My greatest desire is simplicity...but simplicity can only be afforded by the Great.

In my mind.

My heart dreams bigger dreams than myself.
It sees the trees and says, "I am Tree."
It sees the mountains and says, "I am Mountain."
It sees the sky and says, "I am Sky."

"No," I tell my dreams. "You are mist."
"No," I tell my dreams. "You are air."
"No," I tell my dreams. "You are a thought."

"Then I surround the trees." My dreams persist.
"Then the oceans are my mother, the skies my friend and I fly higher than the mountains."

"No," I tell my dreams. "You are just imagination."

"Then I am Ideal. Then I am Desire. Then I am Hope

"No," I tell my dreams. "You're not."

"Yes. I am."

Prayer for my sister

What happens when you look into the eyes of a child?
My heart breaks for the sweet innocence that I see before me, which all too soon shall flower and bloom...and then die. My heart rejoices for the joy of living. the freedom of movement, the excitement of life's true pleasures.
But then my heart feels bitter again against the sins of my past. The time that has been wasted pursuing that which is now lost.
What wouldn't I do to spare a child of that? What wouldn't I do to keep her form still in the peace and serenity that it has found in sleeping.
An image of myself I see reflected. The same blood we share. The same heart. the same mind. The same will. The same passion. What will those eyes grow to see? What smells will encrust her hair and become her stamp?
God bless her please to live a good life. To learn. To grow. And to know how truly lovely she is. God bless her to keep her innocence and her joy.

I dream of the life that I
thought I once had.
The life that I lost.
That I gave away.
And yet it was not my life
at all--only a dream.
Therefore I have
lost nothing.
Given away nothing.
These hopes and wishes
in my head of the life
that I could have had
That I should have had
That I have lost
are only of the before stated
dream.
And yet their presence is as
real to me as the blankets I
sleep with. The sky that I see.
The arms of friendship that
surrounded me.
That held me.
That I left behind.
That I gave up.
Does hope turn forward
During these times of duress?
As I lay in my bed unsure
Of what tomorrow will bring?
Boredom and dependency?
Or the beginning of my new life?
Yes.
Hope looks forward.
Yes.
Hope sees into tomorrow.
And dreams will come again
of a different tenor.
A different color.
And even if I, again,
long for the things of
before,
Then I know hope will
survive through the night.
And, again--tomorrow--
I will dream.

What happens when life crowds out the dreams of tomorrow and heaven's tears weep for the forgotten yesterday? What hope do I hold on to? To what sunshine does my face raise? What fragment of thought do I hold most dearly to as my tender fingers massage my aching mind. Sleep, dear soul--for tomorrow's promise shall rise again.

Steep Cliffs and Red and Blue Lights

The coast was cold. Much colder than we expected it to be. A heavy fog rolled in from the sea, consuming waves and trees and sun. The little nook that my family occupied was behind a smart cropping of rocks, against a cliff that rose some 50 feet into the air--the last 15 being a straight drop to the sand. Between the two fixtures of rock we were well protected from the wind, and able to insulate what heat we had.
A cry startled us, as we saw three young kids sliding recklessly down the cliff. At first, they screamed in sheer delight. Quickly, however, that delight turned to fear as a boy, aged about 10 years old, toppled head over heels down, down, down. He caught hisself at the edge of the sheer drop. His sister and cousin, approx. ages 7 and 8 followed sliding on their backs and bottoms, now also screaming in fear.
Rocks began to tumble. Sand poured from the fissures they were creating with their falls. The first boy dangled on the cliff, trying to get down...and then he jumped, landing in the sand below with a soft thud, but twisting his ankle.
The other two clung desperately to the rocks, screaming, scared.
We run up. They won't listen to our instructions. Just then the girl's father, the boy's uncle, runs up. He climbs the rocks and we all create a chain to hand the frightened children down. They are safe.
We continue on with our merriment. The fog rolls away. The sun comes out. We splash and play in the cold ocean, the water chilling our bones, the sand encrusting our legs as we build a sand helicopter. A beautiful day--the dread and the scare from the morning's ordeal gone.

It's a few nights later. We're at home, in bed. The sound of running on pebbles reaches my parents bedroom. My dad bolts up, pulls his clothes on, and runs out the door. There are cops everywhere. Someone has run into our back yard. Run away from the cops he fears.
My dad tells the police of the sighting. They acknowledge it, and tell him to go back in. They bring in the dogs to find the perpetrator.
We sit stiff in the house. My mom tells me about it, warns me to stay quiet--they're trying to listen to find out what is going on. They stand by the open windows and doors. My blood runs cold as I see the object in my dad's hands--a gun. He means to protect us no matter what the cost.
I'm frightened--not of the assailant, but of what might happen if my father thinks it is necessary to use the object in his hand. Few things are so certain, so scary, so devoid of forgiveness and shooting a gun and hitting a mark. What if it were to go off accidentally--hit one of us? What if it causes bullets to fly unnecessarily from our unknown visitor? What if he's forced to use it, and we have to live without him? I would melt it if I could. Melt it, destroy it, and forbid it's like from ever entering the house or touching his hand.
He puts it away. He knows I am mad that he got it out to begin with. I didn't keep it a secret.
We sit, silent. I'm in mine and my sister's room. She's laying on the floor in her makeshift bed of feather mattresses and comforters, snoring softly. Moonlight illuminates her pale face and body from the open window. So serene. So calm. So unassuming of the dangers that this world offers.
The lights turn off suddenly. The dogs bay one more time, and then there is silence. One by one we hear cars pulling away.
"Did you get him?" My dad asks through the front door to the police officer in our front yard, just getting into her car.
"He's in custody." Is the reply. And then they are gone.
We sleep in what peace we can salvage from the night.

And though the listening shadow cries
Sing sing sing
What does your heart say?
If you do not wish to
Sing, then dance.
If you do not wish to
Dance, then play.
If you do not wish to
Play, then sit in Silence
So that you may then
Better understand
What it is to live.