in-verse

Here, you thought
Spring is here
It IS almost March, after all
But the leaves fall
And fall
And you know, really,
It's just autumn in disguise.

Now, you thought,
Peace is come
A respite-time to grow and keep
But the waters rage,
And rage,
And you know, really,
It's just anger in disguise.

Come, you thought,
It will get better,
And the skies clear,
And my eyes clear,
But it rains,
And rains,
And you know, really,
It pains.

f (x) means do to x whatever f means
and f^(-1)(x) means do the opposite.

If seasons were functions
I'm stuck in the inverse
universe.

Snippet

She took up a rag-pile of words—used-up, torn-up mouthfuls—

And snipped and snapped,

This way, that way,

Follow the shape in your head,

And let it lead you to your heart.

She sewed them up, bit by bit, and it—just—fit!

And he walked away proud, head high and shoulders

Back, clothed in affection.

Peeking Out From My Past--The Second.

The Forest.



In the forest, quiet and deep

Where some like to play, and others sleep

I like to sit and think awhile

Of thoughts and dreams that make me smile

And in the forest, dark and deep,

Where I like to think of things so sweet

There is a stream, a bubb’ling brook

In which I love to sit and look

Upon the lovely waterfall

And think not to be there at all

On eagle’s wings I fly away

To dream of things of coming days

For in the song of the bubb’ling brook

At whose waters it is a joy to look

Is a song of songs, a hymn of joy,

And Fantasy is a tink’ling toy.

A song of joy, soft and complete

For a dreamer-girl am I

And I love to lie, O dreamer I

In the forest, by the water’s side.

There are words for no words...

I wish I had something to say once in a while
that made sense, and you loved me.

I wish my heart could love once in a while.
Could break out of myself, and I see you.

God knows why I have no tears for you
slipping out of my heart, drop--pattering on the carpet

But I hear something blurry,
Your fuzzy pain fills my thoughts--
and I have nothing to say.

I'm sorry.

A Pink Kink In My Think

I think pink
And you think green
I wonder
Did God make us different colors?
Living color?


She turns red
And he is blue
A living rainbow
Made of souls of every hue
Living color?


...


Thinking about light, thinking about color... and how human nature correlates.

Light comes into our eyes in waves--longer waves produce certain colors while shorter waves result in others. Slight differences in frequency--how many times a wave oscillates per second--and wavelength--the length of one oscillation--drastically change the color of the light we see.

Pick a color--any color. I pick green. How many separate shades of green exist? How many types? They all differ, to some degree. But still something about them is the same.

I find certain similarities in humanity. Though all people think in generally the same manner, each individual thinks within his or her own "language"--the unique thought pattern deeply ingrained into each person's nature. "Languages" differ slightly according to different personalities.

I wonder: if we were able to see ourselves in a fresh manner--to see the entity of our being in a new dimension--might we each be distinctly different colors?

I think of louder personalities as orangey-reds, bubbly social butterflies as perky yellows, and quieter spirits as deep, dark blue. No two match exactly, but they may share similarities.

My dad gave me a strange look the other day as I was telling him a funny quip from a friend; apparently I was unconsciously copying this person's facial expressions, tones, and mannerisms quite accurately.

But that's how I relate; how we all must relate. I translate my thoughts to others' "languages"--even in email sometimes. For instance: tend to leave out the subjects of my sentences when talking with Claviger. And, like when I'm talking to like one of my rather like trendy friends, like I add all these like "likes" like into my sentences!!! (Not to mention the triple exclamation points...) Sometimes... I talk... slightly, um. Slower. AndothertimesItalktwentymillionwordsaminute.

It's as if I change the frequency, length, or pattern of my thoughts to match others' thoughts.

Sometimes people tell me just to be myself--to speak my own language. But I beg to differ. How in the world am I supposed to relate to anyone else if I don't speak their language? Not to demean the significance of knowing one's self--but what is the purpose of speech if it does not communicate something? And translating my rather scatterbrained thoughts into the method of someone else's thinking patterns usually benefits my own understanding of what I think.

