Thy' Wonderful Blessings and A Plate of Color!

Oh yes, you shaped me first inside, then out;

you formed me in my mother’s womb.

I thank you, High God—you’re breathtaking!

Body and soul, I am marvelously made!

I worship in adoration—what a creation!

You know me inside and out,

you know every bone in my body;

You know exactly how I was made, bit by bit,

how I was sculpted from nothing into something.

Like an open book, you watched me grow from conception to birth;

all the stages of my life were spread out before you,

The days of my life all prepared

before I’d even lived one day.

I have a litany of posts in hiding and ought' to refine and publish those first, but these here pretty platefuls are begging for limelight, haha! It's fabulous how the photos turned out feisty considering I merely used my good ol' trusted pink plain humble point and shoot. Plus, of course there's the fond memory of when and where and who I was with that smokes these pics with nostalgia. 

Come to think ov' it - the moment was there, savored and done with, now it's all but a memory. How pretty captured it is I should say!  
I've got a cyber boxful of food pics and should really have invested time blogging them - they're all archived in my Flickr and Facebook but still..it's more poignant to see my photos in my own story place.

Dunno' what's with me - I've been feeling outa'sorts since yesterday, like missing a chip of my sanity, kinda' haha! Haven't been feeling well so that must 'ave been the trigger for my pepper temper. I'm not usually like this and it's surprised me how I'd snap at the slightest. 

This morning I accidentally came across that verse I printed up there..the one that speaks of being nurtured and cared for. 

I love that! I love how the words just string into each other, clasp and close into an embrace of assurance that one's existence matters in the scheme of all things. The world is such a noisy place - sometimes a quiet reassuring phrase from the ancients can cradle and lullaby a tired soul. 

I'm settling I think. I had a smile to share this afternoon so maybe I'll be OK. Time to prep dinner...nothing like this sizzling beauty tho..but it'll be hearty. 

MY GOLD GREEN MORNING

This was a day I woke in the morning and everything was all o' right with the world! We have those days don't we? Like a precious gift of a jeweled day tucked inside a small velvet box meant for one desired with the deepest truest love, a day as such it was. My heart was pumping bright sparks of positivity and my eyes could see no ill save all the beauty -

so I put on my running shoes and had a quick rounda'bout run and stopped here and there to snap here and there hoping - wishing to capture all the fresh green haze caught in my eye, for it was a delight to be in the company of  the spirit of the trees both grand and enchanting bonsai. 

╭•⊰✿¸.•*ღ "I am a mortal enemy to anything but a cheerful countenance and a merry heart, which, Solomon tells us, does good like a medicine."ღ

~ Abigail Adams

How I wish to give this justice, but mere me with my pink box of a camera tried our hippest best, to no avail. I could have done better, I suppose if I had more- talent.  Neverthemind, I am held most captive anyway by the sublime peaceable energy permeating the morning - of calm and serenity and well-being. 

The earth has music for those who listen, and yes, that day I was listening all eyes and ears and pores

And felt a bit of Sylvia Plat in her intense inspired moment - “I felt my lungs inflate with the onrush of scenery air, mountains, trees, people. I thought, "This is what it is to be happy.” 
No mountains here for me, but all these gold green pings the thought --> what makes us happy? What indeed? Isn't that the question of questions? What makes us happy? There are moments that give a sportive answer. 

The tree which moves some to tears of joy is in the eyes of others only a green thing that stands in the way. Some see nature all ridicule and deformity... and some scarce see nature at all. But to the eyes of the man of imagination, nature is imagination itself.” ― William Blake

 

“The best remedy for those who are afraid, lonely or unhappy is to go outside, somewhere where they can be quite alone with the heavens, nature and God. Because only then does one feel that all is as it should be and that God wishes to see people happy, amidst the simple beauty of nature. As longs as this exists, and it certainly always will, I know that then there will always be comfort for every sorrow, whatever the circumstances may be. And I firmly believe that nature brings solace in all troubles.” 

~ Anne Frank

Mother Days:Feathering The Nest

"The business of life is the acquisition of memories." 

I'm quoting Downton Abbey here. Season 4 if I'm not mistaken - where it goes on to say, "In the end that's all there is to it, afterall." 

Sobering. And to the point. And true. 

Very true.

Here ( actually, the pic up there) are my Mother's Day knick knack memories - in posted pictures: 

• a can of mixed nuts ( always crazy for mixed nuts!) 
• 2 newly bought books ( been a while - glad I found a real swell copy of Scarlett Feather. My old copy is torn bad to bits)
• girlie blue flower sneaks ( so sweet and cheap - hard to resist, haha!) 
• my forever, never to wilt flower power ( whatcanisay? I'ma' practical gal, lol!), 
• and a framed photograph of my sons at that adorable age when I was still queen mommy of the wild wide world of the wise, in their eyes! I miss those days. 

