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Twenty-twenty (20/20) vision presents a picture clear and crisp.

Well-defined boundaries are visibly apparent.

Yet, there is another hidden picture, not evident at first.

At night when my corrective lenses come off, the blur pervades.

Balls of light become fractal spheres.

The light is no longer held tightly together.

This is when I see the eyes peering through flower heads and lizard skins.

The intensity of their gaze is inescapable.

When I squint my eyes or look away, they disappear from view.

This temporary madness is replaced wistfully with a saner picture.

Although, I know I can bring them back when the time is right.

 

 

Screaming from the edge, holding onto fringe, grasping,

Clasping, crawling over dead, reaching inward to the core.

Comfort once attained will not be given up.

Family ties and safety lines secure the few that run

Out to the edge, wanting to be heroes.

When things get ugly, they will be pulled back in.

The unseen warriors are those with no lines or ties.

They are risking everything; they have no choice.

It is fight or die for them.

There is universal information that surrounds us all.

Each and everyone of us has our own ‘independent lens’.

Our personal lens takes in bits and pieces of this information,

And begins to filter and process all the incoming data that surrounds us.

Opinions begin to form in our minds, and some of these opinions are

Self-driven with such force that they spill forth.

Some people become addicted to their own commentary, so they

Continually spill forth. Testosterone seems to help this.

No one likes to be told that they are wrong. It can be hard work to take in

New information and reformulate one’s opinion. It is much easier to stick

With one’s old opinion.

As a result, people tend to surround themselves with people that will

Reaffirm their own beliefs.

Most men want their wives to be an echo chamber for them.

If you love me, you’ll agree with me.

I believe in ‘tough love’. I will not merely be my husband’s echo chamber.

I have my own mind and my own independent lens. I can formulate my own unique opinions. Thank-you very much.

Father Time stood outside and above his net. He could read it like a map. He had warned that if the children tried to break his net, they would vanish from the record.

Mother Earth held a secret. She had a special hidden seed, a line of children, that saw time’s net differently than the rest.

What he didn’t tell was that down the line, the net of time was bound to fail.

Only one would make it out. This one would hold all of human history, both written and unwritten.

Luscious, red, and ripe.

Sweet and tart.

A bird’s feast all laid out.

Winter is the season.

When all are eaten the feast is over.

Spring will bring new ones – green and hard.

Bitter to the taste.

Age will transform them

Into the bird’s desire.

Eventually dreamland faded. Father Time, a mutual acquaintance, had come between Mother Earth and Father Sky, as he wove his net partitioning the growing space.

While dreamland thrived their seed had become prolific. Their horde of children spread wide across the land, and they grew apart.

Mother Earth’s flock contained a menagerie of beasts.Her human children cherished some, hunted others, and ignored many.

The children inherited language from their father. Their language grew and divided. As it grew, the children began to name the beasts, and with this sprang forth a multitude of metaphors and similes.

Language became a master instrument that could immortalize.

The children followed its music, not really understanding all the hidden implications.

When Mother Earth married Father Sky they created a dreamland where they could meet in bliss.

Outside of dreamland they had to part. Mother Earth had her flock and Father Sky had his stars.

Their children were forever cursed to live in between. They were called humans.

Some revered their mother and took to her land, obliged to never really know their father except in their dreams.

Others cursed their mother, seeking to plunder her land, and constantly looked upward, seeking ways to merge their days with their father.

The running script of thoughts I’ve taken the time to digitally commit here are mere snapshots of some of the things that have whirled around me these past couple of years. The act of writing down and reading back my thoughts has been therapeutic for me. My emotional roller-coaster has slowed down as daily routines have taken over.

I’m not sure what madness inspired me to put my deeply personal story out here for the world to read. The reality is that everyone has a story, and in the rush of living, the rest of the world barely listens to individual stories outside of their own. However, through my emotional ups and downs I have been forced to take the blinders off of my eyes.

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to embrace the harsh attitude so many people take. Though, I have had passing feelings of anger and hurt at other’s insensitivity. These feelings pass since I don’t choose to wallow in negativity. I still feel the Holy Spirit within and without me trying to hold me up, and it has shown me the path to greater self-love and confidence.

I’m not sure how much I’m going to commit to this digital diary in the future. I’m hoping to start a longer writing project moving in a different direction and into a new form.

Knowing me, I will probably update this periodically with spontaneous poetry and other inane musings.

A couple years ago a woman came to work at the school where I work. We were around the same age, and seemed to be from similar backgrounds. On second thought, I think she was several years younger than me. She had been a stay at home mother like I had been for ten years. This was her first year back to work, and she had all the enthusiasm of an idealist. She kind of reminded me of how I was many years ago when I reentered the work force. Time and age has a tendency to tame this, and by year’s end, I could see that some of her enthusiasm had been tamed. The work can be hard when your heart is so entrenched.

One day we happened to be having lunch in the same small break room.She made the comment that every time she hears our school called HMS, which are its initials, she thinks of the words: “Her Majesty’s Ship.”

I think she was referring to ships that sail the seas under the protection of a monarchy. However, I visualized being on a star-ship. This made me smile. I like the idea of being protected by a royal female entity.

My imagination had hooked onto her imagination, and then went in its own direction. For the rest of the day, I imagined sailing through the skies undercover on a royal mission to improve all of humankind. Looking back at this makes me laugh. An active imagination helped me to soar that day. Every day I can summon its power it fills my heart with hope.

This is an idea I hope to instill in all the students I encounter.

 

(I’m on holiday break right now. In my attempts to clean up the clutter in my sitting room, I can’t ignore the notebooks full of frantic writing. I started filling notebooks around the summer of 2013 when my life and mind were shattered. I haven’t yet decided what I’m going to do with them, though, I was inspired to write this poem today to give you a flavor of their contents.)

Barely There

Chasing other’s expectations, running out of breath, never questioning the route, never stopping to explore the hidden motives, I had lost my essence, my passion, my true value. 

I was barely there.

When everything began to break apart I was nothing but liquid smoke clinging to my hollow frame. My mind went haywire, bouncing off everyone else’s thoughts and dreams.

I desperately needed to recollect my scattered mind. Their tentacles had reached into my brain trying to unnerve me. They found my weakness, my taboo thoughts that had been locked away. Though it was I who had unwittingly opened the door. I dared to play this mind game that nearly claimed my soul.

The dark woods beckoned, and my weakness followed. My mind quivered with anticipation. My body was drawn into the quicksand of my dreams. Space and time were frozen where I had dared to go.

I was barely there.

I’ve finally found my way back home. I’m still learning to contain and control my errant thoughts. I’ll eventually decide what I’m going to do with all my scattered frantic notes. For now they can sit and fill the space of an old antique chair.