#FWF Free Write Friday: Word Bank …

Welcome to another #Free Write Friday exercise from Kellie Elmore.

This time Kellie provided a bank of words. We could either integrate all into our free writing or select one and work with it.

Lazy … rain … perspective … glint … sombre … trinket … static

I enjoyed the challenge of using them all. 🙂

And I will be honest … I edited a little at the end, but the essence is pure FWF. 😉

Happy reading!

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RainPenelope was feeling lazy. A glimpse at her old alarm clock (you know the kind — brass with hands that point at numbers and an alarm bell stationed on top) told her it had just turned 8:45 a.m.. She yawned and stretched and sank her head deeper into the down pillow beneath it, and closed her eyes. Penelope loved the sound of the rain against the window pane, a sound which always seemed amplified when she stared into her eyelids. She wasn’t particularly fond of the grey-coloured sky. How could the steady sound of cleansing rain feel so soothing while the dark, ominous clouds from which it descended weigh so claustrophobic? She sighed. It was all a matter of perspective, of course. Some people hated everything about rain but she, somehow, was able to see the bright side of it. Rain quenched the thirst of flowers, and flowers were beautiful. Besides, a break in the deluge and a gap in the clouds always offered a glint of hope for sunnier times to come. Flowers needed sun too. It was a balance. There had to be balance. Too much or too little of anything led to heartache. Heartache led to a sombre outlook on life. Penelope could never tolerate such a state. She opened her eyes and reached to feel her favourite Labradorite pendant attached to a silver chain around her neck. It was more a charm than a trinket, for it reminded her that though the perspective of her life might shift depending on the play of light and shadow, her essence, like the shimmering layers of this beautiful irridescent stone she loved, remained constant, but never static. There was a difference.

Wildflowers

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Thanks for visiting …

Dorothy 🙂

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Copyright Aimwell CreativeWorks 2013

Milestone Fifty

Horse MomFifty years ago today, in a hospital in Vancouver, British Columbia, at 3:41 p.m. Pacific Standard Time, I drew my first breath.

Seems odd that already a half century has gone by. Still, this does not depress me. I’ve been engaged enough in self-awareness exercises during the past several years to realize that my life is, in fact, just beginning.

I still have dreams and things I’d like to accomplish.

Sometimes I wonder, “Am I too old?”

No.

Age is more than a number. It’s everything behind it that has made me who I am.

So it is with gratitude and a burning desire to fulfill my measure here on Earth that I continue boldly along the path of my life.

Thank you for being a part of my journey …

Be well,

Dorothy 🙂

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Milestone Fifty

Stand I now by Milestone Fifty.

Could be nasty; could be nifty.

Could depress me; make me cry.

Could hang my head with a heavy sigh.

Could devour my tender heart,

Yet that’s not how I wish to start

The waning years that fly so fast,

Engage, I must, to the very last

Inspired breath I dare to take

And gasp I give, for goodness sake.

For age is more than just a number

Can give us strength and fill with wonder.

Clouds with silver lining weep

For those who to their golden years creep.

*

Copyright Aimwell CreativeWorks 2012

Wake Up!

Most of my recent poetry is about the journey to Self-Awareness.

For a long time I lived the debilitating, fearful, exhausting life of the victim and survivor.

A series of wake-up calls over several years gently nudged me into a new reality, telling me there was more to life than had been my illusion.

So, one day I finally pulled up my socks, strapped on some sturdy shoes, reached deep inside to locate whatever remained of trust and started, with help, down the road to
my truth and personal freedom.

And what a journey it has been so far …

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Wake Up!

For many years I had no choice,

I only heard another’s voice.

Another’s thoughts had formed my world;

Into their fetid vortex hurled.

Flailing, fighting every day

I tried to live in my own way,

But had no strength to be myself,

So sat, invisible, ‘pon the shelf.

And then, one day, awoke, did I,

To who I’d been, did say “Bye bye!”

Flung out the detritus of life;

Sub-conscious sources of toil and strife.

