Photo Linda McDaniel
“Time is an Ocean, present and eternal. We are adrift on that ocean of possibility, you and I , and the miracle is that we find each other at all. Maybe it’s age that keeps me scanning the horizon, looking for you, waving, bobbing in that sustaining current, because I want to hold eternal moments closer now. We move through time and space separately, and the mystery of our meeting is time’s gift to us. Swim with me now. We have no other chance.”
Richard Wagamese “Embers One Ojibway’s Meditations”
Gateways, doorways and thresholds all inviting an entrance or an exit, their silent message ‘the only way out (or in) is through.’
We arrive at our personal thresholds through a naturally arranged opening, the decision to step forward or not, totally in our hands.
Fingers on the latch speak of transition and escape but mostly possibilities that lie beyond fear.
Push the latch and set the barrier free, disengage, turn sideways into the light and it will both dissolve and expose you.
We stand on the shoreline, toes in the water not wanting to leave safe harbour despite knowing instinctively how to navigate rough seas, rising with the swells and resting in the trough.
The surrender that brings you again to the surface the vulnerability of the letting go and the trust needed for both, all released with a push of a latch .
written in response to Denise’s “Six Sentence Stories” Prompt word: Escape
“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” Anais Nin
We tend gardens in Spring under the illusion that we somehow affect the outcome, that our careful placement of seed or plant has anything to do with the eventual opening of the buds of May.
No credit given to the artist and unknown creator of the fragile petals that unfold, we proudly display our garden, rarely acknowledging that we are just the temporary curators of an impermanent living gallery.
Our heart and spirit are also part of this life gallery, we too are meant to unfold and flower in this fleeting moment we occupy space on the planet.
Not born to stay “tight in the bud” we struggle in darkness until most of us break open, this second opening no less courageous than our journey from the womb.
Conscious of our consciousness and knowing that venturing forward will involve both great pain along with pleasure, we willingly submit and release ourselves again and again to the unknown.
One undeniable truth “No one gets out of here alive” and we who have experienced all that this life has to offer will finally stand in complete and exquisite exhaustion and wonder at our solitary arrival and departure on this mysterious journey ………
Sculpture EXPANSION, THIRD LIFE
This was written in response to Girlieonthedge Six Sentence Story Thursday
Prompt word: Release
photo credit westcoastwoman ©
“Everyday a new picture is painted and framed, held up for half an hour, in such lights as the Great Artist chooses, and then withdrawn, and the curtain falls. And then the sun goes down, and long the afterglow gives light.”
Henry David Thoreau
Every night they come, the watchers of the sun-set, drawn down by the need to see the light extinguish behind the islands and the sea.
I want to share with them as they slowly rise and disperse that the setting of the sun is only a prelude to the experience they had been called to witness, but I stay silent.
It is this time between the setting sun and rising moon, this short extension of the day, this in-between-time when my heart and mind settle for just a moment.
I watch as the sky paints itself with each night’s original palette, wanting only to share with those who can look out from the same place and feel the colours as they appear, understand the need for silence.
In these moments when I am neither here nor there, anything is possible, magic is afoot and I am caught in the afterglow of another original creation as it slowly fades from sight.
The darkness takes the light, the starlings swoop once more in perfect unison over the water, I share with all who stand watching… being neither here nor there, a silent good night.
westcoastwoman 2019 ©
Written in response to GirlieontheEdge’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt
Prompt word : Extension
photo credit westcoastwoman “Rock formations Newcastle Island”
“Write a little everyday, without hope, without despair“* Isak Dinesen
Rough, yet ever so gently
Water on Stone
washes in, out
softening edges of
Body and Breath
Water on Stone
Stone to Surrender
Surrender to Release,
Sweet longing, caressing
our lives carved open as
“without hope, without despair”*
we float, we whirl,
a single leaf riding
a wandering stream.
Sculpture “Break through from your Mold” Zenos Frudakis
©photo credit westcoastwoman
” I had known almost every pleasure and discomfort, all the happiness and all the suffering that can befall man as a social animal. Useless to give you the details: the repertory of possible events in human destinies is rather limited, and they are nearly always the same stories. I will tell you that one day I found myself alone, all alone, fully convinced that I had completed one cycle of existence. I had travelled widely, studied the most esoteric sciences, learned more than ten trades. Life treated me a little the way an organism treats a foreign body: it was obviously trying either to enclose me or expel me, and I myself thirsted for ‘something else.’
Quote from Mount Analogue by Rene Daumal
Reading this rather quirky and inspiring allegory for the journey of life before setting off on my own journey/adventure in a few days.
©photo credit westcoastwoman
Morning light streamed through the shutters, she awoke finding herself hovering somewhere between content and completely unhinged.
Thoughts flitted from place to place never sure where to settle these days, the cocoon of certainty and safety broken open long ago.
The garden provided refuge but even insects only stayed temporarily taking what was offered in the moment as blooms and nectars ebb and flow.
Relationship offered comfort as long as undeniable incremental changes were factored in, together and apart nothing ever as it seems.
Illusion of control was obvious, nothing to hang on to, thoughts, garden, relationships all morphing into their next incarnation with no action required but Witness.
The New Normal beckoned her with a smile, her thought finally settled:
“Precarious is the New Stable”
©photo credit westcoastwoman
Written in response to Girlie on the Edge Six Sentence Stories
Word prompt: STABLE
credit Lordess Foudre
“All Compost Rots, but not all Rot is Compost”
Lower to the ground.
Kneel and assume, ‘the position’
Reverence: earth, seed, soil
Spring’s sacred cathedral.
Born of winter’s promise
composed, decomposed, Composted
last year fades, surrenders, spirals
More becomes Less
Less formed in darkness,
turned and (re)turned to soil,
Seeds break open to
gamble on new life.
Will I submit to this process
Circle back around
gather lost and shattered bits,
the organic matter of my life
Compost intimate details
brokenness, unshed tears,
turn towards the fragility
not beyond, take the gamble
roots of estrangement
embraced with compassion
Circle back around again
nothing left behind, unattended
no longer in pieces I assume
‘the position’ (re)forming
this new life, this light
born in darkness.