“Blushing” by Andrea Gibson


(I find this so amazingly beautiful and moving that it’s become a personal favorite.)

“I’ve been told when a human dies the Soul misses the Body.
Actually grieves, grieves the loss of its hands and all they could hold.
Misses the kissing lips, the searching tongue, the throat closing shy
reading out loud on the first day of school.

The Soul misses the weather of the chest,
the hard weather when love walks away.
Misses the stubbed toe, the churning belly,
and the funny bone. The Soul still asks, Why did the funny bone do that?

The Soul misses the tears and the thirsty garden cheeks.
Misses how the Body could sleep through a dream.
What else could sleep through a dream? What else could laugh?
What else can wrinkle the smile’s autograph?

The Soul misses the falling eyelash waiting to be wished.
The river wrist screaming away the blade.
The underdog heart winning, winning, winning the game.

The Soul misses the lisp, and the limp, and the coyote mind
always plotting a new shape, a new size.

The Soul misses how hard the eyes fought off history to see clearly,
to see the holy bruise- blue from that army of blood rushing to the wound’s side.
When a human dies the Soul scours the universe for something blushing,
for something shaking in the cold, for something with teeth
biting its own nails to calm the panic nerve,
for something stretching the word “brave” up up into love.

The Soul misses love, that swinging chandelier in the shack-castle chest.
Even misses the grief fist-fighting the light,
breaking the light’s jaw, spitting on its faith.
“What else can hunger?” the Soul asks.
“What else can freckle? What else can clumsy?”
The fist that was never taught to curl- curls.
The teeth that were never taught to clench- clench.
The Body that was never taught to make love makes love
like a hungry ghost digging its way out of the grave.

The Soul misses the un-forever of old age, the skin that no longer fits.
The Soul misses every single day the Body was sick, the NOW it forced,
the HERE it built from the fever.

The Soul misses the way the body inflamed to hold its own loneliness.
Misses the legs aching up the stairs, misses the fear
that climbed up the vocal chords to curse the wheelchair.

The Soul misses how the Body could not let go.
What else could hold on so tightly to everything?
What else could hear the chain of a swing
and fall to its knees on the kitchen floor?
What else could touch the metal grate of a screen door and taste lemonade?
What else could come back from a war and not come back…
would hold its own ears, curled up in the basement on the 4th of July
then walk up the stairs to hold a daughter, to sing a lullaby?

When a human dies the Soul moves through the galaxy
trying to describe how the Body breathed, how it cried for its mother,
how a wound would heal given nothing but time.
Do you understand? Nothing in space ever believes.
No ray of light can fathom the speed of terror, the heat of shame,
a belly full of butterflies, the fingertips pulling that first gray hair
and throwing it away.
“How could we possibly believe in goose bumps,” the stars say.
“How could we possibly believe?”

Reposted from ifallfastformuchness

On Tiny Soundless Feet


On tiny soundless feet it tip toes, this eternal smiling child

through whispering fogs of thoughts she creeps

and summer memories mild


Peering into beating hearts through smoggy smudgy glass

playing a cosmic game of hide and seek

like running through tall grass


Sometimes I catch a glimpse of her from the corner of my eye

and the lyrical echoes of lilting laughter

as she dances by


Although I long to see her and to join her in her endless game

I know she leaps beyond my reach

for Truth is her silent name.

When I Heard the Learn’d Astronomer

When I Heard the Learn’d Astronomer

by Walt Whitman

When I heard the learn’d astronomer,
When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me,
When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them,
When I sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room,
How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick,
Till rising and gliding out I wander’d off by myself,
In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,
Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars.

Book Release: Whispers to the Sky

I’m so pleased and excited to announce that my first book, Whispers to the Sky was released 8-31-2012 and is now available.  Per Amazon, Whispers to the Sky is:

An entertaining and thought-provoking look through the eyes of a woman inspired by her own spiritual inner journey. Her creative inspirations reflect a perspective gently tempered by her experiences with Eastern culture and memories of her homeland. Each page has been crafted to reveal what may be a hidden facet of our own true nature.

