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and it was there in the dark and i could feel you close. . .
it was cloudy but i could see all the stars twinkling like my smile. . .
the warmth of your touch lingered through my dreamless sleep. . .
your scent awakened me to greet this august morning,
dressed in light,
perfumed in fresh cut greens,
all the yellow petals absolutely positive of your beautiful love. . .
thank you for the yellow petals strewn on the ground i walk on. . . ilysm! ♥ ♥ ♥
i just came from a meeting, make it several meetings, in naga city. on the bus ride home, i could not help but think about stuff. i always look forward to my bus rides, they give me time to think and reflect, reason why i do not really engage in chats while on board. and this evening, while i was feeling the cool breeze through the open window caress my face, i could feel some tears streaming down it, reasons of which i would rather keep to myself. but somehow, that led me to think hard, really hard and tried to find some answers to my question. i have been thinking, what is really the purpose? it seems everywhere i go, someone is discussing their life's purpose, or asking me, what is my life's purpose? and to be honest, i really do not know. well, did not know. the only thing i ever really wanted to be in life, was a wife and a mother, and both seemed to have been deprived of me. i just think myself out of the gloom of it with: maybe i would not have been great at either one of them. bwahahaha! yeah right.
so, what is my purpose?
while not being able to write down on the journal (it is hard to write when the bus i am on makes sudden jerks and jolts), my thoughts about the question, i am pounding my lappy's keys right now, lest i forget those thoughts. and i came up with a pretty amazing answer. (at least i think it is amazing!) the emptiness that i feel. . . i think is the loss that my soul feels when it suffers separation from its source. (not that we are truly separate, but when this human experience of feeling bad and alone hits me, it can feel like we are separate.) and that feeling of being separate from the force is what creates those feelings of longing and restlessness. . .like something is missing in my life.
so, how can i soothe that feeling of barrenness, meaninglessness, emptiness? it was elusive, at first, maybe because i was refusing to know and accept, but i soon came to realize, appreciate and comprehend, that this is where my creative process comes into play, as my way to connect myself even more fully with the force. when i commit my thoughts, my dreams, my aspirations, and yes, even my sorrow and despair, that also sometimes visit me, when i put them on paper or canvass, i share a bit of my holy relationship with those who see and experience them. also even when they remain unseen or unheard of, still, that holy energy is released into the world.
my purpose then, is to soothe my soul with an outpouring of mysticism from the force. and if it has no other value than that. . .then it is the most valuable thing i have.
so in gratitude, inspite and despite. . . i go on.
i look forward to the weekends - my time to have a swedish rub, take a slow sip of my brew, linger on the best read and just be.
but this last one, i hardly noticed it went by. and while am putting down my thoughts on that past weekend, another week is creeping in. . .how time flies.
for the weekend that passed unnoticed, i am grateful for the endless opportunities being offered, presented, given to me right before my very eyes, to create and love and move purposefully.
65. my kamgom series - for giving me the subject that caught my interest and curiosity, appealed to my senses and captured my heart. extraordinarily ordinary, most often ignored and left to fall from its tree.
when i picked and tasted and painted the first one, i knew a second would not be enough. bwahahaha!
66. my young guests: kang hyeon jun & kim somi of korea and wan-chun liao of taiwan - for their exuberance, enthusiasm and love for adventure.
their eagerness to discover and meet new friends make me feel and realize that youth is a state of mind and that i will never grow old. bwahahaha!
67. my green agriculture friends and alliances - for their support, assistance, love and care, which brings to mind the quote: build it and they will come. . .
who would have thought that all these will come? invited and otherwise? bwahahaha!
thank you for opening up my eyes to see all these and my heart to know all these.
ilysm, i know you know it. ♥ ♥ ♥
my trees move me to tears of joy. . .
to the eyes of others, however, they are just green things that stand in the way. . .
and this moves me to tears of sorrow.
sometimes, however strong i claim my faith to be, i still look for some evidence to support my claim. bwahahaha! but really, my heart is just amazed at the everyday awe and wonder i am immersed in, and everything seems so astonishingly beautiful, as i discover them in my walks on trails one would often find leading nowhere.
