Riding the Light –

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  • A Realization

    A Realization

    Readings no longer provide me with much information. All paths are now open to me. With none contraindicated, I am able to make good on any one of these. I recognize & organize all powers to my good.

    The incoming storm pulled me into the reading at which I realized this. I always hope for good guidance & now understand all I’m doing is sorting through street signs when I already know where I am & the way to go. These only await the doing to achieve the imprimatur of reality. My reality is no one else’s: imagine this! In a world of billions, no one else lives my life with my emotional signature or ideas! No one speaks my words nor understands in the same way as I do.

    My taste receptors have changed, that tells me to eat less. I used to eat with a kind of desperation, with the idea my best satisfaction came from that activity. What was I attempting to recapture? Where else can I achieve satiety? It is the memory of another me – the former me – the distractive & unknowing me of yesterday. (I notice I largely remember to whom I’ve told my stories, while listening to those of others ad infinitum. It’s pushing a button: one word releases their tape to recite the speech I have heard before. I realize I am given what I asked for – New Thoughts! I am not shackled to my stories anymore. I can discriminate as to what needs to be heard so I know what is to be shared. If every word makes an impression, why dig the groove that takes me back to that nonproductive mindset from which I repeat the fight to be free?

    This recent reading does tell me it is time to enact. There’s the place where my energy will grow into that in which others wish to participate. Each written word is a presage to speaking it.

    It’s close. I can feel it. I can taste it in the Now.

  • Epilogue & Epiphany: Both Sides Now

    Epilogue & Epiphany: Both Sides Now

    I stare into the hurricane whose eye will not blink.

    Many changes are in the offing (offering) of life. Now is as good a time as any to break open the piggybank of experience & count the coins. I give gratitude for the gifts & guilts of my existence. I have lived through so many changes & approach the imminent & eminent with calm reflection.

    Where will I be five days from now? Floating out to sea (to see) or lying cold on a slab, I am ready for any ending & all new beginning in equal measure.

    I look at myself & find no fear. I look into myself, finding only incubating change.  Even in the storm, the ocean retains its blue-gray beauty. I am of that same inevitability. I know the bedrock presence of Life no matter what.

    The house is as secure as we can make it which means little when Nature focuses to bear down in Category Four force…pushing a wall of wind & water ahead. There is little safety on the surface, but I experience the clarity I traveled so far to find.

    Rain pats down its Braille of gentle touch before meeting itself in rising water. Though inland from the beaches, I am exposed on all levels.

    My change approaches at bullet train speed. The life cargo remains…yesterday I sealed packets at church – my DNA is in strange places forever.

    Shall I write an entry or a eulogy? How many have this opportunity? Words will never dance to anyone else’s music as they have to mine! My uniqueness may be engulfed or overrun, but it will never be replicated.

    It is time to ask yet again the meaning of life to manifest. I am proud of what I have accomplished even if my confused little heart has lost the Order of its yuan shen (Prime Directive.) It has ordered me about & I obeyed. I brought life to that which I thought in my own way. I have lived in many rooms where my energy still burns.

    I write a farewell of sorts: this experience may be a grand exclamation point whether I go or stay. The universe landed me here at this time. I am lucky to have lived my heartbreaks early so more delight & joy may run before me, scattering rose petals of sublime expectation, of colorful invitation.

    Bring me Home. I allow & welcome all revisions to the lifeline. Once upon a time I prayed hard for New Thoughts & now I write the words to bring truth to the request. I unwrap a totally individual Birthday Gift.

    I am a light-bringer, a light-bearer. I know my days will never be the same as before. But this is only one timeline among many & I will be remembered with love for each encounter.

    I’m ready, now, to blink.

    Love,

    Carol

  • A Birthday of Blessing

    A Birthday of Blessing

    Being fully human: I am fully divine.