De-hypnotized old patterns deep,

To climb a learning curve so steep …

Just who am I? Why am I here?

Deep questions full of faith and fear.

But ask I must, and answer, too,

If I to my own self be true.

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Thanks for visiting.

Dorothy 🙂

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Copyright Aimwell CreativeWorks 2012

The Gift

As mentioned in previous posts I’ve been on a fairly intense journey of healing and self-discovery during the past several years. There have been times where I’ve asked the types of questions hinted at in this poem. Now, as I rise out of the valley of shadows that dominated my life for so long, I do indeed find myself able to dwell more fully in the light.

It is a glorious way of being …

The Gift

Deep in the valley

Where dark shades

Prevail I look to the

Skies where the

Feathered ones wail.

They dart through

The light as though

Blinded by hope

They don’t worry,

Nor wonder how

They’re going to

Cope. They call

Me, they call me

“Look heavenward,

See there’s the

Bright ray of hope

Shining boldly

For thee!”

They dance on a

Wing, floating high

In the sky to the

Tune of the sun

And the beat of

Their cries. They

Land for a breath

For a morsel to

Eat, then back on

The wing, flying high,

Flying fleet. No

Wincing or whining

No wondering

Why, just birds

On a wing flying

High in the

Sky. My thoughts

Linger longing

To know how they

Feel, so I climb

From this valley

To find something

Else real. I clamber

Up hillsides o’er

Rocks and through

Trees, and commune

With the living not

Lost in dis-ease. The

Sun gets much

Warmer, the wind on

My face chases out

Haunting demons so I can

Embrace what is

Good what is true

What is hope what

Is love. The gift of

The winged ones

That hover above.

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Thanks for visiting.

Dorothy 🙂

Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 2012

The Art of Veil Painting … Seeing with the Heart

“And now here is my secret, a very simple secret; it is only with the heart that one can see rightly, what is essential is invisible to the eye.”
Antoine de Saint Exupery

Our material world, and its proponents, have deluded us into seeing only with the eyes, enticing and distracting us with ever bigger, better, shinier, more complicated “things” that we absolutely must have (or do) in order to embrace, in their eyes, the total life experience.

What a croc!

Be still for a moment and embrace being. In that quietude is the way to the heart’s eyes.

And, if you like, meditate your heart’s eyes upon this, one of my favourite, veil paintings. I call it “Wise Old Equus.”

If you feel inclined, feel free to share with me your experience. … Or not.

The world is too much doing, and not enough being.

I am. You are. It is enough.

Be well,

Dorothy 🙂

Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 2012

The Pool

As poems go this is pretty deep, written a couple of years ago when I was staring into the dark abyss of my pain while involved in some rather gruelling counselling.

I’ve made no secret of the fact that I’ve been seeking help to rid myself of a life time of emotional baggage. Doing so has been one of the best decisions of my life.

Fortunately, I’m not teetering on the pool’s edge anymore. I’ve dealt with the worst of the agony. Now, with the support of some important teachers and mentors I am focused on living … thriving.

I am grateful.

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The Pool

I am standing at the edge,

Staring into an abyss of pain.

One step, just one step more

And to the dark pool I drop

Like a stone heading for

Rock bottom. There

Impact meets emotion

And a swell of the surreal

Circles in ever-growing

Impulses around me,

Rising and falling

With a cleansing rain

Of tears

Until it makes waves

No more and again the

Pool is still.

Peaceful.

Waiting.

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Thanks for visiting …

Dorothy 🙂

Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 2012

Sit Still

I sit.

Healing requires it.

I sit

Still.

Resting.

Being.

Me.

I sit.

Still.

Reflecting.

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This is really random. Hot off the grey matter press this morning.

I have spent a lot of the past few months sitting still. Healing.

I was a restless child. My mother never understood why.

But we know the truth now. With this awareness I can sit. Still.

At least … I’m practicing.

*

Can you sit still?

Be well …

Dorothy 🙂

Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 2012