Faith

God actually answered me.

I said, are you there?

I always ask that question

in times of doubt & (seeming)

desperation.  The  answer

immediately returned,

No.

Hmm.  Now what do I

do?  The level of the

question dictates a like

answer.

But I’m short on

faith, I plead.  Tough!

get over it.  Things

always work out fine.

Even you can attest

to that.

I guess I’ll stop

asking (I don’t want

to judge but…) dumb

questions.

 

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Flow

I’m trying (maybe that’s the

problem–I’m trying) to direct

my life–like somehow

I can call the shots.

I only decide when all the

shots are exhausted and

laid out in front of me.

Until then, I wait.

A shot is a shot is a shot.

Flow.  Is that what

I’m looking for?  To be

so immersed in something

(I enjoy) that the time

has slipped past without

me noticing.  Oh, it’s

time to go home, already?

 

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Do it

Just do it.  A trite phrase.

And even a stolen one, possibly.

What are you protecting?

By not acting?

How many mistakes are you

allowed in a lifetime?

You surely haven’t used

your allowance up yet–

if you even have one.

So what seems a risk to

you is nothing.

We all blow things up

way out of proportion

to what they actually

are.

 

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On The Path

How do you trust someone?

How do you trust yourself ?

You have to put yourself

out there

and take what seem like

“risks” to you–especially

with elevated fear levels–

and there are no sure

things–only learning

some lessons you did not

get in school.  The hard

knocks university!

Your doubts mean little

mostly.  You can trust

yourself.  Here you are.

You’ve make it this

far.  Luck was a small

factor.  Mostly by your

own efforts have you

landed where you are.

You got yourself into

any messes, you can

get yourself out.

With the help of

others, of course.

Safron Finch. Hawaii, The Big Island

Safron Finch. Hawaii, The Big Island

Photography © Dennis Frates Photography  http://www.fratesphoto.com/

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11-11-11

Manifest your dreams today.

The universe is especially

receptive, I am told.

Ask for what you want.

Make a list.

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Divest

I love a 3-day weekend.

It gives me ‘extra’ time

to write.

I can justify staying up

a little later than normal.

My mind is more free of

concerns than during

the workday week.

It really wants mostly

to rest & express itself.

It has a lot to get out.

Some positive, some

negative, some neutral.

It all needs to leave

& be off my premises

so I have room &

space to maneuver

in my life.

Too many loose ends

tangles the web.

So I write.  I walk

when I have time

think it out.

It’s all got to

leave one way or

the other.  I don’t

want to carry

it around anymore.

 

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Room for Improvement

If you can’t sleep

you write, right?

You notice the skies

are smoky.

Not hardly worth

going out in

unless you’re

in dire

need.

It seems I’m

always

finding myself

in dire need

at some time

or another

these days.

So much desperation!

It’s not that I’m

constantly

disappointed

in the outcomes

of my endeavors

–but yet

it seems there’s

a lot of room

for improvement.

 

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As far as I can see

I can only follow as far as I can

see.

When I run out of light,

I walk in the darkness.

I wish I had a map

and a flashlight.

A tablet of ten command-

ments.

I’d follow them to

the letter

trusting they would

lead me out.

So I use my other

senses–ones not

so sharp from disuse.

But they’re better than

nothing

to lead me on.

I don’t even wish for

certainty (oh, only

a little bit) any

more, as that is

mostly folly & what

I find when I arrive

is not usually what

I had anticipated.

 

 

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Running from nothing

I want to distract my mind

my body.

Just stop.

Breathe in.

What am I running from?

The present moment?

Being here now

not off in my

mind

in my head

not being where I am

physically

which would produce

a different mindset.

One probably

much more

healthy.

Taking advice from

myself instead of

others.

My answers

need a chance

to surface or

they will drown

in their neglect.

 

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Elusive

Of course I get inspiration,

the lines are formed, the ideas

cemented into a beautiful

rapture of melody, when

my hands are full of soapy

water.  Not a pen.  Open

without a pen.  Awkward

to write in the shower.

I’ve tried–in the bath tub.

Doing dishes–impossible.

They flit in and out

of my consciousness like

a butterfly chasing a

flower.  Rarely landing

at every one.

I need to walk around

the house with a

butterfly net.

 

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