Author: cborsello

Jersey Girl, born on the beach.

Zebras

Holidays / Holydays

Like herringbone, the concepts fit into a deepening pattern. Whether we wear it outside depends on the size of the bars, perhaps.

What I read is so different from what I hear in the marketplaces. I understand the concept of Agora now – going among the people to gather their thoughts & reality.

Of course, much of what is spoken is politics today. Once upon a time, I’m sure it was religion. Overall, it might be so much more amenable just to discuss recipes.

I still feel I’d like to solve everyone’s problems, resolve the discussions with “my” enlightenment & encourage polite discourse. My single venture at this resulted in total denial by listeners. “That’s got to be photoshopped.” “He never said that.” Not even a sliver of possibility was allowed. Everyone now follows the media’s aversion to research, I suppose. Yet I’m wiser to opt for speaking to like thinkers – while I can’t help but think how much benefit there would be even in basic courtesy among the rest.

Some while back I read that if the Founding Fathers had to debate the points in the Constitution now, we would have no such document.

Could Jefferson have conceived of WIFI? Washington, computers? I secretly smile when I read Trump “writes letters” to Kim Jong Un & Putin recommends his staffers use typewriters for important information.

What price technology? Does it make truth more reliable? Ah, there’s the age-old rub: What is Truth?

Disillusionment has ever lined the outer limits of speaking beliefs which will not seem to manifest. But now it occupies Center Stage.

If it’s more satisfying to identify as a zebra, well, we live in a time when you can simply do that.

Which leads us back to herringbone.

0

Shaving Off Sorrow

Take your hands off my philosophy

What do you care if I cannot fall in love with myself anymore?

What can it be to you how alone a human stands when her life transits to Mars? 

When all turns red as a tomato on the shelf where it freezes, where the skin thins to tissue

As the center hardens to rock?

What did I care that your life has turned into a radio

Broadcasting 24/7, unheard in a tin room?

I may never have been what you think I was

That good little Catholic kid from New York Avenue

Growing up in a town as far from New York as geography can take you

What about that skinny kid

A macaroni child with a lazy eye

Uncomfortable with focus, never knowing where to look?

Wearing Buster Browns with corded laces

A blue serge uniform covering bony knees

Chapped lips, always in reach of a book about horses?

Listening to life like a mouse for a cat’s paw

Watching for light not of rods and cones shifting

But divinity descending.

—

I can take my heart & bang it on a table now. No harm. No foul.

No burning houses with smoking windows to toss it through

It wouldn’t blaze anymore, having become ironwood & char

Unfeeling, unemotional, squeezed out with a rasp.

No matter. I was likely never who I thought I was, yeh?

I brought the best of me to the altar for sacrifice

After the light in the room changed

I found all was turned inside out

And there was nothing inside to pull from

No strength, no love, no shy violet water.

So I can toss it around, a medicine heart

Too heavy to play, too common to breathe

Too full to give away

Too empty to love.

Let’s find something else to do, okay?

Let’s find an afternoon we don’t have to pay for with blood

With dis-chord, let’s paint this Room of the

Unknown Soulmate some other color.

I’m so tired of empty.

—

Pray me into life: let the sunset squire me to beauty

Unbeknownst to others

Visited by my jaded eyes

Blurred with reading-tears

Coffee cup of empty

Guilt & sorrow my two most constant companions

A new lightbulb in a house afraid of an electric bill

I am naked as an undressed manikin

Featureless as unformed clay

Full of metaphor & simile, meta-for & similar

In the land of the unique.

Yesterday at this time, I was laughing.

—

Back when I felt important in the world

When I felt like someone wanted me to smile

Like it would be a devastation should I not

Back before the world chained the angel in me

To words I decorate with a pen

Too much cliché does a body no good

I know this is an unoriginal thought

But must voice it, nonetheless.

There was never anyone who loved me but God

And God has to love everybody, just because.

Just sayin’

—

Listen to me! The broad devourer of having no past

Of never believing much while convinced of it all!

I can wear my shoes on the couch now

No one corrects me.

I can avow a sunset for its beauty

While whispering of dawn to come.

What would I give to not be lonely

To be out of this moment where all feels “emptified”?

Where would I walk were I following my heart?

The dream a wish created vanishes with the color from a sky

I have closed my blinds against.

It is so much safer in the dark.

—

These words run out ahead, a parallel track

I huffnpuff along, steam rising from my head

Looking down for pennies on the track.

