I suppose a writer always delves into his or her own past for insight and reflection to inspire the creative juices to flow again. Today I sat for hours reading through old journals remembering the past, crying again for the hurts, smiling for the joys, and feeling elated for those moments of realization of lessons learned and blessings that have come as a result. Among my journals were a few random snippets of writing that I am choosing to share now.
Though I look at you
I see my own face;
mirrors of my past,
my present, and my future.
The threads of time
have woven its way
through all that I have touched,
all that I have breathed in,
cried out, rejoiced in,
and danced upon.
I look upon you
and see me.
Sitting here alone, yet not so alone,
I question again all the possibilities
never chosen, or overlooked.
Endless streams of opportunity
present themselves through the mirrors
of everyone and everything I see,
or do not see.
Obscured by my own illusions,
I am lost in a cloud of pretense
when all I have to do
is glance in another direction
and reveal the light.
The breeze blows gently over me, through me; it is me. I am the breeze.
My breath is the space between substance, moving inward; letting go, becoming, being, gathering, having, fullness, wholeness.
From that place inside my breath, I am carried. I am expressed. I am born into the outward extension of me.
Give me your hand as I walk with you; as my soul breathes life into the web of your creation.
By still waters churned up by the stormy seas of emotion unexpressed, we stand together; a front against the ubiquitous ocean called life.