This is a painting of me, by me, painting an Abstract piece of art.
Happy Weekend, Everyone!!!
A Painting of painting
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Tag Archives: inspiration
Don’t hide! We need you!
We wonder how she sleeps at night
with such a mighty horn
We know she takes it off most times
pretending she’s a mule.
We Ruminate and contemplate
Why is it that she hides?
Since her beauty is a treasure
where real magic lives inside.
Be yourself, our dear one
Show your colors bright!
For without you, we authors have
no words that we can write!
featured image photo credit
Where Poems live
CD-W
There’s a place were poems live
a secret place well hidden
away from the madness
away from the strangers
where life, with all it’s twists and turns, flourishes and grows.
The place where poems grow
is a never ending pasture
where little sprouts are watered and pruned
waiting to be nurtured waiting
to be harvested by the author.
If I could, I’d spend more time in that pasture
I would feel the creative winds kiss my cheeks
and smell the air left behind from inspiring rains
I would listen to the seasons and taste the warmth of words upon my tongue.
I visit there sometimes
I twirl and dance and run and play
And when I’m tired
I lay on the green and stretch my arms toward the sky
I twirl the clouds around my fingertips
and smile at their tickled laughter
All in that secret place
where poems live.
– CD-W
Do your loved ones visit you after they’ve died?
None of you will question that as we live our lives – go to work, parties, travel, have relationships, etc., – experiences combine and create how we view the world and ourselves. And grieving the death of loved ones is an experience we all share.
First, let me say that I do not call myself a “religious” sort. I consider myself more as spiritual and intuitive and I never considered the possibility that a deceased love one would contact me. Until it happened.
In the 1980’s, when I thought going through infertility would drive me over a cliff, I had an early morning phone call from my grandfather who had died in the 60’s. “Grandpa,” I said. “Why are you calling? You’re dead.”
“I’m calling to check on you.”
“I’m fine,” I lied.
My husband woke me to get up for work. I was furious and sad that my call had been abruptly ended. The “dream,” was not like a real dream made of scene or stories. I only saw Grandpa’s face, and I felt him as real as the pillow my head rested upon.
Not long after, my deceased grandmother “called.” I said the same thing. “Grandma, you’re dead. Why are you calling?”
“I’m calling to check on you. How are you.”
“I’m fine.”
Then she asked, “Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Yes. Will you ask God to give me a baby?”
There was a long pause as if she were thinking. Then, she said, “I have to go now.”
(Today, I have two grown children, two grandchildren and another due in May.Who knows, right?)
Mom’s first contact with me was different. I had just left the cemetery when a song I’d never heard before came on NPR radio. To this day, I cannot find that song but its words were something like, “don’t worry, we’ll see each other in heaven.” The song made me smile.
Later, in a dream-vision, Mom had simply smiled at me, looked youthful and happy, and pain-free.
As my father lay dying, I asked, “will you check on me after you’re gone like Mom, Grandma and Grandpa did?”
He said, “I’ll always check on my babies.”
Wherever Dad is, he must be very busy since he has yet to “contact” me. That’s okay, too. He’s probably teaching Mohammad Ali how to play checkers or dominoes.
Some people call these signs “Pennies from Heaven.”
Knowing my experiences, I recently ran across this article. Take a look. Perhaps it will apply to you as well. And please, let me know if it does.
Feeling sad about aging? Why? You’ve never been this age before.
We all have our time. I used to be a one-year-old. Not anymore. Now, it’s my granddaughter’s turn to experience that year.
At her birthday party, I had a wonderful conversation with a friend I rarely get to see. First, we talked about her aging mother. Then we talked about our kids. Her’s are 13 and 11. Mine are 23 and 27.
Kristin’s already missing her aging and ill mother. She talks about what will happen when her growing boys leave the nest. Her eyes puddle with tears.
And then I told her what I tell myself when I feel like so much of my life is formed of memories, of cycles of life that have concluded.
“I have been a one-year-old,” I say. “Now it’s my granddaughter’s turn. I have been a two-year-old. Now it’s my grandson’s turn. I have been a mother of young children, fortunate to have watched them grow and thrive. Now, it is my children’s turn to experience parenthood. But, I have never been sixty before. This, too, is a new cycle. And who knows what will happen.”
We all have our time.
A Boxing Tradition-Thanks, Daddy
So recently, my one-year-old granddaughter came to watch me box (see picture below). As many of you know, I love boxing. Not competitively, of course. I do it for fitness. We hit pads and bags, practice defensive, etc. We kick, too, but being a good kicker is not in my DNA. Let me explain.
My paternal grandfather was a carnival boxer in the early 1930’s. That meant he would seek out the carnivals and would box the “main” contender. If he won, which he usually did, he earned 5 buckeroos.
In the later 1940’s, my Dad boxed for the Army as Kid Dennis. I still have his boxing bag, gloves, and trunks that read “Kid.” (The story of Dad’s boxing retaliation against my grandfather is a major plot thread in my novel, No Hill for a Stepper.)
Dad quit boxing when he married my mother but continued the sport by becoming a referee. When my sister was born, he gave her little blue boxing glove rattles. After my parents died, and when my sister and I had to sort through the house, I found them! I told my sister, “I’m keeping these!” (she didn’t fight me for them). Now, I keep the little rattles in my boxing bag for inspiration.
Here’s my granddaughter holding one of the little rattles.
Baby and Me
Do I think my granddaughter should continue the tradition? It matters not. What does matter is that she learns to defend and stand up for herself. And, as Dad often reminded me, “pay attention to your surroundings at all times.” Sound advice.
Thanks, Daddy.
When we forget the “magic” in our world
We must count on children to remind us.
my sweet grandson
The Lone Deserter
The lone deserter travels on, through tapestry of green, paying no attention to the land he’s never seen.
Passion pocketed for later use, the milestones tucked away, with treasures from another life he once felt sure would stay.
Trying for clear passage, his back now all that shows, struggling to seek distance, from lovers, friends and foe.
We watch him trip and stumble, yet he holds his head erect, while trying to deny and mask the sadness we detect.
The ocean tide once friendly, the setting sky so gray, he separates his vision of the past now gone astray.
His shadow barely showing, horizon on attack, reminding us as we watch him go, of the power that we lack.
When will we get him back?
by CD-W
The soul and spirit can be stubborn
When the Universe pushed her buttons, she pushed back too hard. And, since the soul and spirit can be stubborn, it took a long time to find her Center. But when she did, she discovered that Life is a Cabaret.
One of my first paintings.
When Mother Nature thumps you into awareness
Yesterday morning, when I woke up, I couldn’t talk. This morning, when I woke up, I still couldn’t talk. I mean, NOT AT ALL. Laryngitis is an interesting condition. Perhaps it is nature’s way of telling you to listen, to be still, to be contemplative.
I counted my blessings.
But damnit, I wanted to add to the lunch conversation! I had things to contribute, information to share!
“Ha Ha,” the Universe laughed.
“Holler if you need anything,” a friend laughed.
“Now she can’t yell at me,” my husband said, laughing in the phone with my doctor.
My mini Aussie cocked his head at my silence, but could still read my body language as I could still read his. “Ball time! Ball time! Ball time!”
I counted my blessings.
This evening, I count my blessings. Not because I can now croak out a couple of words in a lengthy sentence.
I count my blessings because they are there. Silence did not destroy even one.
Be still and silent when you can.
Otherwise, Mother Nature will make you.
She’s clever like that.
-Carolyn
Carolyn Dennis-Willingham 