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Asymmetry surrounds me in my garden, in my home, and before me in my face and body.

Simultaneously there appears to be an underlying level that multiplies it all.

A natural flow that can defy logic is more pleasing to my eye than a predictable pattern that endlessly repeats.

An  unfaltering, unaltered pattern can draw you in and hook you in a loop. Mesmerizing. Hypnotizing.

Native Americans often put a purposeful mistake into their art. I’ve read this is to let the spirit of God in. I’m not sure if this is true.

Mistakes can be entry points to all sorts of things. In education, they are learning opportunities.

As a middle-aged woman my face and body is full of asymmetries. Compared to doll-like perfection, I’m sadly lacking.

Yet, my new perspective fills me with pride in my imperfections. They are my badges of living in the real world. They are the price of life.

Those that strive for perfect beauty begin to cross the line. In my mind, they look uncanny.

Some days I feel like the thread attached to someone else’s needle.

I’m a light-weight thread that periodically slips through the eye.

God’s hand keeps redirecting me back through the center.

My work is not done.

I can’t see what he’s making. I’m not quite sure why I keep blindly following.

I feel compelled, and there is something inside of me that is spurring me on.

I’m deeply embedded now. At times I wish I could unravel. However, it is too late.

The only way out is forward.

The past two days I’ve had some haunting dreams, and I awake knowing I must take action to move myself out of danger’s way.

The panic has been replaced with resignation – an acceptance of what I must do.

I’ve seen signs several times indicating that I do make it out. I’m not sure if this is true or merely false encouragement.

All I know is that I must hold tightly to my intuition, and keep blocking the signals meant to distract and mislead me.

And, by the way, my sanity is fine. These intermissions come and go.

We all make mistakes – errors in judgement.

We all can be negligent of our responsibilities – following selfish pursuits.

Humans are thinking machines packaged inside beasts.

Some revel in our bestial roots. Others try to forget that part, striving to become more machine-like.

I, for one, try to walk a tight-rope between the two. If I were to fall, I’m not sure what side I’d prefer.

Understanding that we are all fallible, helps me to forgive those that I feel have done me wrong.

My memories fade, and my priorities shift, but I don’t want to forget all the experiences that have shaped me, painful or not.

Seeing and feeling other’s mistakes has helped to guide me in the direction I want to go.

Looking back on my own mistakes has enabled me to learn to make better choices.

Forgiving myself and others is absolutely necessary to move forward unhindered, and with a clear mind focused on improvement for all.

I’m very proud of my flower pond.

My husband and I put in hard labor to make it happen.

There used to be a silver maple in the spot where it now sits.

I wanted more sun in my garden, so the silver maple was sacrificed.

It was standing on prime real estate – the middle of our backyard.

Digging a pond where a tree once stood is a fool’s idea.

Worth it in the end, after the memory of the pain and sweat fades.

My husband dug the hole with the help of heavy equipment.

Everything else was done by me.

I personally placed every single pink granite block. The pink is only pink when compared with other granite. A very slight cast only evident when wet.

Our yard isn’t level. It slopes here and there. From some vantage points the pond looks slightly tilted.From other points it looks level. From overhead it probably makes no difference. We did use a level and strings when putting it in.

It fits in with everything else, and I’m the only one it needs to please. My husband doesn’t care. His contributions were to make me happy.

Many things have thrived within the pond, from water lilies to dragonflies.

Even with the years of neglect these things thrived. The only thing that suffered was the overall aesthetics. Algae was the problem.

Today the algae is all gone and the water is clear, even with many repotted plants.

Yesterday I had five stunning water lilies blooming: four pink and one small yellow.

Sometimes I feel a sadness that the lifespan of these blooms is so short. They open in the mid-morning sun, and close in late afternoon to early evening, as the sun starts to descend.

One bloom lives for about two days, sometimes three.

Still the mother plant keeps sending up her children to live a short life in the sun.

They are all connected in a way, so I guess they all live through one another, and life goes on.

 

 

 

Immersing myself in the ordinary tasks of living,

I can’t escape this nagging feeling of loss.

My need for peace has cut me off from the maddening

Think tank that used to spiral around me.

The constant presence of an invisible force holding me

And guiding me is now much more subliminal.

The ghost has gone away. I’m on my own. I know this is for the best.

