Surrender

She by J.Planet

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Surrender

I am an aspect of creation

A glint in the eye

Of a Creative Force

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I am a moment in time

Mapped out

By a cosmic Playwright

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Playing a part

Placed in a setting

Expected to react

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I dance from setting to setting

Form to form

Existence to existence

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I am the passage

For new life

New beings

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We fit together

In this life

Like pieces in a puzzle

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I wonder how

We will fit in the next

Or if we do at all

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My body comes alive

Because I am within

Deteriorates without me

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Patience is a virtue

When you are eternal

All will come eventually

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I move within

Yin flowing gracefully

Inhale what will be

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Life is not a race

The first to finish is not the winner

Every breath a blessing

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To serve

An end in itself

Love bestowed

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Creation held together

By the thread of love

Thus is my soul

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Heart open wide

Absorbing like a sponge

Head bowed in turmoil

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Learning how we long to be treated

Is the first step

In treating others accordingly

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Never alone in the world

Beings unite in my breast

Balancing yang without

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Knowing without

Centers me

For what’s coming

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I bow my head

Stretch out my arms

And submit to the will.

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Namaste

As promised, I add my response on healing posted to Sr. Coelho’s blog:

http://paulocoelhoblog.com/

I pray you find something of use.

Namaste,
Healing begins for me by accepting what is. Reality generally flows through me, and I do not realize someone hurt me until I express either anger or fear, my clues that I’ve been hurt. There is an inherent numbness which goes along with autism, a side effect of the overload of sensory information, which can inhibit my intellectual recognition of pain and pleasure.

Healing is probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I don’t have any one size fits all pattern. Healing requires facing my opponent down and realizing it is me. I work from a perspective that everyone I have ever loved lives within me just as I live within everyone who ever loved me. I am everyone I have ever hurt. I am everyone who has hurt me. I am everyone I have ever hated, etc.

So when I heal, I see myself as the source of my pain. This means I must forgive myself. Forgiveness is essential for healing. We don’t forgive other people really. We learn to accept them as they are. Often we must shatter the illusions we have of them in the process, but forgiving others is redundant if I can forgive me.

Other people are the mirrors which reflect my feelings for myself. When I love me, others are loved by me. Most attempts to hurt others are based upon lack of self love. Others are to be accepted because I cannot change them. I often recognize their lack of self acceptance through how they treat other people because I’ve been there and done that. Although I often need to guard against such people because I am sensitive, my heart goes out to them as well because I know their pain.

My childhood during this lifetime was devastating to the point that I still vibrate from its effects. From what I’ve read here, I am one of a crowd. My simple answer to how I am healing from that trauma is that I learned to love myself even when no one else did. I must love myself to heal. I must heal because I love myself. Anger is the residue of unhealed pain. I have been tearing down my walls of anger for years. It’s a step by step process of healing old wounds. Calming the fears which is attached is part of the process as well.

There are many practical tools I use. Hugs are brilliant. If I have no one else to hug, I will hug myself. If I can express the pain through tears, so much the better, but crying is not always easy for me. Displaying emotions other than joy when I was a child was an open invitation for physical abuse by my adopted mother, so it’s a hurdle I have not quite overcome. More often, I rely on deep calming breaths to sooth the panic which often accompanies emotional pain.

Emotions are not logical, but they must be filtered through logic to be expressed. If I don’t express them logically, I express them subconsciously and often through self destructive means. Christ talked about confessing our sins. This is part of the healing process. Freud created a therapy around it which works so long as the person is honest with themselves. I am not a verbal expresser, so I write. Since I had so much emotional pain, I wrote over 2500 pages of metaphor for the hurt suffered before I finally felt calm descend. This was how I chose to heal.

There’s also a physical component to emotional pain. It’s passé now, but when I first studied psychology in the 1980s, I embraced the Gestalt school. Perl worked at UCLA, so it was ever present in Los Angeles’ society at the time. The best way to describe Gestalt philosophy is “a healthy body produces a healthy mind.” We need to release the GRRRR as I call the adrenalin rush which accompanies emotional pain. It can build up over time which is why anger can take over a life if pain isn’t healed in a timely fashion. Currently I use belly dance every morning and yoga before I sleep, but some people run, others kickbox, others climb hillsides, some go on pilgrimages. It’s basically transforming self destructive behaviors into self empowering behaviors.