I would not see the angel until I walked into his robes

Nor feel him until the wings wrapt ‘round

Not know of my sorrow til he gave me a handkerchief

I want no direction without holding that leading hand

A little cold from flying…a little coarse from picking off sins

But landed in time to unfold me from my fear,

Scraping with a pearl fingernail at these old scars

Bleeding into tomorrow, staining the day.

The wound clears &, clean, I find a ring of bright new hope

To dance within.

—

So this is my talent: to wring words from rocks sun-dry & dusty

This world I strive to escape by pulling on a cloak of poetry

Hand-woven, soft & muted of dove-grey

Swirling around the rainsoft boots

I have kicked my life down the road

Now I need to go looking for it again.

—

0

One Among Many

To be alone is to care for my own needs on all levels. I am spoiled by this self-relationship, not needing to put up with the permutations of others.

Without the reassurance of others in which to reflect, my life can grow in any direction at all. Or not.

This is quite the realization to discover: I’ve been alone now far more years than not. Each relationship seemed to last such a long time, right? Yet they were all bunched up in the beginning of my “grown-up” years. I understand that this is the time during which I had the energy to attempt to raise a child, to move countlessly, to sustain all that went into a turn-of-the-times wife-hood. I was one caught on the horns of being the woman who did all the housework plus being the worker who earned the other half paying for the house.

So much energy was spent & replacing it was not easy as my efforts were absorbed with less than equal return simply because the scales at that time were unbalanced.

I see now I should have saved one of these relationships for this later time in life. I have so much more to give, already knowing how to do the prep work, how to love in the now with a surety sadly lacking earlier. I don’t permit the gaps to occur which were once inevitable…or if they do, I’m no longer thrown.

Now’s the time for laid-back love, when holding a hand is a meditation & a kiss can last an afternoon.

There are mirrors for reflection if I need this. There are rewards for health & earning my own way, which I thoroughly enjoy.

To have another would be simply doubling up the good.

2

October Souls

Dearest

I cannot write you into my life again

It seems two month’s passing does not erase

A year of your  hands

‘pon the hills & valleys,

The intimate creases of me

Yet I’ve faith in forgetfulness

That time creates

I have hope in the creation of new

Replacing old

With clarity for us both.

It won’t ever set straight

The doglegged path we shared

Nor lose (loose?) us ‘pon that way

You are a song below the waterfall of my being

Where branches & elbows of trees

Are washed clean, where wet leaves gather,

A snag & rustle of underbrush

Where I hoped to pass silently unobserved.

Where I cannot swim nor linger in sunlight.

=======

I miss you, LoveMan,

My body misses the bits of you I encompassed

My mind straddles you as my legs could not…

My heart encompasses what hands could not hold.

I opened to you in intimacy,

Gentle & giving

Until it turned opposite

To awakening & remembrance

I opted for the lessons of in-between

Where you are not:

The days when lonely is a four-letter word.

I finger these memories to frayed silk

Tying them with blessing

To toss upon the waters.

I walk once more bottled & contain’d

No longer the beauty of your addled regard

But the scour of my holy self,

The pale scourge of longing

In substitute for fulsome remedy,

That wholeness of your temporary regard

I wish you love

With all the power of a woman

I miss you like midnight with a moon upon its chest

As the wakefulness of longing closes my eyes

=====

Come love again!

Come fitting the seas of our bodies together

The mingling guilt

Glistening on beaches of touch

Come the opening of limbs!

Over lives & all betweens

Come that special smile of love’s regard

That faint warmth kindling to full-throat heat

That words burn into moan

The dragons of desire heavy-limbed on waking.

=====

You do not understand:

I cannot continue

Sex on Mondays only

Nary a hand-hold beyond

Not enough days of too many miles

Unable to speak, or gaze, or kiss,

An open blade I handled, careless

It might cut both ways.

=====

You are a desert I crossed in hope of moisture

An oasis turned mirage

Where only imagination grows.

We were lucky of our time together

But guilty of the clocks meting it

I stand over an open grave

Pondering resurrection.

=====

This was not my life: to

Have a faithful, capable love

Wherein I stood encircled, & safe

I fingered the horizon with car keys in hand

Not matched, not meshed

People like me cannot hold a static pattern.

=====

Unbalanced as I am in my headlong rush at life

Caught up in the love of many

Over intimacy of one

Were you to ask if I could have it any other way

I’d be forced to the honesty of looking away.

