Fire! Fire! Everywhere...hardly time to think!

The season started early with plenty of fuel on hand.
The rains, the heavy, wet snows we had drenched
The rocks, trees, dirt and sand.

Our very short spring (a blessing in disguise)
Brought forth bouquets of wildflowers- a delight to our eyes

Now the fire-bugs abound
Poor, sick brothers
Born that way
I have found
Undetectable by others

First it was luscious fields, mountainsides of loam
Yesterday--it was an occupied home.

Neighbors came to comfort the residents of the abode
Gathering the friends in their arms to help them cope
All was lost inside that house and out
Lost too -- was hope.

All memories of happy times
All life -- the fish -- the dogs
Were in the house, the yard, where they piled the logs.

Fire out...holy water drained from ragged eaves
Carrying ashes to the soggy ground

The scene burned into the core of those looking on
Their hope completely broken
So they couldn't even remember what it used to be

Then something moved, within the smoke
A form emerged slowly!

More than one memory--he carried thousands with him-
A life! From the rubbley, smouldering ashes

Its Buddy! He's alive!- No burns! No gashes!

The old dog that grew up here
Hobbled out of the destruction
Licked his owners hand
And sat without instruction.

His demeanor at the hubbub
That greeted his appearance
Was true to his character
Of kindliness and patience.

Buddy walked through the amorphous wall of smoke
Bringing joy, relief, and yes...previously expired--
Hope.

The very sight of him lifted hearts and spirits
When the embodiment of hope appeared...
Everyone wanted to be near it.

Fires will continue.
There is no reason to doubt.
Vigilance will increase.
Now, we all who live here are scouts.

Buddy will enjoy his remaining days
Being the source of happy memories
That could have died in the haze
Of smoke and flame
Of guilt and blame

But he brought relief, healing
And praise --
After the painful, destructive
Blaze.

Thank you Buddy!
For just being alive!

Identity Crisis -Who Are We--Really?

Those of us with too much time on our hands, may be tempted to reflect on and inspect every aspect of our being. We can get caught up in the miasma of 'me' and mystified by the myth of self. If we are unbalanced to begin with--such a never-ending search does not help. I venture to add--most of us are less than perfectly balanced beings.

When we see this vortex taking over our thoughts and deeds, it is time to get out and mingle. People watch, bird watch, take a hike, a Sunday drive and find someone who needs company to visit with.

Knowing ourselves is only important when faced with critical decisions. The rest of the time we should let ourselves be. If we take ourselves into account each day for a few mintues before going to sleep, so we can improve our actions, reactions and interactions, that is the best way to know who we are. That way we are laying the foundations and building a structure of 'self' that we are in touch with and guiding the growth of.

Pardon the preaching...I am basically talking to my....self.

How Many Ways to Say One Thing

Words from the heart seem to have only one meaning. Truth penetrates all layers of emotional expression. But getting there--for some of us is nearly impossible. The response to those Truths (if memory serves) is a humbling, overwhelming feeling to fall to one's knees or curl up into a fetal ball.
As I search for ways to express those words and attempt to find them, it occurs that the most powerful ones don't belong to me. They come from an outside source--as a lovely surprise--tapping into the hidden recesses of my heart. The keys that open it and cause trapped feelings of love to gush forth, do what overused words can never accomplish.

Feel Me...

Leave your concerns on the floor in a heap.
Bring me unspoken words for my heart to keep.

Take me into your confidence.
Trust that I will never leave.

Hide your eyes if you are not he...
The One I am asking to

Feel
Me.

Touch Me...

I am waiting.

Hear Me...

The wind that moves through the pines before sunrise pulls my thoughts out of their bony casement and carries them to ocean waves, heard from a distance.

A rooster and a male quail vie for vocal one-up-man-ship.

Whispering, now the wind speaks a message to any who will listen.

"Our mother--the earth--does not patronize us. She still blesses us with bounties and beauty, while she warns us repeatedly that we are making trouble for ourselves.
We are aware enough now to hear and understand these warnings. Yet, like rebellious, selfish, head strong youth that we are, we plunge ahead--careless, and thoughtlessly.

The earth's life-blood may be water, but oil is also. The demonstration she is giving us now will make it clear to even the most uneducated among us--the extent and importance of our interdependency and connectedness of all inhabitants on this planet.

The concluding result will be drawn out in time such that, it will have a name in a plethora of languages.

Mother will make it clear that this problem we created for ourselves will require all our attention, if we are to assure the continued existence of our species. Our attention must be focused on fixing it, preventing it, and all activity pertaining to it be discontinued indefinitely."

The wind is now sounding like a large crowd cheering with one voice.
The male quail sounds more like the rooster and the rooster has faded in agreement.

See Me...

See me standing next to this page with sharp, menacing, cutting tools in my hands. They are symbols of what has shaped my life. Not the compassionate molding that is discretely referred to in ‘life stories’.

When I speak of the beauty of nature with a flourish of color and rose-scented phrases, it is my intention to distract you from the machetes and scabbards which I used to carve those words.