I find myself climbing a ladder, within the many levels of reality.

Seeking recognition, the many layers of the mind searches for approval

It melts into thought and the thought process, it merges,

Merging with motion and emotion, always perfecting.

Acknowledging the growth and sensing abilities with in the self.

Thought merges into the mind becoming whole once more.

No reason nor reasonable doubt.


Fear of Failing

The little girl sat in her room, she thought about everything and everything was in her. On the days she wanted to be a ballerina she was. On the days she played soccer she played her best, and the days she saved the world she did that too. She did everything and more because she made up stories that she could. To herself she was brilliant, athletic and limber, but to others she knew she was the girl who just looked out the window.  Today she sat in her room and thought of all those things she pretended to be, but today she wasn’t content. Something aroused in her a sensation of wanting to try but her feet still didn’t move.Nothing mattered because she could be everything in her mind. There was no failure because she never really did any of those things in reality.

The neighborhood buzzed with activity outside, some played hockey in the street, the girls skipped rope to the beat of music, and some road bikes. The window was open and the air fresh as Spring and it called to her to let go and come and play. It would be ok if she did not fear failure, so she thought if I don’t try I can fail.

But she longed to get on her bike, she wanted to play soccer and even to dance, and maybe someday she would, but no today. She walked over to the window and closed it and with that she closed off her mind to those happy noises and tuned into her dreams. Soft and quiet they moved around the room, dancing with her and creating her own reality.

Downstairs her mom called for her to come down. She went.

On the kitchen table was a photo album, one she had never seen before. It was old and tattered not like the ones she had looked at with her parents. Curious but nervous she overcame her desire to run back upstairs and sat down. Her mom loved her but she always wanted her to be more adventurous more willing to take chances , but she couldn’t do it.Failure was not an option.

Sitting down next to her, her mom opened the book and then looked at her daughter and began a story. Great revelations were revealed in that hour, things she had never known before. Each picture showed her a story of courage, acts of daring from a man she knew but seems she never knew of. Her heart opened as the story unfolded. A boy much like herself, who had known nothing more than a wheelchair. A boy who as she, looked out his window day after day, wishing he could be like the other kids he saw play in the yards below. He too had a fear of failure and that failure kept him  in a wheelchair, inhibited by a desire to stand up and walk.

But one day he did, with the help of many doctors and the love of his parents he did.  The hard work he did helped him not only to walk again, but to grow into a young man who did play sports, who walked to school and rode his bike everywhere he went.

She looked up and said to her mom, “but these are pictures of dad”?  The man she called dad had always walked, always worked and was never one to fail at anything, how could this be. The questions were answered one by one, and the father she only knew as a soldier and father was now more than that to her. He was a hero. “He never feared failure” her mom said and if he was here he would tell you that himself.” Sometimes we have to fall down, to get back up, and sometimes we have to fail to find that we are still the best at what we choose to do.” On that note her mom gave her a hug and told her to go finish what she was doing and put the album back on the shelf in a place she could find it any time she wanted.

The little girl felt her thoughts shift, her mind grow and her heart find more than just love. Walking up those stairs she became a soldier, a fighter and she would never think of failure again. In fact she flew up the stairs and got on her shoes, she couldn’t wait to get outside and be her real self and more.

Why do we fear failure. Why do we give up before we try. Fall down and get back up. Try new things and if they don’t fit, try something else. Knowledge is everything and the more we know the more fear and failure do not live in our thoughts or our dictionaries of life.


Death is just a whisper away. A determination of the spirit to go on. 


When Time gives in to a physical deterioration and a life moves on in a remembrance of the living moment The whisper of wings unfolding. 

Life is just a moments grace, a totality of ones own deliverance. Its a play played out. A drama delivered in a great emotion. A story told in all its glory, a belief in the debate of communication.

Heaven is the nothingness  that encompasses the soul, tempered and polished like old silver. Embroidered on a lace hankie, placed in a drawer for safe keeping. Tears engraved within the fabric.

Hell is the remorse. A removal from an emptiness as it fills us up and spits us out. Daunting and taunting forever after.

Death is just a whisper away, as the mask falls and shatters to the floor revealing the face in all its wonder.

Who are we. We become and then we are not. We build ourselves up and then become adults that are crushed by everything we have held onto since children. How do we overcome the constriction the narrowing of our minds to the choices we make.

Lets stop and breathe. Realize the perfection, of our creation. Lets be a channel to happiness, to joy and to possibility. Our perception is clouded. Like the sun behind the clouds. It is still there, always will be, until it shines again on a cloudless day. Sometimes getting lost is being found. We have it in us that built in compass that can navigate the roughest waters and toughest terrain. All we have to do is believe in positivity. See abundance by giving, feel love by showing gratitude. Be kind and compassionate even though we are hurting inside as well, and do not let fear cloud the unknown. I believe everything happens for a reason and the reason is the human kindred spirit



I find myself sitting on the floor of my kitchen trying to get my grandsons new puppy to stop crying. He asked me to come over while his parents are away to give him a hand. He’s a busy boy my grandson. School, work and sports. Why a puppy, because he is so active as in hiking, climbing, running, biking he wanted a companion.