=====

An uncertain future must compensate

The flickering present

I am no gift to glory:

A rusty hinge on a gate to a weedy garden

Wherein one blossom of penetrating color –

A forget-me-not you will always twirl

In the hesitations of your mind.

I so miss being beautiful for you!

=====

And if I write enough of words

A landslide or an eruption of language

Will you (can you) forgive me?

I am the constancy of change

Of color, a fragrance caught downwind

A vibrance passing by

I am made for Make Believe as sure as

Any other theatre of life

Where fantastic is commonplace.

I play an endgame where laughter is the only closure.

A vast riparian slash

Where water runs swift & sure

Displacing earth to deepen itself.

=====

Almost afraid of love, now, though ginger with desire

I dare not live in the unreality that I am whole

Or human.

I have my little habits, my great disparity of beliefs

Around which gather & garner tiny stalks:

I believe I can be loved

The way I love the sky being blue

Remote & beautiful

Filling with blazing stars at dusk.

=====

I am an apprehension of the unreserved

In the realm of the unredeemed

Gatherer of words of smoke.

Didn’t I warn you enough, my love?

Didn’t I chafe your limbs to life

Filling your sight a spell?

Will you always see me in the

Gingham of old desire?

Could we best entwine

As man & woman?

Could I satisfy you to stay

And live with me

For a time when all is beautiful?

I am no slim willow bending in winds from your passage

I captured you for a bit, with only a wish in my hand.

=====

You fold your arms, holding yourself in

Keeping me out of your heart.

I understand protection – this you can believe!

I get it good.

I yearn to tap the power held in seal (in soul)

To have you open, enfolding me instead.

=====

Was I cruel to wish to see you?

Did I whet a dry drive

With conversation yet unsaid?

Have you any words for me at all?

You leave me to my imagination:

               That you feel…

I know you to be cautious of my exuberance

I like to think that had we met in moister times…

Just when I think I can do this –

Limit myself to love on Mondays

A nova lights within & I understand I am timeless,

A flicker of answer in a time of steady questions.

I cannot love you except in the surprise of your loving-back.

I am one to choose firelight over the sun.

Were we free to race the fields

And laugh out loud

To share the path, to dart among the trees

Seeking new realms to bed within

I might could love you more than mem’ry alone

I might could make a prayer

We say in churches, a name for the unborn,

I might could –

=====

I had to see you once more

To seek out common language

To hope for love in your regard.

I’m so weak when I’m not strong, it’s comical!

The house I built of straw in heavy winds…

A conscience free of sin

Has little left but itself..

That still, small voice

Hush, hush.

There, there.

When I cry for that open vista of passion

The taste of your breath

Your eyes closed in kiss

The tumble after the climb

And all the butterflies between.

0

Blinded by Power & Force

There’s a Ren & Stimpy birthday card where they harmonize about having so many candles on the cake, keep the firemen standing by. If I had a cake for my birthday today, it would be a sheet cake & I’d need an actuary to place the bets on getting all the candles lit … or blown out. Happy birthday, me!

Indeed, happy birthday from my island, this timespace bubble wherein live my cells & thoughts – my Be Here Now.

I was recently told I’m “blinded by power & force.” Funny, this is a fresh, recognizable insight which drew an initial shocked breath & then an appreciative smile. Yup, I do think I’m ready to have the world turn My Way! I’ve described myself as “imperious” many times. My own mother called me Queenie as a toddler. Yet, I’m far removed from the notion of nobility. I am an American woman of Italian descent: I love laughter, being held, good conversation, an unexpected joke…I love spiraling pasta from the sauce & delicious travel.

I’ve arrived at 71 with limbs intact, a cheerful demeanor & a plethora of skin tags. If anyone were to connect the dots on my body, either I would ascend or they’d have the secrets of the universe. As if!

I know the P&F thing to be true. My best friend calls me “Zinger” for a no-holds-barred manner of speaking. In this town of complaint & repetition, I am indeed the Last Brain Standing. I am forever the cuckoo in a nest of robins, my big fat egg sucking up all the energy in the room. I am the most bristly child of Fortune!

My “accuser” stands to one side, in his own bubble of understanding. Do his words sum up all assessment on my 71 years on-planet? And tho accurate, he does himself disservice in his projection of this opinion. I’ve declared him too strange for me to take in & after three attempts to reconcile a bare knuckle friendship, I no longer do so. I have found myself in a fishwife stew, screaming aloud at a man who is not even my husband! No mas!

So, what’s the problem with Power & Force?