Now here's a glimpse of my flower homey - my nest,  the sacred space where all the mother feather(ing) action happens. It has a hue of its own, an obliging energy that takes the mood of the moment (always) to give off converted vibes of comfort - much like trees do' - sucking environment and processing  to exhale oxygen. 

My hearth pulses alive and encompassing in kindness. Old walls absorb our daily frantic rush, our loopy gaggling' guffaws, our ever pedantic sermons, our complications, our prayerful vocations, our whispered adorations and, yes, my feral shrieks when I kinda' go ballistic, hehe! 

As much as I mother the flesh of my own, my home mother's me. It mother's my dreams, my longings, my fears, my creativity, my plans, the dusk of my darkness, the light of my soul - it mother's it all. 

Holly and holy, feathered corners speak of sacred..of the Queen of Heaven and her perpetual help, of the Christ Prince of Peace, the Holy Family, the dedication to the Lord Father for whom dwellings tell, "As for me and my house,we shall serve the Lord," of  Buddhist blessings of  zen mindfulness, and of ancient Hestia's goddess function  for the Okios: home is temple -- the hearth house of socio religious and political stability.

There is a day for the applause of Mother's....but a day is nary enough to capsule the entire cost and profit of a woman's life baptized in motherhood. There is mutiny of emotions, volumes of recollection, the complicated merger of pleasure and pain in the acquisition of memories to stamp a date dedicated to the august of parenthood. 

I remember Mother's Day gone past - when my sons were boys..the flowers and cards and kisses...scribbled notes. But even more in my heart is etched those o-r-d-i-n-a-r-y days when there was nothing to commemorate. How they'd come to me with wild flowers- an offering of their innocence...days when they'd  hand me notes - cute crooky drawings to show love for mommy...

Those..are the days I treasure most. Not a specific Mother's Day - but a string of Mother Days that braid all moments to today. 

Days of feathering the nest, they are a celebration....and each moment we parent the day, inspite of its setbacks and tantrums and misbehaving minutes is a toast to the good times....

Life is memories, a continuous feast of faithful memories if we make it so. Tis' the business of life - and that's all there is to it - in the end - afterall.  

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒღೋ The Angels of April Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒღೋ

“The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched, but must be felt with the heart.” ~Helen Keller

Let me tell YOU of the sweet whisperings of April days where quiet within all of a sudden I hear the faint rush of silken angel wings fly me by, whoosh! They came and come often still and sit on my shoulders, or teeter at the edge of my mind, or sometimes stand amused jolly in my corner of colors. 

I know they are there, here - when I feel laughter coming in- when I hear the church bells chiming - when I smell flowers from nowhere- the unprovoked smile of  a random someone...the dulcet chirp of green birdie balancing on my gate. Even smack right inside this big bulk of vanilla gratitude I carry right now, oh yes, they be here, the April angels. 

They keep watch all moments to catch tears, catch fears, catch hate, catch doubt, catch loneliness and spite-ness and every other drab grub that falls off my mortal shell, shedding like dead skin cells until I am scrubbed to glowing. 

We beings earthbound barter and trade potions for the promise of pretty, youth and longevity - but angelics come to soothe soured soul's withered lines, deepened scars, and calloused hearts with a swipe from The Balm of Gilead whose restoration plummets deep into dermis abyss, and we are whole again - born to new. This is what happens. This is what's true. 

So in my good, in my bad, in my gain and in my pain, in my breath and in -within - the - pockets - of - air that cut between the gaps of my entire somatic being, they flutter - they exist - they be. 

Breathing me faith, the angels of April, resurrect me, again. And life has color.

Morning chit - chat!

Glory be, you're luminous! Just look at you glow! :D

Friday morning, waltzing the usual route I spied pansy flower friends waving at me, haha! The pretties were blushing in pinkness inviting yours truly to "come, come, come nearer dearest you and spend a tick - tack - two with us!"

They had much to tell, believe you me' and oh' the secrets they divulged:

: the girl who bruised her knee,
: the bird who clipped a wing - what tragedy,
: the cat who chased a mother - cat,
: the bewildered singing cricket,
: an amorous bat.

And who are you, what's up to do, their fluttery petals demured.

Before I could reply, I kinda' clammed up shy and humbly bid their photos taken.

Aw, yes, yes, yes, a chorus of chattery bloomy excited! By height, they tip - toed high and posed their pistil smiles gregarious. Smitten, pink camera flashed once, twice, thrice - fancy portraiture nature selfies.

What giggly' celebration after!
"Wild wizardy, that was awesome!" said the littlelest astonished pinky'...

Later I'd say, recalling the day,  "ah, yes, the visit was - b.e.a.u.t.i.f.u.l!"
Charms, chimes and enchantment, flowers talk, um' yup they do!
I hope you witness such magic too!

