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You pull out a thin white strip of paper from the cracked cookie shell.

The words, type written with ink, relay a message.

It can be advice or a warning, sometimes it sounds like a prophecy.

The back-side of this strip holds a set of lucky numbers.

The randomness of fortune cookies appeals to my whimsical nature.

Though, I’ve come to feel that it might not be as random as we think.

There was a period of time when I took it all so seriously.

I felt the presence of a guiding overlord. He was my personal genie.

In the end, I never could determine whether his origin was external or internal.

He has gone away now for the most part. Occasionally I sense remnants of his lessons.

Part of his heart and mind remains with me in my memory.

From this point forward, I’ll need to be my own soothsayer and navigator.

*Note: We ordered Chinese food last night. At the end of our meal I was disappointed to find that our fortune cookies were missing from our bag.

 

I woke up this morning feeling out of sorts. I had a dream where I was in a class,

And the teacher handed me my grade on a piece of paper. I saw a red F.

I felt confused and upset for we had taken no tests nor handed in any work.

I’d been working on a big project, and the due date had never been announced.

I approached the teacher, she shrugged, and said the grade could change.

There was no resolution at the end of my dream.

These days every letter has a number. I pondered the number six (6).

To me the number 6 represents the beast of mankind/womankind.

Though, I often thought men and women should have different numbers.

It was then that I realized that the number five (5), also known as E, was missing

From our standard grading system. A ‘D’ means you need improvement, and an ‘F’

Means failure. The E ( or 5) had escaped somewhere between the D and F.

It was not a recognized grade. I decided I wanted to be an E, and

Escape from this dream class. I laughed at this thought and was cheered.

I shook the dream off and labeled it not real.

My number obsession had me creating elaborate stories. The numbers needed stories

In order to have meaning for me. However, over time my stories changed, and certain

Numbers fell in and out of favor with me. The only certainty was change, and

The constant cycling, and switched associations.

My current favorite is 5. Now it symbolically means I can escape the judgement of a grade.

Possibly I could be a 516 or 111 or AAA.

As a teenager, my first paying job was working for Triple A (AAA).

I made trip-tiks for travelers.

 

When I awoke this morning the idea of negative noise came into my head.

This is the best description of how I felt.

I keep seeing images of being behind a waterfall. My physical body is not in the picture.

It’s my spirit there looking out through the flow of water and light.

I’m standing at the entrance of a cave. The roar of the waterfall is so all consuming,

I’ve become deaf to it, and all the noise it cancels out.

I keep contemplating what this means for me, and I’m still undecided.

I shook off all these thoughts, and went to the kitchen to fix breakfast.

Out the window I saw my garden, and I was filled with peace.

I stepped outside and over to the pond. I counted six blooms today.

The heat and moisture clung to me, and reinforced the stillness of this day.

Even my husband’s feral cats were all hiding somewhere in the dark corners of shade

Edging the outer boundaries near the fences.

I went back inside, and ate my breakfast, then shucked all the corn I bought the other day.

I placed them in the steamer, and let the steamer do its job of softening all the kernels.

It will be refrigerated, so we can eat cold corn later in the day.

As the corn was steaming, and the day seemed like it would drag, I experienced my first

Sighting of a hummingbird this summer. It was drinking from the Queen Victoria Cardinal

Flower near the pond. Then it flew away.

I sat down at my breakfast bar feeling happy at what I’d witnessed. When I looked up I was

Somewhat startled to see the hummingbird near the window in front of me.

Inside my head I heard the message: “Where did you go? I was putting on a show for you.”

I grabbed the binoculars and went over to the window and followed its flight.

It landed in one of the Crepe Myrtles and sat there and let me have a good look at it.

Suddenly I remembered; I needed to make more sugar water for the feeder.

Contact and communication was successful.  I found my bag of sugar and measuring cup.

The feeder is now full of a fresh supply. After this encounter,

My spirits rose to meet the day.

 

 

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.