Somewhat like tuning to the right radio frequency to get rid of the static.

So I wonder; am I losing sight of my own "language"? Am I supposed to, as I seek to understand God's thoughts? Does contact with others shape my "language"? Should or can I let it? What do you think?

Rainsong.

Dip tappity tap
Dip tippity too
Dap tappita lap
Drip tippata do

One-step,
Two-step.
Back,
And forward;
Onward!
Downward!
Pressing forth,
Dive deep!
Sing long--
Live life!
Belong;
Hold tight!
Pray, fight!

For Right
Stand strong.

Tap dappida,
Dee doop
Tap dappida,
Dee dah dee
Tap dappida
Dee doop
Dee dah, dah doop
Dee dah

...

Either one loves Rain or one does not.
Either one treasures the rap-tappity, trap dap dun
or one does not care to.

Either the swirling drops entrance one, gently ease one into a dance,
a song, a rollicking joy!
Only to sigh, breathe,
Heave their heavy skirts onward,
one sighing, left behind...

Or they don't.

Tippity tap.

Latin... and Labels...

Mea fratres et sorores

—sometimes I love Latin and sometimes I hate it—

anima - soul

avis - bird

benignitas - kindness

fabula - story

fortitudo - bravery
frater - brother

iustitia - justice/righteousness

lacrima - tear

luna - moon

lux - light

mens - mind

musica - music

natura - nature

nox - night

patria - homeland

pax - peace

porta - gate

sapientia - wisdom

silva - forest

spelunca - cave

soror - sister

stella - star

tempestas - storm

umbra - shadow

veritas - truth

via - way

vox - voice

virtus - strength

vita - life

So many beautiful words, beautiful thoughts... for instance, via veritatis means way of truth; vox vitae is voice of life; porta sapientiae—gate of wisdom.  I find it interesting that the English word virtue comes from the word meaning strength.

Words, words, words... We assign so much meaning to them; we try to force the essence of our souls into them... wrestle our puny thoughts into their hugenesses, or vice versa. I wonder which is trickier, big thoughts into little words or little thoughts into big words...

We name everything, label everything—nothing is that doesn't have a name. Even nonexistence has a name. (I wonder, does that mean in some indirect manner that nonexistence exists? HA for the purple unicorns...) People have names, and labels... We have long lists of names and types: some that we assign ourselves and some others assign to us.

My current self-inflicted labels include hypocrite, dreamer, wannabe, awkward, needy, distracted, etc.

(I think my favorite is etc.—which is Latin, I’ll have you remember...)

Why do we label? Does it come out of our nature, after God instructed Adam to name every living creature? Is it just part of how we think?

Does the word hypocrite sound so wrong because of the sounds, or because of the meaning? Does the sound intrinsically ring sour in our ears, or does the meaning alone make the word sound absolutely horrid? Or do both contribute to the word's hideous nature?

Truth—the sound is quiet, gentle, unmistakable.

Beauty—Latin, pulchritudo—

Goodness—

These words strike silence into my soul, reverberate throughout my being. They are small, short snippets of sound—barring the Latin, of course—they have no long, dramatic syllables—but they stick. And they matter much more than any of the others. They remind me of what I long to be:

WHOLE. Tota.

CLEAN. Munda.

PURE. Pura.

LORD GOD, would You transform my sarcastic, biting, pain-filled thoughts to truth, beauty, goodness—transform my mind, my body, my soul into that which is like Yours?

Gratias Tibi ago ob benignatem animorum - I thank you for the kindness of Your soul.

...

I wait for the day
work for the day
yearn for the day
for the coming of the light
and rejoice as it comes;


Standing tall
As the darkness falls.


I will not give in
By the grace of God:
I will remember.

Looking Out Over the Eyrie

Perhaps...


this

could be

a gentle place

a safe place

for prodigal dreams

to roost.

this

could be

a happy place

for thoughtsome

musings,

happy heartsongs,

sunshine and rain:

tears and towering trees.

The First Hatchling...

Perhaps
I am

too small
to stand

but everyone
can fly.

too young
to start

to use
my hands

but everyone
can try.