Because I experienced such long term emotional and physical trauma, I have to watch out for self destructive behaviors. When I was young, I abused alcohol. I was also a speed freak. Now I use chocolate because of its antidepressant qualities. Some mornings I would do anything for a mocha latte, but anything which helps relieve the pain in moderation is good. Anything taken to excess is self destructive. Thus I watch my diet carefully to prevent such excesses.

I would like to address the issue of Zahir. For me, Zahir is the voice of God who does not pause for commercial interruptions. I follow my obsessions to their natural conclusions because they generally hold blessings for me. In Zahir, the writer’s obsession was released through writing. Eventually this obsession returned the writer to his wife who offered him the challenge which propelled him to greatness. If I don’t pay attention to my Zahir, it infiltrates my subconscious and upsets my balance. Embracing my obsessions is part of how I embrace the Now. The ever present Being offers me choice, but the wrong choices often kick me in the ass in the illusion called future. Thus I must be careful to listen.

I guess the bottom line of healing is to survive, learn the lessons which pain provides, and use that lesson to make a better tomorrow.

Love to you

Drifting into September on a Breeze

Namaste,
The sun is already visible on the horizon through the maple across the street. It’s chilly here… 45 Fahrenheit or so. I just came inside to write since I’m barefoot and my shawl is in the bedroom where Tom lies sleeping. Oatmeal bakes for another 35 minutes. Coffee drips frantically, and I sit anxious for both.

Paulo Coelho’s question this week lingers in my mind. What do I do to heal emotionally? I’ll post my reply when it’s complete. I’ve tried to wrote on this topic before. I focused on healing most of my adult life. I use a convergence of tools including writing and exercise – yoga blended with an aerobic workout of some sort to release the grrr – but changing the essentials by learning from mistakes remains difficult to say the least.

A schoolbus just picked up some elementary schoolkids across the street. It’s so strange that school stars so early these days. When I went to school, Labor Day was the Back to School marker. Strict bedtimes were enforced once more. Clothes and backpacks sat organized for the morning. I went to bed with the mantra, “This year will be better than last.” It never was until college.

I’ve been scattered in the literature I’m absorbing at present. I’m still reading Winner Stands Alone by Paulo Coelho. It’s a dynamic philosophical work, but intensely dark, even the jokes. Confused emotions accompany this work for me. With 100 pages left to go, I paused for 48 hours and read the new Jade Lee, Getting Physical which I happened upon while shopping last Saturday. She gave me the emotional holiday I required to finish Coelho’s latest.

Jade Lee often writes, as she does in this new book, about an obscure Taoist matriarchal group called “Tigresses” which balances Yin and Yang, our male and female sexual energy to reach “heaven.” These bliss-states are shadowed in a variety of religious traditions. She’s the only Harlequin writer who blends romance and philosophy, so she’s quite interesting to me since I do the same. Until I read her works, although I have read many texts on the topic, I never felt the dynamics of Yin and Yang before. She presented this intellectual concept in a way I could absorb emotionally for which I am grateful.

Also, her mom was born in China while her dad was from Indiana. She currently lives in Champaign, IL and blends the cultures in many of her works. She also writes about the state of women in China from both the historic as well as the modern perspective. Her sense of humor can be biting. I never fail to giggle while reading her works.

While I cook, I’ve been listening to Walter Isaacson’s bio on Einstein which I highly recommend as well. I hope this doesn’t sound egotistical, but I find that I have a great deal in common with Einstein. According to Isaacson’s account, Einstein has many of the symptoms of Autism which I easily recognized – including being a late talker. Although my thought experiments weren’t nearly as brilliant nor on physics but on Autism, we both hyperfocused on our “problems” at hand stubbornly, until we found our answers.