An independent struggle is the road I’m destined to take, at least for now.

Calling it a struggle might be an exaggeration, especially

Considering the burdens others must carry.

With proper perspective, I can see that the road I’m on

Is relatively smooth, and my faith is still with me.

The waxing crescent moon and several stars could be seen on a crisp clear night.

I sat quietly on the stone bench in front of my pond.

A blue ring of light could be seen emanating from the submersible equipment.

The sound of the water flowing softly from its spout was in my foreground,

While a mellow Latin beat could be heard coming from a few yards down.

A few yards in the other direction muffled voices could be heard.

It sounded like a small party or family gathering.

I was alone. My husband and daughter prefer to be inside

Surrounded by electronic light and noise.

That is okay. I’m used to conversing with myself.

I put all my thoughts on pause so I could focus on all the fireflies

Dancing through the air. The temperature and humidity were ideal.

In my hand I held a chilled bottle of Corona with an added slice of lemon.

This aided me in my  relaxation. I felt glad to be back home

Wrapped up in the vastness of the night sky.

My mind journeys over the past few years have given me a new found

Appreciation of the simple art of living in each moment.

 

 

 

Stretching and reclining as far out as my limbs will take me.

Head back, looking up, pondering the clouds, letting the gentle

Breeze caress my skin until the goose bumps rise.

Soaking up the warmth from the sun like a sponge.

Abandoning as much abstract thinking as I can.

Totally immersing myself in the earth, and letting

Only her pull my biological strings of arousal.

A brief respite before the garden restoration resumes.

Today as I was fumbling through a dresser drawer where

I keep odd pieces of jewelry and little tokens given to me

by various people, I found a cheap round metal pin,

similar to a campaign pin one might wear.

On the front was a heart outlined by a dotted line,

like you would see on a highway where you could

legally pass the car in front of you. Written in script

across the heart were the letters: xoxo.

They crossed over the line on both sides ever so slightly.

Growing up I used to end my letters, cards, and notes with

the word love, my name, and several xoxo.

These symbolized hugs and kisses. I guess they still do.

Of course, now I think about the numbers: 24,15,24,15.

In my weird code 24 can be a 6 or an 8 or a 10. A 15 can be

a 4 or a 6 depending on whether you are moving from the left or right

(adding or subtracting a 1 from a 5.)

I’m no good at explaining why I perceive numbers this way.

I’m sure you won’t be taught this in math class.

In my mind, these rules are only good for when you are looking

at numbers moving through a complex system.

I do not have an educational background in college math,

so don’t take my thoughts too seriously.

This madness had hold of me for a long time.

It is love that has saved me.

Love given and love received.

I am eternally grateful.

 

 

 

 

Can you run out of information or does information create more information?

As I was thinking about this, the image of a tessellating flower came into my mind.

A mosaic. To the ant it can be rough terrain. To a giant it can be a smooth line circling round and round.

Particles or waves or all the same? From space it might be indistinguishable from everything else… until you zoom in.

Part to whole. Repetitive division. Fractional …izing  without end.

Each point in space is a different picture.

Changing velocity gives way to new inflorescence and varied forms of beauty.

Mistakes along the way give us our humanity, and saves us from mindless repetition.

Mother Nature knows what she is doing. She continues to dance to her own music.

Mankind needs to yield when necessary, and learn to listen more carefully to her cues.

 

 

 

 

Out at kiss and ride today I found a RaceTrac lighter.

It fell out of a car.

A little thing I do these days is add up all the letters.

There are 26 letters in our alphabet, and each letter has a number.

When I added up the letters in RaceTrac I arrived at 69.

All sorts of images came into my mind.

When I push a six (6) and nine (9) together, they sort of

Look like a figure 8. This reminds me of a race track.

Then I visualized a figure eight in 3-D space,

And I was reminded of a Mobius strip.

The lighter has a bar code on its back. Its numbers are:

9158500700. If you add up all these numbers, not counting zeros,

You arrive at thirty-five. (28 (00) + 7 (00) = 35; and 3 + 5 = 8).

I can assure you I never used to be like this.

This eternal race track can be a blessing or a curse.

With no finish line, the winners and losers are all the same.

I have learned to put the race aside, and focus on

The people in my life. They are my reward.