Shall I give in to the black pearl of life alone & despairing? (There are times when this is terribly attractive.) Shall I stop offering to help or sharing the graces I also possess? Nope. Not happening.

And if my lifestyle of personal success, blessing & laughter doesn’t bear your stamp of approval, so be it. I’ve gained two comfortable descriptors that fit like softened hand-me-downs. It’s good to be in my own cult. It’s good to have a brand name. I’ve dared the fields where angels feared to tread to choose my path. I am appreciated by students & clients, beloved by [some] friends. I don’t have time for the rest right now.

Last night I met a Siamese named Percy who carefully arranged himself across my lap & nipped me when I stroked him. I hesitated & reached again. He projected, “If you wish to touch my silken grandeur, I will tolerate it.”

I nip at times, too. I push people around. The days of “sweet, silly me” are well & long gone.

I do Tinkerbell as a nuke.

I’m a Real Woman, imperfect in sight & bearing. I accomplish what I perceive as mine to do. I didn’t get here by rolling off the surfboard when the tsunami appeared. I’ll stuff these two words in my Super Powers Backpack from Dollar General.

So, wish me a Happy Birthday, a level stretch in the road, some cash for the sock. Laugh at my chutzpah, mock my Jersey accent. I have New Mexico as my sky… And what I have, I share. In the time when a heart might be heartily scored, I can slam a shield of words in place. One day I may lay them down…or explode behind them. I take my chances.

I am both happier & sadder than anyone else I know. But mostly, I am grateful that I do not succumb to robin-hood, & if it took power & force to get me here, I also have more love in the abstract than most I know.

Come, my kingdom, my mismatched blessings; come my liars & Lovers, settle here with me. I don’t mind being nipped. Should it be required, I will put myself between you & an oncoming train. I will heal you from the heart out.

I will rock your world.

4

Surviving Life

The beginning is farther away than ever, what with another birthday lining up. I don’t remember the beginning anymore, so much in between is gone as well. How many doorways have I passed through in this life? How many lives have lived me inside out to get me to move? How many put spurs into my sides if they thought I’d best go right then. They never told me about how to keep up with the pinball game: or how loud the pings could ring. Spirit has me on sonar, radar, “lov-ar” & much else. Spirit has turned my stumbles into discovery & my haltings into handwritten considerations of note.  

I keep on telling you I’m the ‘point n click’ gal.

My memory serves in a nonspecific way – tho at times things line up. But these are more holistically geosynchronous –  being in the right place at the right time. Little is contrived anymore. Who’s ready for Truth, really? My truth may not even be in the game, but I’m all for Truth. I like designating my memory to my phone cuz if the phones fail someday, I won’t need the numbers.

I am a Cassandra: a Gift so few hear lightly. I cherish those who do. Truth is the original Playdoh®. I keep my eye on the prize, but I have visions to account for.

One night on a dark drive down a two-lane paved road in Tennessee, my ex & I almost drove into a large body of water. The downhill was making me nervous, I slowed & our headlights caught the black lake in tree-edged shadows. Events like this make me mindful.

I got this far & gray to prove it, yet I’d be hard-put to tell you what I learned. Oh, not specifics. I store details clinically, For many specifics, my mind works more like Hogwarts’ Pensieve, There’s much rich detail for the taking, (Somehow today will turn up in that bowl if I need it.)

I know less about getting from here to there than you’d think. It’s all on record somewhere & I can tap into what I need in good time.

Once upon a time I thought I came here to pray us through the changes or pray me through mine. Early in life, elementary school (about which there was nothing experientially elementary) saw me tagging after nuns, appreciating all that white around their faces that lit them up. Much as I looked, though, I could not find a reflection of me. I was a sponge soaking up approval vastly lacked at all other encounters; even, perhaps, with myself in mirrors.  

I thought of prayer as a pathway again while at Unity where the message cloaked me in raw feathers – uncleaned & sharp-like, bearing bodily evidence of life. I earned every feather I found on the sidewalk & patched together into these wings. Their message of self-divinity was a huge chord wrung from one-note me. So much came together about who I was wanting to be & how to get there.

But prayer was not my path for very long. It DID help me get organized, though.

(While in young adulthood, I listened to classical music by preference. It seems to have adjusted my mind along organized routes. But music is not a talent I have time to master right now – enough going on with the words, yeh?)

At so many crossroads, I paused while a neon sign appeared, “Here,” it said. Well, ‘here’ starts with ‘her” & if you fill in the circumference of the last ‘e’, you have ‘hero’. Heros are avatars: how far up am I aiming? If no sign appeared, I pulled out the scribing pad & began de-scribing it for when you take words apart, energy flames up & out.

