What makes rain

Written by Joy Beckler 1976

Three little raindrops started the rain.  But first they had to get bigger.   And every time they asked the wind said no.  But then they asked for the last time.   And this time he said yes.  Then three little drop drop drop.   Then they all got (blank.  Nothing there) and then it rained.   The End.  

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Heart thumping in my throat like I should spit it out

Racing, racing, racing.  

Too much

Snap crackle pop

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Mockingbird

 

Be free

 

Says the eagle to the mockingbird

 

You know everyone else's song.  You've honored the whole without a song of your own.  

 

The mockingbird does nothing different.  She doesn't need her own song.   She is the song 

 

 

Unless...

 

Understanding comes in waves.   Old patterns integrate making their way through new learned truths.  

 

The mockingbird stopped singing. 

 

In stillness she hung to the last drooping flower that had long lost all nourishing necter.   

 

Find your voice.  

 

Eagle reminds her.  

 

There comes a time for each of us.  Standing on a shore.   We take a step up and out of the way to watch others or we get engulfed.   Mine happened to be nothing short of a tsunami.  Washing away in a minute all of Life I previously had known, things acquired, reputation that previously held solid and all preconceived notions of life swept away in one fierce current.   Fragments left to pick up and hold tight.   I looked like Steve Martin in The Jerk.    Needing anything I could pick up and hold.     Feeling just as ridiculous as the character.   Not believing any of it to last.  Not realizing what a journey was before me. 

 

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Whatever moment your in.   

 

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The calm after the storm is sweet.  All the colors vibrant without the residue of settled life dulling them.    The smell is clean and fragrant.    The sounds subdued.  

 

I sit here picking away the dead leaves off the one big plant on my tiny patio 

 

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Lost in transition.  

 

Seriously about to break 

 

There is no better outcome. Everything beyond expectations

 

Yet the independent you can't tell me what to do part is standing there looking at me like what the fuck.   After all this? 

 

Did I declare defeat or acceptance or any other word that belittles my outcome? 

 

My heart says no.

 

My ego is screaming. Demanding an answer. 

 

That answers that question. 

 

Strange place to be, this is.  

 

Looking at the final pieces either being thrown out, given away, boxed up and stored or received.  

 

There is a part of me to be boxed up and stored away too.    

 

Shhh.  It's fine.  I can always retrieve on a rainy day.  

 

A bit weirded out by the fact I don't have to do everything on my own anymore.   To know my efforts don't decrease but my rewards multiply, versus  nothing or a slap in the face to remind me of what I deserve. 

 

I'm not scared, I'm happy.   I guess just the repetition  of this process one more time makes me uneasy as my pattern has led me to believe not to believe it.      

 

This time I can unpack, right?  

 

This time I can rest.

 

This time I can call a place home again.  

 

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 Gathering

 

The table is shared is it not?

 

Release is the intent.   To let go of what no longer serves me.   Not at a command of another but innately and instinctively part of nature again

 

Full circle, I hear you

 

One two three. Breathe deep.  Intent is the key on the table. 

 

Black binding all color.  Contained neatly.. Awaiting instruction

 

Releasing the mighty color of intent of choice

 

I hear the crackling of the skies in the distance- winds of possibilities stir.  

 

Colors alive holding the light.  

 

 

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Tears of Joy

 

I am a hummingbird.  

 

I feel too much. Everything. Dramatic

 

I have felt nothing, the licking of the bottom of the barrel for that last drop of sugar water.  

 

I have felt the chaos in between.  

 

More than anything, I have felt love

 

Feelings are most felt when let go.  

 

That moment of stillness is the richest of all. 

 

The integration of all things combined into nothing.   The richness is without a word to explain it.  

 

Exercising the ability to extend the time somehow adds healing.  Again without explanation or the need to have one.

 

Joy means what exactly?  

 

Joy is remembering your inner child.    Full of life and energy and color.   

 

Joy is waiting  to be remembered. 

 

 

 

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Call me out.  I'm your mirror

 

Cast that stone and watch me shatter

 

Shards scatter far enough to find you.  

 

Painful 

 

So do yourself a favor and consider holding back that cast.

 

If you cast a stone at me, I may decide to catch it...

Then what?

 

 

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Words

You've been my enemy and now my best friend

 

Red flags

 

Just like when I started drawing

 

The best I ever did was in that minute of realization of desire and then the flow  started to dissipate. 

 

This raw moment allows me to step into the roots of the tree.  

I  feel everything.   That moment.  The opposite of the sunami.   The moment of coming home.

 

Pay attention

 

 

 

Chains and metal inside.  There must be with how heavy it weighs on the heart

 

Silver lining  shining bright as if none of this was real.

 

Never faltering unless blackness prevails.  Which doesn't exist alone. 

 

See silly. 

 

Serious is the dark side.  

 

Laughter is the light.   

 

Be still and know that I am God.  

 

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Lifting the seal

 

 

 

--Where there is darkness fill it with light

Where there is fear enfold it with love

Feeling judged? Don't judge 

Feeling anxious and restless, then rest. 

When controlling, let go 

Breathe

Feel life by way of the breeze granted and the acknowledgement of the energy surrounding and in all things 

If it's ugly, decide it to be beautiful

If scared, discern and decide. 

If unappreciated then appreciate another

Leave no apology unsaid

The words I love you need not be kept for special occasions.   Say to yourself, out loud and with all your heart then forget. 

Decide daily to love what you hate. 

Hate feels bad so don't do it.  

Love feels amazing so share.

 

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Dark and light have one thing in common.  

 

They both have the same mother

 

Who was murdered.   Kind of. 

 

Thereby,

 

By definition 

 

Was a circle that was whole,

 

Broken into pieces.  

 

The dark cannot be trusted except in it's rage.

The light loves too much but can do no other.

 

Offer a suggestion, please. How would you make these two find retribution?

 

I already know...

 

Nothing.  

 

Its already happening.

 

However, participation for us, optional.  

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Know Thyself

Within the tapestries of the trees, I see myself
Within the photographs of old, I remember myself
Within the heart that beats, I feel myself
Within the ego I fight myself
Through the hearts of others I heal myself
Within the moments of time
I know myself

In the mind, I do not. Within the hazy maze of chaos pushing me this way and that, demanding energy clouds a clear eye. Spiraling and dark, tempting flight to fall, offering rest to the fight that has exhausted known resources.

Know Thyself or what? What does that mean?

Know Thyself is the ultimate task at hand and heart. Yielding love by way of staff and sword. It is the mirror reflecting the dual essence of yourself. Stand ground and feel the earth rejoice

As I do with the last bit of courage mustered, I stand my ground,
To Know Thyself
Not known how or what will come
But within the declaration itself
Invites the winds of change and answers.
And so it is.

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Joy

 

Done

 

With answers, explanations and details 

of the past

 

Done

 

With the storybook of yesterday.  We've all heard enough.   It doesn't need to be replayed or thought out for explanation or purpose.  

 

Listen....to a new sound.  

Tipping point is sweet 

 

Never easy, never hard.

Holding balance.  

 

Finding Joy