    I am based in blessing

    Rooted in divinity

    Wrought in the free will of Self

    Ablaze at times with the incandescence of a life well-lived

    My joys are a playground of opportunities

    The games they engender

    Call through my windows

    The call to prayer is also the call to play.

    We are celebrants to Mystery

    Dabblers in proven technology of partnership with God

    Wanderers across trackless land

       Wrinkled sea

    Our journeys return us, as always, to Heaven

    The God Who sent me sends this storm

    Spending me as profligate coin

    Emotions discovered / recovered to Thee return

    On that investment.

    Bring me forth again, O Lord?

    Take me into the marketplace of Your love

    Use me to indulge Your desires

    Circulate me in Your world: I wear Your fingerprints

    I invest all wisdoms saved up from Love

    Treasures indeed of a holy gathering

    Help, health, insight & interest…

    Pocket me with pleasure, God,

    The shining copper penny, the one among the many

    Allow my return over & over

    As the bearing of Your spiritual tender

    I am Yours alone until I rejoin the All

    Here I am, Lord of Love

       Ka-ching!

  • Landfall

    Landfall

    Hurricane Ian is coming. Arrival is Wednesday mid-day. But the acolytes gather with candles & water containers after securing their outdoor possessions & wishing they had a stormproof garage. I gave in to fear for about ten minutes, firing up search engines to track the storm, reading emergency procedures. That wore out fast! There was no way to sustain that broadcast of pitched energy which fizzled like a spent July 4th sparkler.

    I pushed right through that brilliant, antechamber into the Grand Ballroom of Joy. I brewed another cup of coffee & sat back, rearranging the pillows to get comfortable. I thought about the only other hurricane I remember personally back at the Jersey Shore, which left us with inches of mud in our ground-level triplex in Wildwood. I was a useless kid at the time, squishing around in it until Mom chased me outside. (I have one persistent flashback of my brother & I staring out the windows of the third floor apartment watching the storm surges from the bay & the ocean meeting in the parking lot next door – and our basement, as it turned out. I remember Mom returning from a meeting with the Monsignor of St. Ann’s that night, pushing against waist-high waves to get home, having left our Chevy on slightly upraised Central Avenue. After 12 years of expensive Catholic schooling, the entire senior class had been booted for attending a beer party & she was begging mercy from a stone-hard black-clad man. None was available as he’d already collected all the fees available from every family.)

    For close to a month now I’ve taken a homeopathic called Hyland’s Calm Forte which sustained me cross-country & now in situations where my lovable heart decides to turn up the volume & gin itself up for some imaginary battle. Calm continues to hold me in a gentle state of blessing, bringing heart to parade rest rather than parade march.

    At the market, people were pleasant & seemed comfortable while at the same time piling their carts with all manner of foods. Our kitchen counter has 5 ewers, 4 plant watering containers, a couple of jars & my contribution – an orange juice container. I’m working on emptying another one as I write.

    There are no candles in town (I have a half-dozen flashlights to hand), no jugs of water (see kitchen note just above – and there’s the scrubbed tub.) I think of the Weather Channel as the mouthpiece for a particularly rabid band of atmospheric jihadi. I think of the emptying liquor racks at the market & figure Florida’s hurricane button is plumb worn out. I anticipate walls of water slashing the windows, sluicing the streets. I figure on winds playing havoc with untended tree limbs & all these beautiful palm trees bending & bowing to its force. But I’ve not experienced a hurricane in years & never here, where it makes a personal landfall in a fury of no longer passing over water.

    I’ve said it before: I can be dead anywhere when the time comes to slip the skinsuit. My papers are in order; someone will find them. This identity is so unimportant in the Circle of Life – another will slip in to write & maintain contact with God-Central. Memories are short & life is not terminated with physical discontinuance. It’s a skip in the record, a bobble on the CD, a bubble in the tape. My life can come & go at any time because what matters is I lived it. That I take with. I made some laugh, others think, some cry. I was one more burst of sparkle in the fourth of July fire engine parade. It will fade – or not – as I continue on, hitchhiking Eternity.