Exposure is the B side of honesty.

I’ve been refining all those early shavings I gathered of my life to bring along. They are sparse, flensed of emotion (except when not). There’s a bit of my soul rubbed off & on each. They emerge from the pouch in a rush but some resurface periodically. That’s when I know I’m at crossroads & waiting for the sign.

I’ve been here awhile now & time seems to stretch out like some Silly String Theory. I follow an elusive Avatar: my own Joy.

And she has left some rubbings off on me.

It doesn’t matter how many mountains appear in front of you; the idea is the scale the one you’re on right now.

Thanks –

Carol

1

Choosing Forgiveness

This August is a scratchy thing to cuddle with, dull & smelling vaguely of rot.

I move in & out of its shadows now. I sit uncomfortably in righteousness, no matter how “deserved.” I may take up a cause in all-fired outrage before I lay it back down in sheepish relief.

Friends march a distant drumbeat, steady, remote, an echo of pulsing stars. At times I read by their light. At times, a cold silence intervenes. I am both instigator & recipient in this…

Over my shoulder, I see all my friendships have been at a distance. The dance of life changes; that distance lends a glow. Even when I was with now-faraway friends, they had little time to include me. This was only noted in hindsight. Encounters could be close & intense, but all succumbed to time’s delimiter. Was it me watching the clock so closely? Since the scales will not balance well, it’s best I revise, review, release, relearn.

A friend, for me, can be counting coup after a childhood of isolation. I am only as good in practice as my experiences allow. Early patterns will assert, loud as a coughing fit at a death scene. For a moment, all is Life! Color! Pageant! Then the pennons go limp to lie along the poles in mournful strands.

I find having few friends acceptable now. And none within reach who understand well what I believe. Where I look for friends, I am likely to find open wounds. I ascribe it to their thoughtlessness for I do not wish to think it of my deliberations. I can decide against being analytical & simply go to sleep to see where the needle points come morning.

At times, friends show me best how to not be in the world. But this is a world I don’t know how to be in anyway.

I understand friends, for me, are part of an atomic structure which holds together only because it repels its own components. They mirror my lesser moments in shimmering tin rather than silvered glass. My truest friend is myself, for when I seek outer bindings, I discover thin connection indeed.

In my cosmos, friends prove a fierce & fragile constant, a note sounded faraway, a Perseid Meteor slashing the throat of night. This is not my lifetime for sharing & baring; I understand so much more now by understanding none too much at all. My soul can be warm & pulsing; it can create music. But the notes are sounded against a toothed edge which cuts with intent to bleed, shaving truth from consequence. I stand stripped of belief, but no more unclothed than I have shredded coverings of others.

I may always be the mote in God’s eye & God never blinks.

Leaders protect the pack. They do not mingle. Unapologetic & tearful, I accept the verdict of my heart. I collect the slings & arrows lying at my feet. The stars & scars I bear alone.

1

Nothing Lasts Forever

I am caught by the peculiar gravity of life, its sheer & unexpected weight. I am “impressed” by it in the same way a baby duck is imprinted – following whatever has grabbed my interest.

To plead innocence at this age is to smile at the cosmic joke. Yet I do plead it – not for this-now me, but for the “Innocent” I was. Living longer nets strange ideas in the strands of years.

One decision can follow another like that duckling thing but lifetimes don’t necessarily hold to the consecutive rule of being lived in a tidy row.

Nothing is forever but much is for all time. I am equally a liar & a lover. Flip the coin: belief is a single part of the investment I make in life. Investment becomes a vestment for my sacred moments – the ones I really believe in.

Is this sacred? Perhaps. Blessed, certainly. I want to evolve to the next level – or, to play it up a notch, resolve to evolve. Can resolutions lead to re-soul-ment? Yes, I do believe this.

As beliefs & patterns fall away, age wears me differently. The shields cannot always be kept after. Without a certain strategy, these don’t recharge & my energy has resettled into unusual patterns. The last shield to lay down has yet to go horizontal & it must for that next level to achieve.

Age has made me territorial for better or worse. I claim the invisible: the ephemeral qualities of time, space & matter. I claim the insubstantial: grace & true love of life.

