Butterflies

I am the little pebble that doesn't fit in—the wings, when all we see are feet.  And the garden is still the place my heart wants to live in.  The liatris are embellishing my heart in lavender, and the wispy, little white butterflies have arrived to my summer days.  My heart is a wanderer.  I must hold it back, if not it will drop down the unknown behind the horizon and it won't be found again.   

I pruned and thinned out the Crepe Myrtles.  The idea is to use an artful eye to allow fewer limbs do the job of many, and one of them had already started putting out their jewels in pink.  

My beautiful mother has starter her long slow process into the world of dreams, and is spending a significant proportion of her daytime hours asleep.  My heart is a wispy white butterfly when I think of her.  And I think of her all day long.  When my wispy butterfly wings are kissed by melancholy, they resemble tiny like fairies wings as sorrow reflects on them like light, and they would shine in a bright but brief, sudden, intermittent way.  That's how I look inside, or feel, when my soul cries.  And it's been crying a lot lately. My soul.  I don't want to.  I really don't.  Don't want to cry, or think too much or let my old soul descend into deep thoughts—like a frog into a bottomless pond.  Plump.  If I allow that, I'd be allowing my feelings to rush forth madly, and that would make my wings flicker madly, and frantically poignant, and heartbreaking.  So I won't do that.   

A post shared by @gypsycielo on Jun 26, 2017 at 12:27pm PDT

Yesterday morning I went to the garden before the kiss of dawn.  The sun hadn't come out yet, and I found myself planted in a magical world where it was just my flower-soul wedged to the earth and Nature and silence and the silence of God. Have you ever heard the silence of God? It speaks, really—that dark silence. You just have to understand it.

I'm going to sit at the edge of the moon and make new footprints all over my soul.  The magical time of childhood to stand still, and the pulse of the living earth to press its mystery into my living blood.  I want everything new.  A new moon a new earth a new her a new me, and one day I will be awaken too... to the foundation of all abundance.