  • Ordinary Wisdom

    Ordinary Wisdom

    WHO NEEDS BEGINNINGS?

    I am getting into continuation more & more these days. I keep finding wisdoms which, I told a friend, bring me up so short, I leave mental skid marks. I know these are trite as cracks in sidewalks to others, but maybe you can share where I am if I share these:

    [from The Midnight Library by Matt Haig]

    “Sometimes the only way to learn is to live.”

    “Never underestimate the big importance of small things.”

    “Nora had always had a problem accepting herself. She always had a sense she wasn’t enough. She imagined now, what it would be like to accept herself completely. Every mistake she had ever made. Every mark on her body. Every dream she hadn’t reached or pain she had felt. Every lust or longing she had suppressed. She imagined accepting it all. The way she accepted nature. Just another sentient animal trying its best. And in doing so, she imagined what it was like to be free.”

    These thoughts appear as I imagine my life as one long, tubular existence. Passing through corridors of “getting to where I want to be” which open into ballrooms or bedrooms or dappled forest clearings. The corridors have windows where I can see where I think I want to be. Arrival is one thing. Getting there a second. Accepting & staying there yet a third. That’s how possibilities become endless. Getting these sorted in my soul is like separating a dish of cooked spaghetti into individual strands. Just pour on the sauce & enjoy the meal!

    Where’s your focus today? What are you doing for yourself or others? One morning on an early walk in T or C, I helped a woman using a walker to get a package from her mailbox. I thought how great it was to get my good deed for the day out of the way early on. I don’t think I’ve gotten all my good deeds out of the way yet…tho some came on early & were accomplished without fuss. Or even anyone noticing. Hey! I look at it as a reminder for self & others. It doesn’t look like I can do it alone anytime soon. If I reach out for help, I need to be prepared, indeed eager, to help those others.

    The St. Francis Serenity Prayer comes to mind. There wouldn’t be so many quotes like that, nor would these be so popular – bookmarks, signs, bumper stickers, slogan posters – if they were estranged from practice or consciousness. That recognition tweaks a smile that we already knew that! The real smile comes with its accomplishment in daily life.

    Leaving off here with one more quote, this one from Fall Out Boy:

    “You are what you love & not who loves you.”

    And you don’t have to quote me on that.

  • The Wild Pigs of Fortune

    These words, as delicate as unicorns

    Seeking virgins across a flowered meadow

    Become

    Wild pigs of fortune

    Rooting morels of richest flavor

    Growing in ragged rings

    Trailing under trees.

    I have dined on hope & horror

    That sweet & sour of life –

    I choose my plate & am served,

    The pickiest of eaters

    No longer starved but selective.

    —

    There is a future of poetry quiescent in me

    Until it surfaces

    An inexplicable sea of languaged possibility

    An electricity of words

    A rumpled lightning honed in thunder:

    A power of music & movement

    A violin plucked in silence

    As solid as any ephemeral

    Ringing the drums of inner ears.

    I sing as it threads from me

    Pure, honied notes

    Caught in a seine of glisten      

    Unfolding in echoes

    One word spawning a generation of new thoughts.

    —

    The Magnum Opus of my earth-days

    Breaking forth in syllables,

    A waterfall of words

    Manipulative argot yanking me

    This way & that

    Finally bouncing off the sky

    As light breaks through.

    I quest the possibilities of expression

    For you, panning a seine net for gold nuggets

    We can spend on the future

    Cooking up possibilities where

    We retire from the table, patting

    Full bellies,

    An unexpected belch of repletion

    Bringing a smile since

    There is simply no room for dessert.

    —

  • Quiche & Stonehenge Lamps

    up at 3:30 – this time zone thing is interesting… I was sometimes an insomniac before the cat came into my life, but now I am accomplished in the single digit hours. I prefer these dark darlings before everyone else is up. I feel like I’ve got a secret which satisfies my inner child enormously. I know when the lights blink or a plane flies over & I imagine the pilot looking down on twinkling stars not in the sky.