I’m just rambling here. The words appear, raindrops from thoughts clouded with unreason; to be reasonable in chaos is a form of stillness borne of movement. As fear is refined & mined for its mixed assets there are gems to be found. To mineralize life, one must spark fertility. When that cycle slows or is discontinued, more rigid forms express. Thing is, with lifelong familiarity, I can flame them where they land before they burrow in. If I anger, they coalesce in heat, pointing here to a heart, constructing there a wall. They are nonetheless fused to the ruthlessness to which I refine my will.

Because my train of thought runs alternate tracks from others, I don’t arrive at populated stations. A strange logic elicits strange results.

This seems enough to say on the topic. I’ll get back to you when I figure it all out.

2

Random Poems: Unknown Source

All the long, nonpareil days of August, I waited

Walking beaches incessantly

Combing the tides for word from you

Only sea-glass emerged

Not a word formed on foam.

My hems are mud-clumped threads

My boots caked in salt

The flumes of my bonnet blown backward,

Catching the joyriding wind.

Not a whole shell is extant,

Only bits & flakes, a bubble on a wave…

Still I walk.

My sisters look to horizons

Expect me to raise my eyes

But I am stuck in a story of you

Where a single, cool, green cylinder

Rolls to my feet.

I bend & slick off the water

I tremble, using my teeth on the cork

[A faint ‘pop!’]

The fainter smell of your ink

The mystery of your yes or no

Curled like a hermit crab in wine-bottle shelter.

There is only one today;

Always only one me

So fraught with self & simpering love words

They seek me out front & back

They drip from me like raindrops down oilcloth

Run to edges that curl the streams

I wear a Papa Salt hat, yellow in this sunlit Other Day.

I don’t expect a Prince a-riding

I’d prob’ly fall in love with his horse & dash him from saddle,

Leaving him standing bandyleg-beached

As Horse & I gallop, splashing, into the sea.


Time To Rain

Mercury gone retro brings monsoons

But since that last hailstorm in June

Things are quiet.

I feel like a chess piece out of play

Cornered by a pike-poxed pawn

A Queen at bay to the dwarf

But dwarves are Earth & know the caves

What better ally to be sent me?

I throw the ball again to

See if I can hit the sea

It’s all downhill from here…


Dancing On My Daddy’s Shoes

Tho something I’ve never done, seems somehow dug into my memory

Like finding a bone among the feathers

A made-up story about a little girl I never was

Nor can be this life.

And so loved anyway

Still dancing.


When No Belief Was Left

We turned back

The trackless waste devoid of all save Hunger

Beckoned no more

In full retreat, we fled, thankfully

Fragmented among ourselves,

We slept in the ruins

The mild nights belied our inner chill

From all the ice & snarl, we breathed relief.

Alive again to home & hearth. We were

The heathens left alive

As ghosts, alone & insubstantial

To live among the resting of our lives

So packed with promise just before the War.

1

The Blush of Being Still

My life has been sectioned off pretty securely. There was being a child, a ‘tween, a teen, etc. But when I thought the chrysalis sucked close to dry, I experienced a rebirth. Every time. The assuredness of God chucking me under the chin.

I focused in on a quote today. It’s been on my desk panel for months, now. I decided to read it at least once each day going forward. I believe it’s from the movie “Pacific Rim” which I’ve not seen.

Today, at the edge of our hope, of life at the end of our time, we have chosen not only to believe in ourselves, but in each other.

Today there’s not a man or a woman in here that shall stand alone. Not today.

Today we face the monsters that are at our door, and bring the fight to them.

Today we are cancelling the Apocalypse!

Somewhere, in the mind-altering moments, tiny switches are flipping. Or something like that is happening. Words that brought up powerful reactions are neutralizing. When I remember the story to tell about that word & that feeling, it is no longer of any stir in my life.

I can feel them switching in others too, as we share thoughts & ideas, discoveries & dreams. To even be speaking of dreams, the wishes culled from THIS rebirth…polar separations dissolve, my “personal poles” come together, in the form of a plug going into a wall. And I’m not afraid of the electricity bill anymore.

Everyone I speak to is more “themself”, more genuine, more interactive with me than before when I’d see them for a “Hi!” Now each encounter means a deepening of soul in order to respond to where that person is…especially if I feel like I’m watching a first grader. Until the next Teacher finds me so as well. Beginner’s Mind allows my interactions with the world to flourish.

So, there’s no smart ending to this one. It’s been in ‘drafts’ for days while I figured the rest would come through. But I think it really ends here.

Loveya,

Carol

“Officer Carol” comes out: Tut! You ‘re just getting that?”

1

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