Why not I say. It may deter him from dating for awhile and doing something that would keep him up nights in a different way. Puppies like babies need full time care. They need to bond and know that they are not abandon. Just like us. In fact we can learn a lot by caring for a new born animal. May teach us a lot about compassion and unconditional love.

But back to me, yes Im still sitting, live as I write, trying to calm down an 8 week old puppy who feels he’s been abandon by my grandson. He picked him up from out of town and the puppy took to him like rain to a mud puddle. Its too bad there is


not something like maternity leave for new animals in households, as I say Im here and he has soccer practice. If only, he felt safe around me, but Im a stranger. Maybe mom dogs tell their little ones about stranger danger.

But back again to me. I guess what Im trying to say is Im learning patience. Oh I have patience, for adult kids, for work employees, fro drivers, and now for small little adorable innocent puppies. He has these blue eyes, and this little red nose, auburn hair and a big wagging tail. What do I do, my butt is getting sore from the hardwood floor, my legs ache from sitting still, like in meditation. The more I think about it the more I get it. Thank you little one.

So I get my mac and I think I will look up crying puppies. Well I’m told abandonment issues, pain, missing their mother. If only I could speak puppy tongue. I look into those big as the ocean eyes and they are clarifying, you can see through me eyes.

Im doomed to sit, be still, and feel. Well you know thats not a bad thing now is it.



Who Am I Really?

Who are we really?

Are we pawns in a game directed by one or by many. How do we choose who plays and who doesnt? How does one find individuality when duality plays a more significant part, mainly in the sub conscious. Finally why are we driven to be the lead every time, when its just a game, no one wins or looses, although we sure think so.

We had a tremendous amount of wind and rain last night. In fact I woke up this morning to lawns strewn with logs and lost items the ocean decided to cough up. People scrambled to clean their yards, worried the clutter was just that clutter. But why not sit back and see the beauty of it all, the ocean gave us its magnificence, its turbulence, its glory. It gave us back what we threw in.

We too throw a lot of stuff around. Emotions, decisions based on our will or no ones, upsets of the uncontrolled kind. You name it we have stood by the waters edge and threw in the towel. Now it gives back and we cannot handle it. The creeks too are over flowing, and its beautiful. Our hearts need to over flow, to toss out the unwanted turbulence we have allowed in, to see the beauty we cannot handle deep inside. Its not always our game, but a game in which we have played and will continue to play for a long time. Enjoy it, let others win sometimes, and when that happens listen to the heart as it sings the praise of love and equality.

Heres another poem that I would like to share.


It has been sometime since I have seen. Longer than that, that I have experienced. Much farther yet than I can remember. Have faith you say? Memories come and go in the night just as the sun shines behind blue skies, hiding from the very clouds it protects.

The fact is I have not a cloudless sky in which to see forever. I have not a branch to cover my empty mind or shade me from the thoughts rooted so deeply inside my entangled vine of brain waves. Hence I am blind to most interests. Fog has set in as green vapors in jars of glass tubes  measure me input daily.

I awaken half dead, my feet cannot find the floor to fain balance. No wings to fly from bedroom to kitchen where I can at least find nourishment. Nourishment to ease the dazed transparency of my residency.

Patience may be virtuous but my timing is off by seconds. I am half way there and not there at all within the right moment. Senseless I walk an eternity of doubt, blissful in my cap of dreams, homeless in my own way.

Yet I will by my own will find my place, become a dealer in a poker game, where I can cheat myself and win a jackpot in a one handed showdown. I want justice, having taken away my mentality and given it a name I cannot understand. Memory chopped in half and fed to me in spoonfuls.

Now  I rock away the years or hours. I cannot remember anything, except that I am fully content in what I have, not knowing I have nothing at all, except the smile I wake up to from the mirror in the bathroom. I will see you again tomorrow I say back but the face never returns. I am alone because I have many more, a new one each day. Who comes to see me. who will greet me in my aloofness? Yet the face that gives me everything right now.

Life is a short version of a lengthly play. A drama with indentations of comedy. Never ask for the long way around just enjoy the ride.IMG_0043

Questions or Answers?!

Question or Answer?

Trees topple in the wind if not properly grounded.

Water goes stagnant when rivers do not flow? Directional to its beginning and ending.

The sun cannot shine when clouds collect in large numbers.

Rain cannot prepare the land for abundance if crops are not planted in preparation for drought.

I can add to those sentences the words, do, does, can and a question mark or exclamation point to what  I have written above. We can choose to answer whatever way we choose. But those answers, do they reflect the conditions we place our selves in? In question to explanations.

I want to believe in magic but miracles do not happen until chance becomes choice.


Im on a midnight rendezvous, where I can ride a comet slide down the crescent moon and soon sting shot to the stars.

Lots to think about and please do, write these questions down and quest them as you also find your rendezvous with destiny.

