Poem: MoonWrath

Those things I cannot say, let the moon hear. 

Those things that go unnoticed by man both day and night;

May they all reveal themselves under all stars,

both near and yellow, or far and white. 

May the sun in its warming rays be merciful

drying the tears of those who weep in the dawn and dusk in dust. 

May the moon in its dark veils be a keen eye of knowing

bending to the dreams of those who toss

so that those without voices may be seen

Even though there is no one to witness!

This poem was posted on my homepage at http://www.moonwrath.com 

Poem: The Law of Kindness

The law of kindness stands firm in my mind  

I keep watch of all mankind around me. 

They walk 'cross my paths, and I theirs 

to leave stones to stumble on is shameful.  

To throw them, a curse to God.  

May I not leave traps where others trod.  

And others, the same for me.

Generational Cruelty

If the world is cruel at all, it's only because we live by one thing while forcing something else into our words that makes it seem as if we don't live in that fashion at all...
We make it cruel. It didn't come that way.

Silence

After writing yesterday's post, I spent all of today in silence, letting different sounds and memories and music run wild in my brain as if Frankenstein had created an EP record out of fragments of others and set it on a turntable to play.

I watched the sun rise. Listened as my cat howled for me around noon, and then emerged to feed us both.

I checked my plants: two bonsai trees and a spearmint plant.

One bonsai is rather healthy.  I had  repotted it only last week and it has grown enough new roots to be completely stable. I misted and watered it.  Checked the moss, that it was still green.  All is well.

The other two-- the two I watched after most carefully -- were both slowly dying. 
The second bonsai had experienced root rot at the nursery, and I had almost carelessly pulled away the roots as I attempted to clean and repot the tiny tree. They practically fell off on their own.

Left with hardly anything to call a root left, I carefully repotted, watered, fed, and misted it. Ever since, it has slowly been drying out and dropping leaves despite every attempt to keep it comfortable. The leaves are not turning black, but they are more brittle than paper. It is a dead tree, barely living.

In a desperate attempt to save it, I replaced the rocky bonsai soil (which I found to be holding a lot of water...tsk. So much for draining)  with regular potting soil. It was in normal soil when I bought it...maybe it will do better this way?

Lastly, the spearmint plant looked no better. Despite daily care and some feeding, it also slowly began to die. It likes sun but drops its leaves. Appreciates water and misting, but dries again to new death every morning.

I cut some of the bare spindly vines so it wouldn't have to worry about them, anymore. There are two more tall vines with small clumps of green leaves at the top. I leave them. There is also a small group of new growth at the bottom of the pot. I mist it, check it.

Then I move all three plants further into the sun. I'm hoping that since they all respond well to sunlight, the last hours of this bright   winter day will be helpful.

I secretly hope the warmth of the sun will encourage my sick bonsai to root, and my spearmint to develop into a larger plant that can be moved into a larger pot.

Sometimes, we do all we can and things still wither before our eyes. I love my three little plants. Besides my cat, they keep me company and give me something to fuss over besides myself.

I find that I need that ability to care for something. It fills a hole in me.

But like all caregivers, you do everything you can and still it's not enough.  Will my two plants pull through?

Will I? (That is another post)

Like with my moods, I will give them all the forethought and nourishing I can.

We shall see what happens tomorrow, just like we did today.

The Feast of Dry Leaves

A poem.

--------

When the beasts come, 
they come with fangs barred,
milky slime sliding down each ivory moon-lit sliver
coming to devour my heart. They have heard it from far off
echoing in the valleys in a past season of harvest.

My heart now aches for the sweetness of yesterday that rang clear in my heart like a bell. A taste of fruit under the sun.

I run in the darkness, but cannot avoid the tearing branches and tripping weeds. I see deep darkness beneath my feet.

I hide
And think, fierce beasts do not leave scars that I do not inflict myself.

This is little comfort: I do not know why thy come, nor where they go.

The sweetness of spring lies at my feet in the cold of winter: a gift from they who could not find me.

Do not eat the poisoned thing, so out of season.
To think it may refresh and lift the spirit, but it will only drag one far away into the dark,
stealing faith, youth, hope, and joy. The sun.

Travel a little longer.

Eat the bitter leaves of the trees that hide you.
Eat the dry leaves and wait for another day.

-MoonBoi

Wealthy

Happy New Year! I had been away while life took me on a roller coaster ride that kept me from sharing anything coherent for months. 
This is my first post in a while, and I hope you enjoy it. I will be posting regularly from here on out (Thanks in part to a New Year's Resolution about creativity...) 

---

It's Sunday, and so far, I've met my goals of creating something (new or continuing)  every day. I'm looking forward to working on my jewelry commission tonight. It was very nice sitting under the lamp at the desk with the vanilla bean black tea.  <3

I don't have much money in the bank. I'm always thinking ahead about how to pay the next bill or keep from spending just so that I can have a little more wiggle room.

But I realized a few days ago that I am actually quite wealthy, yes... even in material things.

I've collected many random household items from different parts of my life over the years when I had an extra 10 dollars or so. They were for situations like dorm rooms... random splurges, attempts to keep myself looking presentable when I was in my hair-wrapping stage and couldn't' afford the money or time to do anything with it. etc.  (One 5 dollar scarf is now a runner and looks very nice as it hangs down from its place on the armoire.)

As I was cleaning up, I pulled these things out and re-purposed them.
Some of them are very nice things. Most of them are very cheap or even free because whoever had them was giving it away or was desperate to sell it, thinking it wasn't worth much to them, anymore.