i found the evidence yesterday, unexpectedly, on a once grassy space, just along the newly constructed 'tiled' walk that divides this new, 'ground-breaking' and 'back-aching' ecosophia garden.
from where i was standing, i can see in my mind's heart (bwahahaha!) the substantation of what i already know and believe in - the force's existence.
as i explored further, i see a sea of green emerging, slowly, quietly.
the woods behind the garden, dark and green, worshipping silently, anticipating the unveiling of a promised harvest. yet, i would have missed it had it not been for the faith i carry handy in my pocket. bwahahaha!
i know he sends rain and good crops and gives me food and a joyful heart. looking up, i saw plainly. right there, the stark evidence of his reality.
the earth beneath my feet is damp from yesterday's rains. the good crop stood stock still, the food on the table. . . and my heart, my one and only witness to give testimony to the evidence: yes, my heart was full.
i saw and i know. i just could never miss it. and to think that most almost always do.
for this weekend, i am grateful for the:
61. rain
62. good crops
63. food
64. joyful heart.
thank you and ilysm and i know you know it. ♥ ♥ ♥
my sunday is when i sit and ponder and scribble my thoughts on paper. and blog. suddenly, there is this note i see in your hand writing that catches my attention, takes my breath away, it always does. i have it tucked in my journal of thoughts of you. it is that one phrase you penned some time ago: your life is art!
i return to those words often, thinking, feeling along them, leaning up against them, contemplating, musing on what they mean. you wrote those words in your exuberant scroll, black ink dancing with exclamation marks!
and nearly every time i see your words, (sometimes i do not need to read them, i know), i would think of grabbing my pen right there, too, quick! to write you back, asking if you knew about the layer of dust atop my vintage desk, crammed with framed photographs of the women of the villa?
the way my closet insists on being open (broken the door of it a year ago, and never got the time to have my handyman fix it)?
the way my shop downstairs claims, but fails each time, to be organized?
i want to tell you, for all the shiny and polished floors that you see at my living room area, the sparkly tiled toilet and kitchen floors, i know some corners, some crannies that you might not deem art. bwahahaha!
but perhaps i should. maybe i am still learning, that it is not perfection that makes one's life a work of art. it is how one sees. it takes me every day to wrap the corners of my heart around it: beauty is not a product to be found in the material world, it is the function of the way my eyes and my soul work together. this is my constant conscious choice, every minute.
therein, is the making of the art.
so, everyday, i remember and my eyes frame my collection of mismatched crocks, my soul frames the spilling tubes of paints that breed like rabbits.
some days i remember that in the working out of a one-piece life, this weaving the force is making of my life, the whole of it becomes beauty.
parts of my life cannot be cut up in the framing. when i say my life is my art, i am framing the whole of it. really, all lives are art when rightly seen.
all lives become masterful still lifes when we still to see the moments as beauty.
life becomes art when i attend to the colours of the now. so, you, too, my dearest, pick up your moments, they are all frameable.
for afterall, he only paints exquisite brushstrokes. . .and you and i, we are his masterpieces.
thank you for my daily realization that each moment is but a brushstroke. ilysm! ♥ ♥ ♥
photo credits: OsacnaB
when my silence grows loud in the corners of everything and the walls of my soul quake just a bit,
i go and stand and watch the soil where the herbs would grow and the peanuts would pop out of their shells, by the force's certain goodness and right out of the earth.
where the chicks run in their bare feet and bend low to know leaves, peck on wiggly delights and sometimes taste the nectary dew of the bloom that grows along the muddy path.
and my fave blue bird fly low and sing to me his tune saying over and over again, his litany of love and calling:
i love you,
i love you,
i love you. . .
i come into the stillness of praising things and feel the sun on my nape and my bare shoulders blush from the burn and i breathe deep again.
a bit of quietness might be born here on the edge of the path that leads to this tree that blooms twice off its nature just to tell me:
he loves me,
he loves me,
he loves me. . .
bwahahaha!
for just long enough, all that weighs slip away and there is this rest in the wide open grace, my soul panting happy, spilling loads of joy and bliss. . .
thank you for letting me walk a path strewn with lovely yellow blooms. ilysm. ♥ ♥ ♥
