I never corrected they typos in this video, but it’s a fun one to watch anywa
I’m feeling morose,
but for the most part, I know
it will go away tomorrow–
this feeling that time is flying by
and I am only dazzeled by the sky
when it is full of clouds.
Because when the sky is clear
I too clearly see what lies in front, to the sides or behind me.
But when the clouds are up to whatever they care to be
I feel, when I look, like it’s only Infinity and me.
No one can hurt or chide or scorn someone who’s got her eyes turned up
and out. The sky makes one feel as if all that is out there, is actually in.
But have you ever tried to hold a cloud in your arms and sing lullabies
to the fleeting wind that floats them away before you can tuck a Mare’s Tail blanket under their chin?
A cloud, no matter how brightly it reflects the sun
can never hold your hand, or sing a song that you once taught her, to one of her own.
In 1984, a star fell from that very sky, and brought to me, a daughter.
The tune, by, Earth, Wind and Fire, Shining Star, got me through labor.
I still sing those words, though it is dark without her for company.
“Shining star for all to see what this life can truly be.”
You are a shining star and the sky is not empty.
Cloudy or clear night or day, when I look at the sky,
not only do I remember from whence you came,
but I remember holding you, tender and near,
before any of my stupid mistakes
made my daughter, my sunshine, only seem to disappear.
i know you are there. Somewhere. Shining for someone,
for all to see,
what this life can be.
The golden cage was not being built to keep the bird inside it as much as it was to keep the cats out.
But the maker did not want to obstruct the bird’s view, nor did she want to keep the beautiful yellow creature from the sight of onlookers.
Citrine was helpful to look at and helpful to hold, but not for cats,of course.
So the cage was being scrutinized for the least obstructive and most protective construction.
The wires went askew and crossed over each other and ended up in a golden, crooked heap.
The maker began to think: “IF the bird could fly, she could easily get away from cats, and she could swoop and sweep through the air in the sunlight and show everyone her healing light.
So instead of a cage, she gave the bird the gift of flight.
But no wings.
The Citrine Bird was only going to be able to fly when worn on the heart of a pure woman.
And it was for that one woman that the bird had been formed.
What was not expected, but delighted all concerned was that both woman and bird could fly when she wore the bird around her neck.
Of course, she tried it on the Buddha first, only to see how it would look on a pure one. The she took it and wore it with great joy.
And that is how the story of the Citrine Bird and the Wise Woman begins.
Prayer with a rose quartz crystal.
I had just had another major battle with my mom. I was at wits end. I couldn’t see a solution because there was hurt and trauma on all sides. So I prayed, using a pink quartz crystal as an aid to focus mind, body and spirit.
When Jesus fought temptation in the desert, he used scripture as his weapon. So that is what I did.
The whole 23rd Psalm was consolidated into the mantra: surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life and I will dwell in the house of the lord forever.
This is a peek into the world of an elderly woman in our community; a plea for help with the problem of depression and uselessness that our elders face in a society that values youth and novelty over time tested wisdom.
It was dark in the room when I awoke and I mistook the mirror for a man’s heavy coat.
But that’s not as bad, (or as funny) as when I woke up hungry and took a nice, big bite out of a page of my coloring book.
Or how ’bout when I fell asleep at the computer and thought my mouse was a coffee cup. Ha ha!
Some of the things are comical, it’s true. But you wouldn’t like it happening to you.
It’s not just the fact that I do mixed up things but my whole life is mixed up.
I can’t stand my daughter, miss goodie two shoes and my other daughter is far away, and besides that she’s changed. I used to call her my angel and I could count on her for anything but now she seems angry and when she talks to me it stings.
My boys have all died, my mother and father and one brother, too.
I don’t know why I’m still here.
It hurts when I walk or move my arms, I choke when I eat and I can’t breathe.
Every day is a struggle; I hate that I’m losing the strength I once had.
My mother and I built most of this house with our own two hands with wood we salvaged from some old barn.
When I moved in here it was bare and hot and now this property looks like a park.
Honeysuckle, Apricots, Mulberry tree, Date trees, Cotton Wood and a gigantic Evergreen. We’ve got Catalpa and Elms, Bird of Paradise, Iris, Spanish broom and Mexican and Pampas Grasses, Morning Glories, Marigolds, Amarillis, and Blue Salva that just sprung up one summer on its own, I don’t know how it got there. Hollyhocks cover the north side of the house and the back of the property is lined with Bamboo.
It just doesn’t seem fair that all this work, and all this beauty is just going to go back to nothing but dirt.
I’m discouraged today. I’m a little depressed. I feel bitter and I can’t get out from under a sense of impending doom, of uncomfortable unrest and meanglessness.
I think it would be best for all concerned if I could die today.
But wait, my little kitten wants to play.
I found her in the bushes a few weeks ago. She was starving and her eyes were covered in gunk; poor, pitiful baby.
I took her in and got her cleaned up and fed and with the help of my neighbors, we got the medicine for her eyes and stuffy head.
She is so soft and snuggly and really smart too.
I guess I’ll have a cup of coffee and see what my Facebook world is up to.
I don’t mean to be glum.
I want to be cheerful.
I’m not growing old with graceful charm.
I’m fighting tooth and nail but
We all know Time has already won.
So what do I do?
I sip my coffee while it’s hot and enjoy the morning while it’s still and quiet.
I vow I’ll not start another riot with my daughter or with anyone else for that matter.
I’ll put one foot in front of the other and pray that there is more to life than growing old and bitter.
I am honored to share the work of Barbs Williams, whose love and wisdom speaks for itself. Let me present The Wise Woman and The Raven, The Raven’s Message, and The God Mother. You can contact Barbs at BarbsArtPeace@mail.com