Downstairs in my bedroom/office while I do yoga or belly dance, I have been listening to Stephen Fry reading JK Rowling’s collected works. I hope she comes out with something new soon. She’s such a brilliant writer. Last night I finished her third work, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Askaban.

I favor this book because Harry learns so many truths. Most importantly, he learns that when truth flies in the face of perception, truth often loses. She presents this deeply philosophical concept starkly within a children’s book which amuses me. So many authors write down to children instead of lifting them up. Not Rowling! Brava!

Well the baked oatmeal is ready. I turned on the TV to catch the time, and they showed a picture of Los Angeles County on fire. Please keep them in your hearts and minds. I remember fire days and what it was like. A dear friend was evacuated with her beloved dogs yesterday. I pray it’s for nothing and the fire soon dies.

Love to you
Blessed be,
Lil

Sunrise on an August Morn

It’s a cool morning for August. I realize I should have worn my shawl as I sit on my deck awaiting sunrise. A haze has settled upon our Crystal Valley. Fog creates a line of white beneath the pink on the horizon. The humidity is so thick the aluminum siding on my house drips occasionally with moisture

School has started in Middlebury. This is the first year I have no children in school. My Zachary graduated last June. I see a bus pass and whisper a prayer of thanksgiving that the fighting has passed. It’s not easy educating children on the Autistic Spectrum of Behavioral Differences.

I look out on the sea of green below remembering the brown which haunted the grass last year. My Rose of Sharon is literally bursting with white blooms. I wish my camera worked. It’s quite beautiful.

My ginkgo tree is showing red on it’s topmost leaves. I’ve seen some yellowing on younger maples as well. We’re going to have an early autumn. Ramadan started early this year as well. I guess the earth needs a longer gestation period before next spring’s rebirth. Plato should be happy. He’ll have more time with Persephone in his land of the dead.

The pink in the sky is much brighter now. It grows quite bold in fact. I wonder if the orb hides being the Maple which grows tall across the street. The fog in the valley looks like a white blanket interrupted by the green hills rising above.

Cricketsong serenades me as I catch the first glimpse of the sun glittering through the maple. We never had crickets in Torrance, the Los Angeles County South Bay town where I grew up, but my grandma did in La Mirada, near Anaheim. They would lull me to a peaceful sleep whenever I stayed the night. I heard them every summer when I spent a month with her in the Sierra’s as well. Thus crickets remind me of her. She taught me kindness in the face of harshness. She gave me hope in my youth.

Well the sun is completely up now. Coffee is ready. I must get Tom up as well. I leave you with a poem which I posted on Paulo Coelho’s site. http://www.paulocoelho.com.br/engl/index.html He asked for the most beautiful story we knew in this week’s blog. I started a short story yesterday which I intend to finish, but it’s way to long for his blog, so I posted this instead. Some of you have read it before, so forgive the repetition.

Love to you
Blessed be,
Lil



Angel in the Light

I remember seeing Tom
Standing by a window
Tower Records
Sunset Blvd
He worked there
So did I
Gave birth there
To the Self
That I became

He was looking at a record
I think it was the Byrds
In the discount record bins
Near the tape department
Where I stood watching
From my corner
Hollywood hustle and bustle
Never felt a part
More like an audience

Yet he stood calmly
He seemed contented
The eye of a hurricane
His hair was curly then
Residue of a life
Left behind
Looked like an angel
As the light shone
Through the window

I hardly knew him
Usually quiet
He listened
When most guys
Liked to talk
He seemed gentle
Not someone I feared
Comfortable
Before I even knew him

His blue eyes
Betrayed a humor
His demeanor
Generally hid
As he stood there
Studying
That album jacket
He seemed to glow
From within

This was someone
I would always love
I knew it then
Never figured
We’d be lovers
Let alone
Married
I only knew
He was my friend

Perhaps this was
My moment of clarity
My moment of destiny
My moment of peace
My moment of contentment
I smiled
Then I rang up a customer
My moment ended
Life went on

Aspirations

Namaste,
I have been touching up my internet spaces these past few weeks in preparation for the next step. I’ve waited long enough for NAL and must move on. Publishing is not like the music industry. You can only send a work to one publisher at a time for the most part. Such etiquette seems like bad business for writers, but we are slaves to the model and must surrender.