Ironically, and more synchronicity than planned, it was released on the blue moon so it deserves it’s big send-off to my followers on MoonLightened Way!

Whispers to the Sky is currently available in paperback through Amazon.com here.

If Amazon isn’t available to you or you prefer, you can also purchase it through CreateSpace.com here.

Kindle version will be available in about 14 days.  I’ll be posting that link as soon as it’s available.  I hope you like it!

My First Book!

I can finally let the cat out of the bag.  The reason I took a brief break from blogging was to complete my first book!  I’m happy to report it’s finished and off to the publisher.  Whew.

This is a simple little book and exactly as I had envisioned it.  Most of the content I’ve posted here on my blog, however much more editing has been done and improvements and additions have been made.  What a labor of love and miraculous experience it’s been!  There are short stories, poetry, and haiku as well as mindful shorts and meditational thoughts.  It’ll be available in both paperback and Kindle versions and is due to be released within the next 10 days.

I’m so excited!  And I’m happy to be able to share this experience with you.  This has been a lifelong dream finally materialized, but not the last!  I’ve got a novel in the works and plans are laid for another collection in 6 months.

When the release is official, be sure I’ll share it here with you.  I hope you join me in the celebration!  Thanks to each and every one of.  You, as readers and commentors, were the wind beneath my wings that gave me that final dose of courage to go for it.  We touch each other’s lives, sometimes without even realizing it.


Jean Mishra

Song of the Gravel Road

Photo by Scott Weber

I took a walk down the gravel road

Just a step, then another, to lighten my mind’s load

The pebbles sang as I trod along

My thoughts, whisked away in their dusty song,

Were joined not unexpectedly by a band of marauders

The dogs came along all sisters and brothers

Panting happily and wagging tails

I watched them hunt their invisible trails

Over roadsides and into the ditches

Thick with bramble abuzz with itches

Of poison ivy and stinging nettle

But the afternoon haze wasn’t destined for this meddle

The cicadas droned on of the impending frost

In the September sun their message went lost

As my thoughts did when a meadowlark trilled

Its way into my heart as the final thought stilled

And all that remained was the symphony of sounds

And the euphoric grins of the grateful hounds

 (Memories of rural Nebraska)


Does a Butterfly Remember?

Does a caterpillar want to be a butterfly?
Or just do what caterpillars do?
Does it dream of beauty in the cocoon; remember the sky of blue?

When it emerges as a butterfly, its form forever changed,
Does it remember it was a caterpillar?
Does it find its winged body strange?

Fluttering from bloom to bloom, doing what butterflies do,
Does it think about tomorrow?
Or what’s next when life is through?

I’d like to think from flower to flower and from tree to tree
The only care it ever has
Is simply to just be.

Forever’s Children

I want you to dance in the fountain with me
To leave the glares behind and be free
Let’s get wet with the Truth, soaked to our bones
And splash joy over the dusty cobblestones
Let’s be forever’s children remembered
And forget the books and bags and Septembers
We can make our world forever June
Let’s play shadow tag beneath the moon
Take this vow by our heart’s own pen
That we shall never sleep again.


“Safe” by Bianca Green

I stumbled upon this beautiful artwork by Bianca Green today on the blog Showslow.  It’s entitled, aptly, “Safe” and inspired this simple poem.

Safely tucked away
Inside its ornate keep
A heart sits and watches
Denying that it weeps

Although the cage is beautiful
The space inside is small
A thing inside is growing
It fights against the walls

The nature of this heart, you see
Is not to be kept closed
It desires to know life
Utterly exposed

For within the heart there sits
Timeless as the sky
A patiently waiting secret
Hoping it will try

To step outside that ornate cage
Let go of the bars
Throw itself wide open
And soar into the stars

To know that others mean no harm
They too are still in slumber
All it has to do is love
There is no score to number

Trusting that a day will dawn
Within this endless night
On a mountain made of empty cages
And a billion twinkling lights.