St. Therese ~ A February Devotion

Dear Little Flower, make all things lead me to heaven and God, Whether I look at the sun, the moon, the stars and the vast expanse in which they float, or whether I look at the flowers of the field, the trees of the forest, the beauties of the earth so full of color and so glorious, may they speak to me of the love and power of God; may they all sing His praises in my ear. Like you may I daily love Him more and more in return for His gifts. Teach me often to deny myself in my dealings with others, that I may offer to Jesus many little sacrifices.

Saint Thérèse, the Little Flower of Jesus, please

pick a rose from the heavenly garden, and send it

to me with a message of love.

I ask you to obtain for me the favors that I seek (here mention your request).

Recommend my request to Mary, Queen of

Heaven, so that she may intercede for me, with you,

before her Son, Jesus Christ.

If this favor is granted, I will love you more

and more, and be better prepared to spend eternal

happiness with you in heaven.

Saint Thérèse of the Little Flower, pray for me.

Grace and Miracle, like two winged sweet sister angels of faith have been walking my side since February ushered in. I took no notice till a moment ago when the thought pulsed my mind like a sudden heartbeat.  

I smiled a secret content when it occurred how in constant subtle ways the heavenly realm has been and is ever present around, above, below and within me: in my bleak minutes, in my breaking pains, in my darkest waking being. It draws even clearer as I sit here sensing this startling tactile reality. All my guiding angels are in attendance. 

Love oozing from little gaps between cracks, they're everywhere. There's a certain shine to my days, a sheen, a glitter, a glint and charm.

Grace and miracles...I am lifted! 

♥Fiat Lux ♥´¯`•.¸¸.• ♥L❀VE ♥´¯`•.¸¸.• ♥ •

Catching Light Chasing Shadows ( Lux Lucis Vita )

1-28 2014 Maybe this resonates with you. Maybe it doesn't. A moment when slices of decorous days turn sour and your light within extinguishes itself without apology.

Suddenly, your inner colorful morphs into a mottled palette overnight, a drab washed out lizard salmon of a life. That tempest within, she wakes, cocking what a diminutive dun you are.

Facing shadows - a melancholy one must battle.The past days have been so for me. What was there to do but embrace it. My adoring gratitude goes to the one who is patient and who believes and makes me laugh, until once again I am suffused with the sensation of bright - a conduit to the honest happiness around me. Tis' over. Now, I claim my emergence.

"One need not be a chamber to be haunted...

one need not be a house.

The brain has corridors

surpassing material space."

- Emily Dickinson

Something is happening to me. For weeks on end I am swept over by a sour suffocating smog of the soul. As if my spirit, once blithe and carefree, all of a sudden felt faint weary, begging for rest - that long deep dreamless rest of the ones who sleep. Scares me. 

I am not unfamiliar with my shadow. We are....acquainted.
Once a year I am besieged with an un - s.u.n.c.t.i.m.o.nious vacuum that knifes through my being. A veritable selfishness, sloth and venom of days wherein I pace my dysmorphic earth with hollowness. As if nothing exists and matters. Ghostly. A self satisfied canting of there is no mend. 

End.

I speak to it - at it - my barren shadow. 

Not with fights. Not with accusations. Not with soothing words nor with acceptance. 

Letting it be, I walk it through capturing beams and prisms as light amiably slants through branches, leaves and twigs, settling in streets, lawns and bends. Lucent.

I catch the light 

and I catch it 

and catch it 

and catch it. 

Until captured, the light becomes me,
and becomes me,
and becomes me,
and finally,

becomes me,
chasing my shadow -
away. 

Lux Lucis Vita

CATCHING LIGHT CHASING SHADOWS
( a photo journal - click on the link to view all pictures.)

My Many Many Joys ~ January's Lady Prism Living

I want the joy of simple colors, street organs, ribbons, flags, not a joy that takes my breath away and throws me into space alone where no one else can breathe with me, not the joy that comes from a lonely drunkenness. There are so many joys, but I have only known the ones that come like a miracle, touching everything with light.~ Anais Nin

A quaint quiet moment at home.

Keep track everyday the date emblazoned in yr morning.~ Jack Kerouac

Let me remember you sweet succulent January, not for the swipe of ordinary that wrenched my heart with earthly worry, but for the exuberance of your soft rising mornings, for the kindest' constant dew that misted our mortal mid-day livings, and for the gratifying minutes, seconds, hours tinted with laughter well to the embrace and luscious comfort of your evenings replete with walks under a suede sky speckled with brazen scattered starlights.

Grace and miracles, light and shadows, January was a gift of a month; a collection of days that unraveled in gentle supplication. Like the dream of sweet incoming mountain fog, the spirit of an obliging Janus wrapped me in anticipation, whispering, yes..yes, in your life it is possible to create magic, to manifest desires, dreams and intentions, and to live daily with a cleansed bright aura, if you so do wish. 

And these few chosen pics are but random manifestations of the fun  that presented themselves. What pleasure it gives for me to see them blogged artfully this way. My many many joys.