Dreams of Etherea Dreaming of Space
The mind’s eye of the Spacewalker sees Etherea,
Always the Garden Etherea.
He speaks into eternity:
“The abyss is a lonesome road,
And the lonesome road is a lifetime,
Piling up what could have been.”
He began a utopian citizen,
Searching for something more.
He sought the darkness on the edge of town,
The town that was holding out for the hero,
Who sailed across the depths of his own soul.
Strangers let the reins loose,
But he survived the thorns,
Walked the lake's blank space,
Keeper of the calm over
Tortured waters beneath the waves.
He chased a desperate truth with arms outstretched,
Survived drowning in the desert,
Laid his hands on the mountain, felt it breathing,
Climbed where the wild things were whispering,
Found her, dressed in a vast sea, running toward grace.
The Garden withered of winterspell before she came.
She-- the chosen Eden Queen, the other half of a hero.
A forever invisible red string of epiphanies
Led him to the Eden Queen,
Their hearts spoke quiet truths that made no noise.
Now the Chosen Queen sleeps in Pandora's box,
In the Garden Etherea, dreaming memories.
Heart compass points North, to the stars, to the abyss,
To the Spacewalker in the abyss, stealing fire,
Dwindling into the specks of the stars.
I was a child when I entered a new country.
All through my life I have been a child at heart,
And that has saved me.
I have thawed winters,
And revived the dying.
My reign was golden.
I was nearly a lioness.
I sailed to the edge of the world,
And I have spoken with stars.
No one has felt a parting as painful as mine,
But no longing hope burned as brightly,
For the day when I would see You again.
Impressions of Joy
This may be hard to understand, but hold onto these words until you're older, and let them lead you. They won't steer you wrong. There are different kinds of happiness in this world. There are the kinds that pass away quickly. They statisfy for a moment, but leave you thirsty, like drinking salt. But there is another kind of happiness--joy. You'll know it when you feel it. It'll plant a permanent glow of light in your heart that will lift you up and give you hope for the rest of your life. Live your life following your joys. With each impression of joy, your light will glow brighter. Your life will be so rich with happiness, and you'll have so much to offer, wherever you go.
The Haven Where I Meet Myself
I'm a busy, full time mom. Most days, I think in Disney quotes, diapers, and banana slices coated with peanut butter. I love what I do, and I love defining myself as "Mom." Moms are superheroes too, afterall. We know where everything is, and we have that spidery sense of knowing when someone is getting into something they shouldn't. Our kisses heal scraped and bruised knees. Our singing and story reading skills send the monsters away and help ou children to drift to peaceful sleep.
But there are days, rare days, where I remember other dreams and passions I've had. I keep them in a little drawer like Mr. Darling. And every time I open that drawer, I come to the Prose. On the Prose, those dreams don't have to stay in the drawer. They can be a reality. I can be Mom, but I can also be a writer. I can be a poet. I can let myself get swept away in a moment of fantasy as it types its way across the sccreen. Excitement and accomplishment course through me--you know the feeling. That amazing experience of being "in the zone." Inspiration courses through me. I'm not blocked or slow. I'm moving at the speed of light. Flying. Soaring through galaxies of thought. A breath escapes. A sigh of relief. A gasp of life. An embrace of peasure. A poem has been born.
It is in that moment where I meet myself. I'm a creator, an artist, a lover of so many things, so many possibilities.
And then I go back to my superhero duties and my two amazing daughters. But I love those stolen moments on the Prose. They rejuvenate me, jog my creativity, and give me the extra boost I need to be a good Mom.
White Horses and Rose Colored Glasses
I need to learn to see people for eactly as they are, and to love them for their beauty and their flaws. I tend to build people up in minds. They are gods, saints, knights. And maybe sometimes they are those things, or have that kind of greatness within them, but we are all light and dark. We all have weaknesses. We all occasionally fail. It’s part of what makes us human. Our imperfections are a part of our beauty.
Sometimes I forget these things. I form ideas about people, and expect people to live up to those ideas ideas and fantasies. But when those people show me another side--I side that I had cast away into the darkness, thinking it unfit to shimmer in the sunlight. I become disillusioned. Disappointed. Maybe a little betrayed. As if they had painted pretty lies to deceive me. But the paint brush was in my own hand.
I think we all have a desire to be truly known, and then loved and appreciated for our naked selves. I need to learn to love people in that way, and not for the way that I think or want to believe they are. You cannot have the light without the dark. We are the order of the stars and the chaos of the black hole. We are gut feelings and lofty thoughts. We are wisdom and children, still learning. And I am still learning. And it’s all so beautiful.
Accusing Silence of Galaxies
The silence between us
Spans stars that flare
And puncture space
With shattering rays.
The words we choke back,
Contain planets, galaxies
Ages in the making,
Volatile in their collision.
Remnants of battles
That have lost their significance,
Like Pluto's voiceless cry for recognition.
Yes, stars and planets die
When I look at you,
I say nothing,
And my screams are as deafening