White and Silent

It is white and silent

 trees heavy laden with untouched snow,

 a sky of lavender aglow with a presence unknown.

The beauty of white and silence takes ones very breath

scarcely allowing a blink.

A tear from the soul unites us with nature’s all,

absorbs our very thoughts, brings truth to our very existence

and we are one with creation.

Only God could bring such a gift.

Only He could beckon us so powerfully.

 

 

 

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LISTENING TO SPEAK

Speaking with the energy that belongs to me is something I seek to do, but there is something else, I am plagued by it, it seems to be a relentless nudging at times.   Now some would say I have anxiety and need to manage it.   I believe I need to listen to it and write.   I have quickly learned that resisting brings anxiety.   There is every excuse in the universe to not simply set down and just-do-it … as is often said.    Now, finally, I get it.

I began listening to music that I have long ignored … a seed was planted when I was 12 years old.   I lived in a small town in the midwest, we were town and country/farm kids.   During the time we were growing up classical music was used in the background of many movies then, especially Disney productions.   While Rock and Roll moved me with rythme Classical music gave me wings.   Somehow, I was not tuned in to what it was being planted.

The fertile land had spiritual connotation for me.   When a seed was planted in our area, it grew, period.   I was fertile ground, unaware of the seed given me.   A music teacher, Mr. Neil, would play music, usually classical, and then instruct us to write to the sounds.   While I did not understand how to take myself seriously in this activity, I remember feeling like I could soar with emotion and story as I wrote.   Who knew that it was a pre-requisite for me to write many years later.   I wonder if Mr. Neil knew as he caught up on grading his papers during these sessions.  I recall that he only read and graded our stories while listening to the same music he had played for us.  I always aced it.  But never a comment came from his mouth about my work.

This new awareness is very recent.   I found a radio station on my computer and today, I recall, I understand and I am writing to music at this moment, in this time.   Now, it is time to nurture the seed, to grow the writer, the artist, and I will obey.   Anxiety, was a tool that sat me down to listen so I can speak.

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