Lightning Strike

Writing the morning pages was put on hold as I typed up the poem I’d written after meditating last night. “Lightning Strike.” I’m always amazed at how the words come through me and up out of me. It IS just like a lightning strike! There’s a kind of coming down or into me and also a coming up and out of me – just like lightning when the electrical charges in the earth rise up to meet the lightning strike coming down.

Lightning Strike

The air shimmers,

tension builds

It boils … It simmers …

SNAP!

It flashes down

before I can blink and

arcs through me

striking the ground

in a glorious array

of unseen color

I can’t breathe

Reverberations echo

through my body

trapping me

in mind-numbing shock

Glued to this spot

I can’t move

my body tingles wildly

in the exploding power

vibrating in silence

around me

I can’t breathe

In this microsecond

of time

I’m too paralyzed

to even think, and

as I struggle to comprehend

what just happened,

the earth erupts

with a soundless deafening roar

blasting through me

once again

I breathe in

I can do nothing

but wait for release

as the residual energy

rains down on me

wrapping its charged essence

over me as if draping me

in a new warm cloak

then dissipating

into the dust

at my feet

I breathe out

With the charred smell

lingering in the air

and fingers still tingling,

I slowly pick up my pen

A poem falls onto the page.

And so, my morning took a detour, as it does so often. It never ceases to amaze me that my first thoughts of what the day will bring seldom stays true to the original plans. At the end of the day, though, I am satisfied with what I accomplished, and I don’t regret what I didn’t get done. I guess my days are not about staying on a straight, paved sidewalk, but they meander wooded trails over rocky and bumpy terrain. It makes life interesting, that’s for sure!

I love that I don’t have an adrenaline-pumping need. I love that I find excitement in the seemingly simple things. I love that I see beauty everywhere.

“Interesting” is my favorite word and “journey” is another. Life is an interesting journey if we allow ourselves to see it as such. Even a simple life isn’t really so simple when you’re living it, and what we allow ourselves to experience and acknowledge open our eyes to the beauty of life. And practicing living wholeheartedly makes life special and soul-rewarding.

The Muse Demands Attention

The Muse comes in

fills my senses

takes over

my entire being

‘til I can’t think

of anything else

but doing my art

Paintings call me

words tumble

out of me

I’m torn between

following the demands

or doing mundane chores

which need to be done

"Rose of Sharon" work in progress

A quick trip

to the studio

has me on my feet

over an hour

Every time I try to walk away

She pulls me back

more … more

fix this … touch that up

Even after I return

to the table

She’s still there

poking, prodding

pushing to keep

the creative fire

burning brightly

It’s hard to ignore

but I have other work to do.

Limbo

Little brain chitter

like bird twitter

taps on the edges

of my mind

But the words

roll off my skull

and fall into the ethers

before I can hear them

Nothing feels important

I’m in limbo

until I can get home

where the muse

Patiently, or maybe

impatiently, waits.

She wasn’t done with me

when I left.

Creative Muses

The Poetry Muse

strikes with no notice

words pouring out

like beer from an open tap

The words

in its frothy head

slowly sink

into the dark brew

With each sip

of the creamy, bitter stout

they slide down my throat

then slip out onto the page

The Painting Muse

hovers on the sideline

silently prodding

my consciousness

“Paint,” she pleads, “Paint!”

as she fills my mind

with visions of beautiful

landscapes and flowers

Pink Phlox Purple Post

She pulls me

to the easel

shows me scenes

full of pastel brightness

Soft colors over dark

blended edges of vibrant shades

I feel my hand lift to the paper

give over to the passion

Until the Writing Muse

demands attention

and words vie with color

overflowing my mind

Write, paint, write, paint

becomes the daily struggle

with both muses screaming

to be heard

Wisps of color

swirl in a sea of words

and I give in

to whatever is strongest

leaving the other

to pace the misty shorelines

awaiting her chance

to jump in.

Hard Rain

Words start in a trickle

a gentle drizzle

tickling my senses

teasing me to pick up a pen

After a couple of lines

the wind gusts

and the heavens open

A deluge of hard rain

pummels me with words

too numerous to catch

This rain hurts!

In moments I’m drenched

falling so fast, so hard

the words bruise my mind

bounce off my body leaving welts

then puddle at my feet like spilled ink

Phrases drip from my hair

run into my eyes making vision difficult

then streak down my face and neck

I’m soaked to the skin

drops coursing down my arms

to fall from fingertip to pen

onto a page too wet to hold ink

I fight to save the words

being washed away

 “Me! Me!” they yell

demanding to be written

But I’m drowning

I can’t write fast enough

Suddenly it stops

the overcast opens to blue

and the sun peeks through

The words dry on my arms,

ink on the page becomes readable

I begin moving the pieces around

assembling the jigsaw puzzle

of a poem.

Storm Surge

Once more a poem about writing poetry surged through. I wrote it last night after meditating, then "fixed" it up this morning. Enjoy!

In a half dream

I calmly watch the tide pull back

totally oblivious to what’s about to happen

the quiet deceiving before all hell breaks loose

Mesmerized, I watch it build. It’s huge!

and realize there’s no time to run

with frightening speed

it descends in a deafening rumble

devouring everything in its path

It smashes into me

sweeps me high off my feet

spins me around

then slams me to the ground

its force rolling me

over and over and over

I try to grab onto words

but the surge steals my breath

I try to grab onto explanation

but the ferocity leaves me mindless

I write furiously

but the raging torrents rip away the words

before I can get them all on the page

I try to make sense of it all

but the turbulent forces tumble me along

at speeds too outrageous to describe

leaving no room for cohesive thought

Then, as suddenly as it began, it stops.

I collapse into the wet, slimy mud

stunned, bruised, exhausted

numb and in shock

I watch the water recede, disappear

I breathe in … breathe out

I’m alive!

I begin moving aching limbs

shifting through the debris

of words I wrote down

trying to find what I missed;

searching for the ending

But there’s nothing else here.

After all that intensity

I expected more --

There is no more

Surprised, I realize

the ending already happened

just not the way I expected

what started with such violence

ended quickly, softly.

It’s done.

Downpour or On the Edge of Translation

It rains down

fills my soul

from head to toes

sometimes a heavy downpour

or thunderstorm

Its words with mine

stir my inner beingness

mixing in gut, heart, mind

until clouds of emotions

swirl and dance in partnership

It all bubbles up

threatens to burst my seams

I try to capture

thoughts and contemplations

in language I know

And the words

explode out of me

fall from pen

or onto computer keyboard

faster than I can write

At times

I’m only on the edge

of a translation

I can’t quite grasp

the correct words

Then suddenly

it all ceases

the downpour stops

words cut off

in midsentence or thought

Wait, wait!

I didn’t get it all!

I still haven’t come up with a description of how/what the inflow is really like. Sometimes there are real words I understand, and other times it’s a kind of feeling of what is being channeled; emotion, but not emotion. --SW