    Yesterday I stopped at Publix to buy $8 lightbulbs (ulp!) (3-way & LED but look-like-real-GE-bulbs). I know LED isn’t good for eyes but have magically spelled the lampshades to filter out all of whatever is unhealthy emanating from them. And now I can have 30 watts with my coffee instead of 100. The lamps both take 3-way speed & are made of granite. They could be stood as monuments in a field – marking 100 miles from Camden – & would be there 100 years later. To move one requires all my strength, including core & a clenched bottom. That would be to relocate it even an inch to the right to fit my glasses in a certain circumscribed place on the night table. God help me. Was I always this anal?

    Anyway, Publix. My roommate adds “but they’re so expensive” every time I mention the name. Like “St. Mary’s By The Sea,” “Publix But They’re So Expensive.” Yes they are indeed. But they are ubiquitous, like churches in the Bible Belt & squeaky clean & will give  you flowers on your birthday if you give them your personal data which they can sell for far more than $10 a bunch, as well as your bank card info. Got two sweet potatoes, two bulbs, an orange pepper & a package of two quiche shells for $30. BUT the upside is it was all in one place & did not involve a u-turn.

    Now the quiches are made, well, one done & one cooking. One for the Unity potluck Sunday & one for us. Loaded: pepper, onion, asparagus, tomato, cheddar, squash. I now see what G means about buying veg ahead – one squash was rotted from inside out. Felt a little soft but was mush inside. Tropical climes. For whatever reason, the cukes are staying firm so I must eat them Very Soon.

    We have ghost ants. Ghost ants have black heads. Not that you’d know that since you’d need to follow them about with an electron microscope to see them at all. I see dots moving about the desk calendar, or across the computer screen. Forget about seeing them in the kitchen on a marbled granite surface. I’m not even guessing how many I’ve already consumed, but since the Deep State is pushing locust bars & cricket chips on schoolchildren (so far only in Australia, but they’re a daring bunch anyway). Klaus says we will have nothing but he’s wrong. We can have Insects for Dinner, sauteed, baked, fried. Um, let’s talk about something else.

    I’m back at sea level. I am made of salt water as I find out when I sweat through everything like three times/day. Walking out to get the mail, opening the door to see if the clouds might mean it’s gotten cooler & pushing the remote to open the car locks. That’s all it takes, folks. Since I’m down to three small half-drawers of clothing after the relocation, it can be quite the challenge to find an “outfit” by Saturday. Also, since I no longer care if I wear checks & plaids together, life gets more clowny as I get to Thursday wear. I cannot commit a crime: people will remember me. “That lady with the purple & greeny tights & the black & white stripe top? Yeah, what about her?”

    I have seen cactus here, but they look sad & possibly rotting from the inside out. I ordered a children’s picture book on palm trees to learn some species. The smallest number I’ve seen is 22 but the book has 32, with pictures. And I expect I will memorize these as I read it by my 50-watt setting. I do keep looking for coconuts, some dim memory of a lifetime in Hawaii, not that I’d shimmy up a 50′ smooth trunk for it when I can buy one at Sprouts, yeh?

    I do love the garbage disposal! Too bad the water table in NM doesn’t permit ’em. This is one you could put car parts down & retrieve paper clips.

    Spent time at the library yesterday trying to send pix to computer via phone in order to retrieve them for emails, but they did not send. Since no one calls me – like – e v e r – the phone has become a good weight to hold down my purse should there be a high wind or should I not have put the strap under one of the lamps for safekeeping. Thieves would get a hernia trying to make off with it. I did take a pic of the lamp with the computer but it is squirreled somewhere with the ghost ants.

    Aaaand it’s only Friday. 