I came across a wonderful agent who blogs. I do not flatter myself that an unpublished author like myself can ever land an agent such as she, but, since she was kind enough to share her wisdom with us, I thought I might try. What have I got to lose? If nothing else, perhaps she will be kind enough to offer me direction in this ocean of possibilities.

Her name is Kristin Nelson, or as she calls herself in her blog, Pub Rants (http://pubrants.blogspot.com/), Agent Kristin. Sounds like a marvelous superhero name. In my opinion, her not-so-secret power is saving authors through information. Knowledge is power and finding someone who shares is half the battle. Anyway, I wanted to celebrate her with my aspiring writer friends who, like me, require guidance concerning the biz. She also lists her clients who blog (which was how I found out about her… I read romance writer, Sherry Thomas’ blog which just relocated out of Blogspot to my dismay) as well as other agents who blog. I think she should rename herself St. Kristin de la auteurs aspirants, but that’s just me. Saint… superhero… whichever, she’s cool!

Also I’ve been reading a new-to-me romance writer named Elizabeth Hoyt. She’s erotic, funny and powerful in her ability to describe post traumatic stress gracefully. For those of us who are healing from this disturbance in our force, it’s a blessing. Of course the message is the most powerful, the Divine message, IMO… Love heals all. I started her Four Soldiers series in the middle… with To Seduce a Sinner then moved to her fun revision of Beauty and the Beast… her newest To Beguile a Beast… fun and touching and yes… erotic. Since I’m dyslexic and obsessive, I had to go back to her first in the series To Taste Temptation. I’m lost in 1764 and I can’t get out. LOL Her final to this work comes out in November… Sigh. I hate waiting but there it is.

I haven’t written anything besides my new query since the end of April. I think that’s the grrr in my soup at the moment so here goes… I hope you like:

Aspirations

Self assertiveness
Never my forte
Learned that surrender
Took me further
For so long
Never the impeccable warrior
Embraced the hermit instead
Found Truth within
Not always acceptable to others
So often marching alone

I come to a fork
Where solitude
Is not an option
I require others
To reach my goal
Terror consumes
Yet clarity lights my way
Desire rules my emotions
Now is the time to make
Possibilities a reality

I have transformed
Climbed the steep and rocky hill
The summit within reach
Like a gold ring
On merry-go-rounds of old
Endurance my obstacle
Must let go
Stop interfering with my dreams
Que sera sera

Acceptance the key
Yet I am drenched in stagnant waters
Must move or perish
Opposites unite around me
Alchemical balance
All I need do is inhale
And I can be part of the dance
This creative energy
My tasks overwhelm me
Ego drowned in a toilet long ago

Must set my abilities to the task ahead
And let the blessings flow
As I open my heart to tomorrow
And evermore

Love to you
Blessed be
Lil

Post Lental Reflections

Namaste,
Easter was a few weeks back. I set some Lenten goals which I have yet to accomplish. I do not feel as if I faltered, however. I often drift where the Yin takes me. Such flexibility has been my savior since childhood. It makes me appear flighty, perhaps, but I trust the muse. I trust the flow.

I planned on having poetry readings by now, but I have postponed that for the moment. I await the result of my efforts thus far with poetry contests. If I win, I won’t have to invest my husband’s money in printing books. I should find out soon if I am successful. If I am not, perhaps I will use my birthday money to print some and work toward the summer for performing.

I also started editing the second book as I did the first. I feel that I have a good guide to mimic. Keep the action going as much as possible is the key. Release the superfluous, limit the ego, and have fun. These are the vanguard from which I work. I have completed four out of 27 chapters. I will begin the fifth after I complete my yoga du jour. There is much to release in this section, as I heard yesterday. I cannot listen again until I edit some out because the nonsense was too distracting. The skeleton is good. The flesh is weak.

