Tumbleword

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It is snowing outside whispy white half slanted and a wonder to me
since it rarely snows here… I have been spending time with these yellow flowers and their golden rod greenery.  It seems i like the little nets the flowers came in more than the thing itself–i undressed half of them to spill open, and left the others to sit in nets of various undress.  For now.  It reminds me we are flowers and also netted to our own individual sanctuary of self, secret scrolls … wanting to unroll, to give the deepest soulful aspects of ourselves–though we stay safe mostly, and scratch at the surface of our living (often) crying door to gift. 
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Earlier I had this flash of a hospital I.V. dripping full of mercy and compassion.  It
was chorded into all of our veins, our hearts; it was set up high in the atmosphere
above the earth, like a medic’s tent in the cloud.  A transparent hand came to the I.V. and turned it up so it drips faster, drip by drop into all of us that are asking.  Are we asking…?  In our thoughts are we pulling towards us more of the offered good and less of the negative little cranky pants things that bother us for no or little reason. I want to be asking… more mercy, compassion, light, peace.  I want to be the Joy that springs out of us like the color yellow, or the sunlight…
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Wrapped in Light

Again … in my grave
I blow the candle of my future–
soft wet kisses

the wolf inside the winter
craves;
whispers to enter.
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There is alot of debate out in blogland about Nabokov’s hidden text… if you don’t recall, Nabokov wrote Lolita and a host of other novels.  Personally, I would publish it and deny my father’s wishes, if I thought it was as good as his son says. 
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Also, I like this woman’s work.  See her Hammer and Key, too.  We are all growing crystaline shapes within. Imagine.
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