  • “When Possible, Make a U-Turn”

    “When Possible, Make a U-Turn”

    I’ve read that even when we are lost, maybe turned around in direction, the place we are lost in needed our energy to pass through it. I am intrigued by this as it gives a validation to dithering. My Garmin unit has fallen heavily into like with Rt 75 here – Florida’s answer to 95 in Philly or 25 in New Mexico. I have it programmed for the fastest way & although I can see where I want to go across the “freeway”, the Garmin insists on getting onto that & going one exit north or three south in order to double back. This is how it achieves the “fastest” way – must go hammer down to match the traffic to exit a mile away when my landing was across the street.

    The next direction it has bonded most sincerely with titles this blog. Now I’m the queen of u-turns. How many times I’ve been on the inside lane watching my exit sign off to the right whip by…well, let’s just agree I don’t want to say. But I don’t get excited about that anymore.

    In thinking this over I find I must make a “you-turn”. Now, doesn’t that sound a bit better? I look again to see if inward shapes up with outward. I breathe away the annoyance or feeling of being stupid when I do. I understand there was some reason, perhaps unfathomable in the moment, but some causative that set me [literally] off from a target.

    Now I get that when this happens, when Garmin says, “in one mile, be in the right lane to take 75 South” I can bypass that, pull off onto another street & cancel the route. When I reprogram, I am readily guided more gently on the surface streets as the unit ‘repents’ (rethinks) best route. It helps if I don’t steam up or get into a lather about it. It’s as though I’m on a retractable leash & just reached the end of it where it gets interesting when “click!” the brake device locks me down. By the neck.

    English is full of words beginning with ‘re’. It always means some kind of do-over. I have often walked right through the safe space, climbing out of the bomb shelter as the planes drone over, carefully edging over or under the barrier of go no farther in peril of continuing. Limitations are temporary. I will get there from here.

    I can be my own hero. It’s all that is left for me to do. I have been my own example & it sure is easier without the drama of agonizing each instant of it, but keeping an eye on where I want to be & knowing no matter how fast I travel past it, I can return. Accepting that English itself is the Trickster here, I move along steadily; we go hand in hand. It’s quieter without the quibbling.

    If I can do it with a laugh, I’m in the overcoming lane. If I can do it with grace, I’ve benefited the territory by not leaving a trail of frustrated syllables behind, like a smelly bus.

    I can read up all I want about how it works. I can preach it from on high (or on nigh) but the sure knowledge my goal is attainable as it is for my good, is astounding.

    Soon I will no longer need the directions to be recited from the tiny screen replicating the exact place I am… how many times must I get there before the sure understanding that I can broadcasts a sunrise, illuminating all? Quite a few, it seems. I say to that, “Let’s go!”

    Now, as I sort through endings, I keep finding beginnings I’ve set aside among these. They are shiny, eye-catching, attention-getting. And achievable!

    When possible, live your best life!

  • Before the Cat Died

    Before the Cat Died

    PREPONDERANCE

    Tisanes of my own making:

    I still say coming forward for others

    Is more than my own reality

    The vague blur of expired lenses

    Less keen than real perceptions

    The radiation of my Chernobyl life

    Pulsing in the machinery.

    My heart decides its own measure

    Diverging from the body’s hosting.

    Finding that  hidden doorway,

    I sit shivering in shiva for myself.

    Once held so closely to my chest

    Now put aside in contemplation

    Of The Other.

    Yet this is current reality

    My clickbait body

    To which I return each morning

    While sliding down the ropes of immortality.

    I land with a jar of bones & teeth

    In the town of not-enough & nevermore

    The boundaries of why bother

    Tightening their borderline personalities.

    Will I mist to shadow

    Transmogrify to barbered edges?

    Shredding & shedding humanity for the Divine

    The nature at central core

    Patiently emergent.

    Shall I pick my way through minefields

    Fraught with memory, unbounded, unleashed, unremembered?

    Does it matter?