I never heard back from NAL. Tom thinks that’s a good sign. I hope so considering I sent a self addressed stamped envelope… and Penguins profits for the first quarter were quite good. Penguin is my publishing Mecca, but I will feel grateful for any acceptance I get.

May begins on Friday. I need to get to my garden. I have seeds, etc.. Much to do. It rained last night and a heavy drizzle remains, so I will remain on course with my fifth chapter and slice and dice it today. I also wrote a poem. The poem a day challenge became too much for me, I fear. I don’t create well under stress. I must let it flow or damns build, words evaporate and my fingers type nonsense… just to type. However, I leave you with my thought this 28th day of April.

Love to you
Blessed be,
Lil

Innervision

I look back
From whence I came
Distance
Not measured in miles
But in heartbeats
The earth beneath my feet
Roots me in place
Holds me firm
I open like a bud
To possibilities
Which surround me

My consciousness overflows
I came from love
Unto love I shall return
Memory is the key
I cut through the jungle
Surrounding my heart
Allowing my essence
To shine
Creativity set in motion
All is as it should be
Transformation

An ongoing process
I surrender
To the will
Dance with my Lord
Embracing the light
Receive as I give
Threefold the law
Love grows
Only when offered
All begins anew
As dawn brings us closer
Our destination

Focused within
Fearing only failure
Walls around the castle
Too steep to climb
Strength wanes
Patience limited
But I Am
Overcomes all
Power and Energy prevail
Truth rides toward me
At the speed of light

I open my arms
Bend my knees
And receive the blessings
Burning through
Every obstacle
As I become

4/28/9

Been inspired to start editing book two...

Namaste,
Well I got distracted away from the poem of the day challenge a bit... the stuff I was coming out with seemed mediocre... I didn't even want to post it. I felt almost embarrassed by its superficiality.

I was also reading a new novel by the romance writer I met last September, Jade Lee. She is really fabulous. I highly recommend her. She inspired my final edit on INVITATION TO SHANGRI-LA, my first book into a leaner and meaner... at least meatier... work.

She had also inspired me to seek the Tao Te Ching for further inspiration as she used it to preface the chapters of her second "Tigress" novel, HUNGRY TIGER. I will return to those meditations after I complete the poem a day challenge which I am determined to do.

Lee's Tigress novels are based upon THE SEXUAL TEACHINGS OF THE WHITE TIGRESS, which I acquired last year. These teachings seem to be one of the last vestiges of the obsolete Goddess fertility cults in existence... although they use yang, male energy, to visit heaven instead of create children.

Her description of heaven is exactly what I have read others describe their out of body experiences as. Since I am still landlocked, I took their word for it when I described Jessica's trip to heaven in the opening sequence of my second novel in the Shangri-La Chronicles series. I wanted some feedback from others to see if I did okay or not. I hope you don't mind.

The art, BTW, which illustrates this post is, as usual, by J.Planet, my beloved friend Janice. Also, for those who have never read my prose, this is erotica... so be forewarned.

Love to you

Heaven
Sean’s warm breath sent shivers down my spine as his lips lazily slid down my neck. I surrendered to his will. Although we had been lovers for only a few weeks, I trusted him completely. He was my best friend even though he was older than either of my parents.

“’Tis time to introduce you to your divinity, Dove,” he whispered passionately in his blend of Irish and New York cadence which pulsated in my soul. Dove had become his pet name for me since I first confessed my attraction to him. “Let’s visit heaven.”

Sean’s ideas about sex were strange. I experienced our eroticism in its physical sensations, but he swore it was a spiritual encounter, a melding of energies. Sex was sacred to him, a metaphysical experience. Although I was raised that it was a sin, I had watched the hippies of the sixties redefine right and wrong where lovemaking was concerned. By 1977, the clash of cultures subsided and teenagers like me were left to decide morality on our own. Sean’s morality intrigued me.

“I’m already in heaven,” I murmured to his amusement.

“Not even the antechamber. Prepare for a ride,” he exhaled into my nipples.

