s not love that changes. Love only varies when we decide not to give it.

It’s just a choice we make to feel or not feel it. And like every other decision, we can change it. We can give our hearts the freedom to love everyone. Equally. Because it’s our heart to give, it’s our choice how “in love” we feel. And once we open up our hearts and treat everyone with the love they probably don’t “deserve” but need just the same, the whole world changes. People know when they’re being treated with love. And they return it the same way it was given.

So do yourself a favor. If you want to be loved unconditionally, you must love others the same way. And without fail, they will love you back. All of them. Every time. They won’t be able to help themselves.

And believe me when I say it’s possible. Because I couldn’t love you less.



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Random Meanderings

“A subject for a great poet would be God’s boredom after the seventh day of creation.” ~ Nietzsche

big bang

First there was here
And then there was there
Now here is this
That then is where

It was just an idea
Whose time was right
Long enough in the dark
Let there be light

Now this cannot be with that
There must be below
Here must be above
And it was so

There will be bounty
Here will be vast
All things will be plenty
And it was cast

Balance was needed
Hence the sun
As well stars and moon
And it was done

Spirit must go
To be on land and sea
Living in this place
Let it so be

Love burst forth
Men and women to share
In All that Is
Born was the pair

Intelligence is
Wisdom will be
Available to all
And it grew on a tree

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A single drop,
One tear gliding down a cheek
Begins a weeping that flows.
Without pain, a simple outpouring
Energy goes unnoticed
Into a puddle.

But let it be ink.
Let the indigo drops
Bleed into the pool,
Swirling until fully suspended,
Thoroughly integrating
Into the whole.

Slow transformation.
Until all is deep
And changed.

Just Don’t Fall


Up in a treeImage

Away from the others

That’s where you’d find me

Hiding from brothers.

Just a skinny little girl

Of five or six

Getting away from the world

And the neighbor kid’s tricks.

“You’ll break your arm!”

My mom would cry.

“Only if I fall!”

Was my confident reply.

Favorite of all was the little plum tree

That shaded the play yard

For my sister and me.

In the spring the blossoms would cover the branches

I’d climb even higher, taking my chances

Up to where the limbs were small

I’d shake them violently

And the petals would fall

Raining down flowers

I’d squeal “Here it comes!”

My mother would sigh

“We’ll never have plums.”

Long Distance


It was just a little whisper, taken by surprise

A sleepy, easy morning, with dreams still in your eyes.

What I heard was a peaceful, breathless kind of “Hi”

Stretching under blankets, as you let the day go by.

Then our conversation – cut short by company,

Turned to a lovely moment, where neither of us could be.

But in my imagination, it all became quite clear

Despite the miles between us, each phone call brings us near.

And in that one small word, without giving any warning,

My soul was called back home on that easy Sunday morning.

And, as each tomorrow slowly whittles away today

I’m comforted by that word that now sounds so far away.

Like a lyric in my mind that lingers on all day

I stop and have to wonder

What else is there to say?

Night Terrors


Darkness creeps upon me from a forgotten corner as day retreatsImage
Beyond the twilight, faint whispers break the silence
Unraveling secrets never shared.

Or is it just the wind?

Shadows reveal familiar faces
Some fearful, some angry, some dead
In conversations that will never take place.
Words left unsaid echo in the quiet night.

Or is it just the wind?

Ghosts and haunting memories
Beckon me to listen
And my peace vanishes,
Stolen by my demons like stealthy pickpockets.

Or was it just the wind?

Fears and falling hopes crash into broken pieces
As yesterday’s dreams become tomorrow’s losses
And grasping for remnants
I try to salvage some small hope,
Breathing into the last glowing ember of a dying fire
But only a wisp of smoke arises
And vanquished is the little flame.

Or was it just the wind?

Hours linger as night slowly dwindles
Each minute, torturing sleepless thoughts.
Finally floating on the current of night’s river
Tears and sobbing, sadness closes my eyes.

It’s just the wind.

Until, warm and miraculous, comes the dawn,
The fresh breath of sunlight
Singing an enchanting song
Of Faith made new,
Devising lyrics for the melody that drifts aloft,

It was always the wind.