My room contains many things like this... and many gifts which I display proudly because the people who gave them to me are worth more than their weight in pure gold..

I wake up and open the armoire... I pour some water from the nearly 20 year old painted glass water dispenser into a fancy teacup. I take my medication. I close the armoire. If that dispenser could talk, it would ask me what took me so long to use it . I would answer that I was a child when I bought it, and that it did a wonderful job displaying the bookmarks and dice that it held for many years. It feels like it winks knowingly at me every time I use it, now. It has seen a lot and has been waiting decades for this moment.

Later I will put on some music and pour some very nice tea.

My clothes don't have holes. I look nice in them. They suit me.  It wasn't that way for a long time. When did that change?

I pad across the rug...look out the window at the trees. Look at the burgundy walls that always make me think of another place and time. They were quickly painted and it shows, but they are covered in canvas paintings and other things that are nice to look at. I made some of them, myself.

When I leave the room, I will carry a cane. I made sure it was a classic black. It cost me 17 dollars and collapses conveniently when I travel. Worth the money. I will wear a wool coat in the cold that I bought 100 dollars cheaper than it was worth because it was the spring at the time. The car I drive isn't mine. My phone is a blessed luxury.

My black scarf sways as I walk, and I wear it tucked or hanging down my shoulders like a gentleman. It's thin, but it is best that way. I thank it for being so durable for all of the things I put it through.

When I go to the coffee shop, I get the least expensive item:  hot tea. And I sit there and talk or look at the news until my back says "enough".

They know me by now. They greet me and offer me the usual as if I were a wealthy person who will give their business more than 2 dollars, that day.

The Vietnamese restaurant is the same way. When I can go they greet me by name--even over the phone-- and are always gracious even though I will always buy their cheapest appetizer...to go. I miss sitting at the table with the jasmine tea. I really do. But I can't afford to tip.

When I get home, I will work on a jewelry commission which I fear will cost the customer over 100 dollars for the set. I don't even like to charge my customers very much. Often I sell things at a loss to myself.

I secretly hate money. I am not a capitalist at heart.

I just want a good life. One with a few comforts and a lot of laughter.

And then I come home to my room, where I am warm... hang up my coat.... and think... "I have more than just a few comforts... I am wealthy! Look at everything in here...I live like a prince with my teacup that I use to take mere medication!!"

And I go to my altar, light the candles which I fear to burn for very long, burn off a few sticks of incense bought in bulk... ring the bells... and bow in deep, deep gratitude.

I was able to spend money this month as I was out with a friend, as if I were very wealthy. And that is all... because Kami has kept from me how materially wealthy I am, while driving home every single day that the experiences I have and the people around me are like living breathing diamonds.

And both can be gone in an instant. I can be friendless, without help, and with no warm place to go, in rags.

It's happened before.

But Kami has given me a way to avoid this: I can sell the works of my own hands without performing heavy labor. I can sell them at a profit if I am wise. I can always show the depths of my fragile heart to others --again, in a careful way- and never be alone. There will be a smile waiting for me somewhere in the world. No matter if I am under a bridge one day, I will never need to cry because of loneliness, which scares me more than anything.

I have a job right now that I do not work with my body, because I lay on a couch... I work it with my heart. And I am paid well for the use of my heart to strangers in difficult life stages.

I think about that: I am paid to be wise and kind. I am paid to help others. And I am treated just as kindly by those who pay me to do that.

I am a fragile-minded person who is prone to anxiety and depression, who has a heart that often gets me in trouble, and a mind that is prone to wander off into fantasy. And yet, I can make a living with these "flaws".

Kami is great and merciful.... even to someone as little as me.

Demons and Memories

I am struggling today with memories of things long past. They affect me as if they had just recently happened, warping my emotions into cocktails of despair, anger, sadness, confusion, and despondency. I have an emotional problem that is the result of a chemical imbalance, but this knowledge doesn't keep the spectors at bay.

This isn't science; this is pure hell, as far as I am concerned. No pill will take this away quickly enough, and even if a pill could, the thoughts remain in my head, waiting to blossom again into another amazing psychological stench.

This is where it crosses my mind to smudge my room. (Burn a smudge stick to fill my room with the fragrant smoke.)

This action is not necessarily a mystical one, though I certainly believe that doing it will clear my room of stagnant energy (More on that later).
Something about presenting evidence of destruction-- in this case, smoke--  and leaving it there in the face of things which tie and bind the mind somehow presents a clear space for later growth. Like wildflowers growing in the ashes the morning after a forest fire, the mind can breathe again, and the energy in my room will be clear and easy to be in again.

It is as if one has fooled their demons into thinking that all here is dead, already. They will move on temporarily.

The fragrance of the burning herbs is not entirely offensive to a person like me, though. I am not turned away by it, and nor is my God. We will remain and continue as we have been after the smoke has cleared. (Though, this is not at all like burning inscence. Anyone who cannot stand smoke should not do this....)

As far as the seeds of memory left behind, I still do not know what to do with them. In time they will not seek to root so quickly. Maybe I can change the way my mind is balanced so that they cannot blossom like that any longer.

Taking a medication and attending therapy will help that process. Sometimes I wish I had more than one session every two weeks. 

In the meantime, I hold my demons at bay with fire and smoke. It's a neat trick. It's one that I am learning to lean on as much as anything else.

As one doctor said to me, once: "Anything that helps."