He began the spiraling massage around my breasts which usually preluded our erotic encounters. Instead of moving his hands down from between and around them in spirals until his fingers nearly touched my nipples, this time he spiraled up and over from my areolas outward to my sternum and began again. I melted beneath his finger’s gentle flow. I had never felt so relaxed.

I had drifted in the mental twilight of meditative bliss for some time when he changed direction. Ah! This felt familiar. Contentment was not abandoned, but my serenity became the foundation for building my excitement. I slowly awakened from my peaceful state as I stared into his blue eyes.

Reality seemed skewed as if I drifted in a fog of sensations. My proprioception, never normal, danced out of control. Although I lay in bed enjoying Sean’s caress, I felt as if my essence slowly filled the room. My breasts felt fuller than they ever had.

“Focus on your yin, Dove, and direct it to your yoni,” I heard him whisper as he leisurely kissed down my abdomen. “Then exhale through your third eye.” He dragged his tongue up my lower lips gracefully as if unlocking the door to my inner world.

“My third eye?” I asked confused but fascinated. “And what’s yin?”

He blew on my labia before he whispered, “Yin is your female energy which flows like water and sends the misty dew to your yoni to welcome my lingam. Yin allows you to surrender completely. We will float upon your river of yin in our boat to heaven.” He moistened my vulva again with his lips and tongue before adding, “Our third eye is the center of our brow. When we focus our eyes up and in, we can visualize Creation in all its metaphors.”

I moaned as I moved my eyes high in my head. I saw rapids flowing wildly. How was I to focus so much chaos? I didn’t understand. Feeling my mounting tension, Sean whispered, “Don’t be afraid. Feel the flow. Ride the rapids. Then imagine a bend where its flow turns toward me. Become one with the water.”

As I followed his directions, my energy seemed to expand until I floated around him like a ghost. My love surrounded us like a bubble, yet my body felt outside of my control. As I looked down upon us, the look on my face showed that I pulsated in ecstasy. However I no longer felt a part of my material form.

Sean smiled as he moved to enter me. My external energy grew stronger with each thrust. “Take me to Heaven, Jessica,” he whispered. “You know the way.” As his eyes stared into mine rapturously, his being left his body as well. “Beloved Dove, let’s fly away. You lead the way!”

His silly notion diverted me. The more I expressed my amusement, the higher we climbed. He looked as if his lips would meet mine at any second, but they never quite reached. His eyes blazed in expectation for what was to come.

His being glowed brighter as we left our bodies behind. His eyes became as suns hypnotizing me as we seemed to rise higher above ourselves away from the world into a space which seemed ours alone until his eyes eventually moved beyond mine. His energy seemed to kowtow to someone behind me.

When I turned, a diamond-shaped light seemed to open her arms for embrace. My first thought was an illuminated vulva opening in the darkness. “Welcome,” I heard the vision resound. “Thank you for coming.” Sound seemed to greet us without language, as if I intuited meaning naturally.

“I knew Jessica could bring me to you, Isis,” Sean’s energy sang out. “Her faith moves mountains.”

Communication reverberated like music to my ears, each a soloist in the choir of chanting lights appearing individually around us. As I looked about, I saw a universe filled with open arms gloriously celebrating the wonder of nature.

When I realized he called the light Isis, I returned my gaze to the glowing which seemed to spread like wings. I stood in awed by the sight. Here was a Goddess. Sean had told me of the Goddess repeatedly but I never truly believed until that moment.

“Dove, this is Margie, united with Isis who brings life to humanity.”

“Welcome Jessica. We’re blessed by your presence,” the luminescent Madonna sang.

The moment he used her name, her face became Margie’s, Sean’s late wife, as he had painted her on the ceiling of his bathroom after she died. Sean had brought me there to see her. My joy for him seemed immeasurable. All the pain which lay shadowed in his eyes had dissolved.

His elation warmed my heart. I brought him what he wanted more than anything. He was reunited with her whom he still mourned. I felt more love than I knew existed. I felt content as well. All seemed lustrous and blissful. Satisfaction complete. I wanted to dance with the music of the universe which surrounded me.