    As one among many

    Unmanned by the sheer topography –

    Of this experiential life,

    Once glossed by heaven

    This blank page

    Forever scribbled now

    Crossed out

    A mess of blots & misspellings

    A dictionary of what not to do.

    My mind off to the side

    While heart seeks another drummer.

    Of all the doorways along the

    Corridor of Eternity

    Of all the tiger or the lady decisions

    Shall I find forgiveness only in salvation’s selection?

    MOVEMENT TOWARD

    The channels of perception

    Sharpening

    Repelling static for clarity

    I fight free of the physical

    For the liminal of heaven

    Washed by words

    Scarred by sayings

    I glisten at tidal edges

    Will love refashion & reconstitute

    Who I shall be?

    Will crass materialism win over

    Incandescent immortality?

    I wander fields of inquiry

    When answers are only found

    Along the horizon.

    Like babies

    Cats keep their own timelines

    Pulled to the watered-silk moon

    An insistence upon awakening

    Shedding sleep like virgin’s tears

    Of awakening to a man sleeping alongside;

    To single digits on the clock

    From sleep to not-sleep

    A bleary coming-to

    I cross & recross that boundary

    Between morphia & the mangle.

    Her plumed tail floats last out the door

    Her existential nature of query

    Draws no worry in the night

    She only wants to walk about in it.

    I’m hardly awake & worry catches

    Me up in headlong rush

    Enough! These thoughts need brighter light to think

    I drift upon the couch, ticking time

    In decisions.

    Pain is a slowed-down travel companion

    A discernment rushed into decision

    A refocus upon the means to journey

    Through to the promise of arrivals.

    Darkness to light

    The words ride a tunnel into the light.

    The night

    Picks its way among gardens & highways

    Taking cities by storm

    Bringing the brace of salt & bitters

    To a candy life

    Too sweet to manage alone

    I reach to friends who break taffy edges

    I savor them as only perceptions

    Of spice to be stirred into the stew.

    Broken Like Mercury

    The pieces of my life forever flow

    In reuniting

    Yet every bubble reflective of itself

    Toxic

    A balm to unhealed wounds.

    I put my hands into the word-soup of life

    Pulling out the same-same over & over

    Putting them to a picture

    Moving along sure edges,

    Fitted to an

    Other-where of perception.

    Indentured abandon

    Not yet an adventure

    But simply a promise

    That all will be new:

    That all will be well.

    Finished: the Night

    Apace with poems

    A toe-thorned cat asleep nearby

    She purrs to hear me wake

    Welcomed to morning

    By her expectations.

    The numbers on the clock-face

    Are liquids soon abandoned

    For the solid day

    Soon abandoned by the sun’s

    Hearty sibilance for the stutter of rain

    My erratic heart abandons rhythm

    In errata of timing: I am asymmetrical

    Wondering will it also abandon me?

    I have left off the lid on fear

    Once contained

    I pull the braided measure

    To watch it unravel.

    There is none but this now

    I have survived to this hour

    This night

    Only me speaking

    One hand clapping

    The applause of a universe

    Knowing no appendages

    But only self-regard.

    Will I close one eye to eternity

    Or decide to have no body

    But only a wing & wonder?

    Unexplored, lost joy recovered

    That relay of open gates

    A call to angels to attend me

    A sustenance of grace attendant

    To continuing on

    Bodiless as a naked soul.

    None to greet me in dystopian Paradise

    A chair in a corner

    A pen & pad

    To rewrite me into another life.

    Death Is An Invisibility Cloak

    Life recedes behind me

    A memory before a dream:

    A place where God looks up from His desk

    Adjusting His glasses

    Laying down the Book of Life He writes

    To say, “Oh, there you are!

    How was it?

    Again, why did I create you?

    When  you passed, a thousand drums went dumb.

    Come here, my girl, tell me all & that you wrote what you lived:

    The banal & the miraculous…

    Do you remember all the times you touched My face in passing?”