Not Intential Changes- Seasons Come and Go

As I look out my window at my desk, I see Winter moving out and Spring trying to move in. But as with comings and goings, sometimes one is not ready and other wants to move to fast. Its raining, stormy actually, but with the rain comes budding trees and the first flowers of longer days. The wind comes along and cleans out the clutter that has built up along the winter months, sometimes the water in the rivers overflow with the emotion of melting snow. The elements of infinite rotation. Something comes into our lives and then something, quite in balance, is removed. It can be life and then death or possibly union to individuality. The duality of the universe and all its forms.

Sometimes we can foresee those elements which are usually disguised in the in and outs of our days and sometimes we are truly shocked. Maybe we overlooked the small nuances that came and went, and maybe we just couldn’t care because we are blinded by the coming sun. Just like the moving of seasons, the moving of furniture, and the moving of people sometimes we get caught in the door jam together not knowing which way to go. Do we push through hoping the “other”moves backwards to get out of your way or is it visa versa in their favor? Just like Spring wanting to come to soon, the flowers make their way above the soil only to get frozen by a frost to snow to cover them back up. We never know when it could happen but we can prepare.

How do we? Well be level headed and just like with the weather, well we are good at preparation. No doubt we go outside on those warm coming of spring days to plant, seed or bulb but if there is a chance of snow, well we cover our plants to keep them safe. Same for our own, if we can realize that most thoughts or decisions are imperfect just like the weather. So if we know we are going to be  early and we intuit that really, reality, beware the door jam because not everyone is as ready as you. If on the other hand to move to slowly and confidently we can get one stuck too. We do as we do. But to aware of what we do makes the difference in how it all turns out when we meet face to face in that doorway loaded down with our boxes and bags of stuff. Who moves first backwards or forwards doesn’t really matter but to know that it could happen by our own resignation can make it so much easier on ourselves. Take the time to not only use thinking to make decisions, opportunistic to your arrival or departure, your seasons and your timing, but also use your inner intellect to know that the timing is as it should be. Life is worth every moment, every season, every opportunity to grow and become more balanced as humans, on this insane planet of too many choices.We can not win nor do we lose, we choose and within those choices it becomes how the garden grows.

Im preparing for a new Spring with the right timing to proceed not with caution but with the clarity that I don’t forget to weed, care for and sow the garden wisely.


More questions,

Sheltering yourself in a house made of glass brings not clarity when looking from the outside in. Mountains surrounding nations, made to feel safe from intrusion can crumble and flatten, exposing what has been hidden from the world.

Surface measures possibilities scanned in all directions, coupling neighbors in reflections of what they see over the fence. Wisdom read in books, old characters into words if acknowledged, from the binding put together to last for ages. Understanding, moves you to rethink ideas.

Hold a candle to the wind and watch the flame blend and circle in all directions before finally going out. Catch the light at the end of the wick and move the vision farther out from hindsight. See the distance that has separated you for so long, finding the clarity you never saw through the smoke.

Life is right in front of you.

The Quilt We Sew (A self Identified)

A stitch in time, from golden light and feathered wings to darkness and fear, these are elements of what are blankets are made of. Beyond the heavens a gate awaits, a path in which we all walk to. Is there finality there? Look closely at each stitch, each memory, each mile walked. What is it we see, believe or feel? Is there a connection, one stitch, one square, one experience, one understanding? Is it the simplicity of madness or the souls desire to come full circle? Home, where is home? Is it the gate we walk through at the end of the day or is it a patch of our quilt we hold onto not yet ready to let go of. We are one picture, one story with all the stories connected by stitches of emotion. Our quilts are comforting, letting the thread move through your fingers with ease, comforting you on your remembered journey, the cause in which you decided to cut the squares and make the quilt in the beginning. We will make many quilts, cut out many squares in our days make blankets of serenity and joy. We will also sew into those quilts times of great fear and doubt, the blending is what your quilt embraces in you, its maker.

A stitch in time, one moment when we see beautiful colors, or dark muted tones, clowns with funny faces and sometimes demons that breathe fire. Fabric, thread, needles and hands, items that are needed to built your quilt. Love, faith, compassion become the identity, and experience becomes the cause that helps us create what we sew. Stories told, memories engrained for future generations, what does your blanket look like. In birth we begin our quilt and in death we finish, whether we finish or not. Was it worth the time and energy it took to tell the story.


The Quilts design reminds me of life. So many scenarios placed in a square of color coordinated by ideas. Use of tattered or discarded clothes, cloth, materials cut up and sewn together. The way we take our living experiences.

Ragged edges place age related to where it has been and who it now belongs to, also taking into consideration where it may go when bought or given away.

Words written in detail of soft flannel backing, ground in information form years of travel, different owners, yet all the same conclusion, Made for comfort. Picking it up makes me feel good. thoughts go to sleep filled nights and couches after suppers, cozy nights cuddles for two..

Price is right, take it home and begin to place memories into the sewing. Memories of stories, into the threads of patchwork, days into weeks into years. Forever replacing old memories with new ones. Then one day returning the quilt, for a new owner, giving it away to someone loved, a table of goods, in hopes that the new owner will to build their memories too into the infinite threads that have lasted forever.