“It feels like a lifetime since I last saw you,” I heard Sean’s thoughts to Margie.

I realized that I have fulfilled my task, and now they should be alone. She had been the center of his life until cancer took her from him. I slowly slipped away feeling de trop. I didn’t begrudge him his moment, though. I loved him unconditionally. He deserved this perfect union with the mother of his children. Envy pulled me away from bliss. I could never be that for him, and I knew it. He had warned me repeatedly that we were a passing rapture on my way to adulthood.

“No, Dove! Not so soon,” Sean said returning his attention to me. He had heard my thoughts and seemed to feel my feelings. “Bathe in the beatitude. You brought me to Heaven. You’re my guide.” He reached out his hand toward me as if I had merely lost my footing. “The love we share is as infinite as the love I have for Isis. You’re my Athena, my strength, my wisdom. You have more right to be here than I, surely you must realize that.”

I didn’t. I never understood how he saw me. I only knew that I found Nirvana in his eyes. Still looking into mine, he added to Margie, “Thank you for sending her to me.”

“Not me! Your life is in your hands now,” I heard Margie impart.

Sean’s being melded into mine. “So long as I can see her happy in life, I’ll feel blessed.”

“I am happy, Sean,” I intoned. “I’m in heaven with you. Love surrounds us. What could be more desirable?”

I embraced his love until we fell back toward earth. I awoke with a start in my bed in my parent’s home. I needed a few minutes to acclimate to my surroundings before I realized that Sean had never been there. My parents would never have allowed it. This had been a strangely surreal dream.

My eyes opened to see the vision of light shining directly on my print of “Starry Night” hanging on my bedroom wall. I inhaled deeply before I exhaled an elongated, “Wow.” I felt achy when I tried to move, as if I literally fell back into my body. Then I laughed. “That was weird,” I whispered to no one. I turned on the light and wrote everything that I remembered in my journal. I finished as the sun informed me that it was time to get ready for work.

Picture of Marilyn

Namaste,
Well I am behind in my poem a day challenge. I am starting to catch up, but I blew my chance to do my yoga. My routines are important to me. I will do something later, perhaps. I am still stuck on my poem about Routines. It’s hard to write poetically about something I have worked so hard to structure. Sometimes there is not time in my day and my memory is weakening of late. I pray I just have too much on my mind. Perhaps it’s a reaction to putting my writing out there for sale. Feels like a sacrilege somehow. LOL Anyway, on Saturday, I got this prompt:

For today's prompt, I want you to write a poem about an object (or objects). Though you don't have to confine yourself to straight up description, I do want you to focus on object and/or make it a central piece of your poem. One of the more famous poems of contemporary literature does this wonderfully in William Carlos Williams' "The Red Wheelbarrow."

http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/

So this is what I finally wrote:

Picture of Marilyn

When I was 13
I framed a picture of Marilyn
A page from Life magazine
When they excerpted
Norman Mailor’s biography

I bought the magazine
To read as we traveled
Spent a month with Grandma
Every summer in the Sierras
I learned to breathe there

Heard about Monroe’s life
When I saw Mailor on TV
Knew him from Cavett
Equated him with Vidal
But this was Mike Douglas

Mailor tried to understand Marilyn
He recognized her abuse
Freud would have understood
Why couldn’t her shrink
Must have been a fool

This picture was taken during Misfits
She wore jeans and a white tailored shirt
Luminescent when stripped of glamour
Divinity too powerful to ignore
Inspired me to become

Grinned like a rebellious teenager
As she leaned over in that stark desert
Foresaw the revolution to come
Destined not to be a part
Self destructive to the bitter end

Read Mailor’s description of her abuse
During the summer of my liberation
Dad and taken control of my life
Unknowingly removed the thorn from my side
Future looked bright

Brought this picture with me
On my journey through life
Stashed it away at times
Not wanting to remember
The many memories attached

But I smile when I see it
Remembering a summer’s day
Sitting by a river beneath a pine
Reading undisturbed for the first time
Resting the perpetual scream within