    I will cross the room in laughter,

    “Father! I made it! It was extraordinary!

    However did You think of it all?”

    I will be whispering for all eternity

    Now penned in heaven

    Awaiting Your words.

    There Were No Clocks

    As I drew my last breath

    Released in a rattle: there

    Was no time left to record,

    Only words scattered on the floor

    Of my mind.

    It was all for You, after all

    And I’m not sorry for the mistakes

    Or falling from grace to land on my face

    In the mangle of years.

    Searching only for the

    Exit, the entrance,

    Knowing neither right nor wrong

    Would enter anywhere beyond this realm

    The physical of living too well

    While overdressed & compliant with survival.

    I bought life, spending all that I had

    I hand You my purse, empty of only Love’s royal return.

    (3/22/22)

  • Being Again

    Being Again

    I have changed up my luck & my life many times, not being one to stay in place & talk while change happened all around. I’m at that lever point again where each choice takes me to a more fulfilling place.

    Mark, 5:36 says “Do not fear. Only believe.” Whew! Good advice there! I’ve taken it on as a mantra & with gratitude for the “holy backup.”

    I had no expectations on coming to Florida, really not knowing what I’d discover here. My new roommate did not quiz me on wants or needs to bring attention, I did not put expectations out there, except for it to be different from what I was/had/did in T or C.

    These differences are astronomical. Yesterday in a meeting about literacy, we played a game based on Jeopardy & one of the questions was which state has the lowest level of literacy in U.S. I mumbled “What is New Mexico.” I was correct. Ineffably sad to me when someone cannot read or write, I am remedying this by joining the Literacy Council & training as a tutor.

    I genuflected on going into the library – more of a church to me than all else. The staffers here everywhere are positive, helpful, genuine & creative. I’ve been able to afford new glasses at an optometry store – a dream of years but since last pair cost $500, seemingly far out of reach. I have a wall of books available in the Community Center here. I have a church family now to make laugh since that’s my favorite thing. And people are so ready to laugh!

    Seems like pretty much everything is readily available here which was more of a rumor in T or C. All kinds of community facilities & events, long walks by water, Time & more to recreate my life & offer my unique talents to a place & an appreciative populace. For me, service is the essential of my being, as needed as all else.

    For the poverty I saw across the country, the empty storefronts & sagging signs, from the fast-food-only offerings to fresh greens & meats, for lawns without rusted hot water heaters & garages full of bulging, mottled boxes, for the well-tended pets & the lack of hungry cats crowding the yards… It is an unexpected lift to my life-spirits to be in a place where it all I see is organized & tended. Of course there are still many living in their iPhones or intent only on passing the next car on the road. But these seem echoes faint & faraway to my observations. Florida is a state of mind as well as method. I anticipate establishing myself in the community & moving forward to a much higher & more loving state of knowledge, aiming for enlightenment.

    My loving nature is expressed by all the writing I do. I bring to light stories about myself which will place them in the heart of a wondrous, organized universe that makes butterflies in larvae, that grows mighty sequoias from one tiny hold-in-you-hand “seed.” I live in a place where my now is for the benefit of others & the betterment of self. My stories help others achieve their goals, release their fears, understand more of what happened. All my friends & lovers are in a place of sending me joy & delight when they think of my name, my face, my voice. I return these tenfold, understanding that Love is the nature of the universe in which I dwell & have my being. I reflect & release any event or thought which does not fit into this pattern of affection, unfoldment & endorsement of my understanding of God & Divinity which showers upon me unceasingly with a blink & a wink & a blessing of smiling energy. And so it is!

    My poetry Muse has gone to the nearby beach but she’ll be back. In the meantime I write prose & praise & power as I grow into this now, this new. Late in life for it all, this is, but here & now counts for far more than lottery winnings if you’re happy.

    Be in love, people. If you’re not, take any train, boat, plane or scooter you can to get there. Then turn around & show everyone else the way.

    Love,

    Carol