Holding on for one more day along this way called life,
Waiting for you to come to me once again, my Beloved;
Thinking back knowing you show no lack of concern,
Though I burn inside with all my pride turned to ashes
And when will you come to me again, I urgently wonder
As I desperately blunder forward moment by moment
And humbly lament my predicament? Oh! Come quickly!
Come quickly to my rescue and give me life brand new!
Maybe; maybe not. It startled me somewhat to learn that I’ve actually been blogging on WordPress for six years! Whoa! That’s quite awhile, to be sure, and my life has definitely changed over the past half-decade.
As I told someone last year ~ at the time a fellow blogger ~ don’t look at the numbers or you’re bound to get discouraged. Well, that’s not always true, because I know of some fellow-bloggers who’ve actually scored a big hit in the Wide World of Blog just within two or three months of blogging. . . But, then, I dare say there are other challenges, concerns and reasons for discouragement when your still-rather-young blog is a big hit, too.
Mine was not, and I won’t dare to say it is even now; it took me well over three years to hit 200+ followers but, then, I wasn’t really trying to ramp up my blog to hundreds upon hundreds of followers, either. For me, blogging was (and still largely is) cathartic, so I was writing openly and publicly to heal. Yes, that’s right; even though I wasn’t, for the most part, addressing personal issues . . . for the first three years or so.
There was a period of time — how long, I don’t remember — when I stopped blogging, and that was a bad mistake. Little did I realize, until I started blogging again, just how important blogging was/is for my mental, emotional, and spiritual health, which all, in turn, affect my physical health. Who would’ve thought???
Inspiration ended my desertion; it was the beginning of the “Sloughheart Series,” which did, in a creatively indirect way, address deeply personal issues. “Sloughheart” never became popular, mind you, but my entire perspective on blogging changed. No longer was it simply cathartic; it was challenging, as well. This is when I noticed my numbers (yes, I looked) going up just a tad. This is when I also nudged over 200 followers.
But, you see, this is when blogging became fun! I was having a real blast in blogging, yet at the same time it also became more serious. Does that sound contradictory? Believe me when I say, you can engage yourself in something rather serious and still have loads of fun. I really didn’t know this until I set about the “Sloughtheart Series.” In some ways, the Reverend Joy Brighterday saved me. Honestly.
Well, that’s not all that surprising. I purposely built her up to be the Christ-figure, even giving her the middle name of Immanuella, meaning “God with us.” She spoke to me, strange as it may sound. What was caught deep, down in the recesses of my soul came up, out and through Joy Brighterday, so that I began to hear my innermost self speaking in this central character. Eventually, I realized that to greater or lesser degrees, I was speaking to myself in and through all of the various characters.
Eventually all endeavours come to an end, and so for the “Sloughheart Series.” After this, I began searching through old poetry and felt inspired to revamp some of those old pieces, thus giving them new (and better) life. This more than at any previous time was when my blog started picking up new followers and scoring more “likes” and interactive commenting.
When poetic inspiration really grabbed hold of me and I began writing entirely new pieces, the numbers began climbing exponentially. (And this included an engaging mytho-poetic series that was both challenging and fun.) Well, not to belabor the point, but why am I saying all this? I would like to think that, perhaps, I’m helping someone . . . another fellow-blogger, maybe; encouraging while passing down some learned-wisdom.
Yes, of course, everyone cares to some extent about how well they’re doing — or, I dare say, at least most people — so, too, for me. However, I truly believe it is when blogging is, first of all, a passion as well as fun and, at the very least, healthy (if not healing, as well) that one can look for “success.” Even then, however, you should not look at your own success over and against that of other bloggers or you most surely will become discouraged. Why? Because you can always find someone, or some other blog, that looks and sounds and feels more “successful” than your own.
I wish I could say that it’s been a happy six years, but I cannot. This is not due to blogging here at noblethemes, though; it’s simply been some extraordinarily rough years, actually beginning around 2010, just before I started blogging. Now, finally, I believe I’m coming around the corner, so to speak, and feeling (and doing) much, much better . . . for which I am eternally grateful. And so I can say, with as much confidence as any mortal can, that this may be the conclusion of this blog-article, but . . . it is not the end.
Note: The original version of this article was first published in January 2016.
So silently slip into peace and rest,
For the best of Life is yet to come
Some sure and certain, unending day,
Some say; home…
Can you see across the lush, rolling green hills
On far horizon, shimmering lake of serendipity,
Where plays barely audible symphony of reality?
Beautiful sound and imagery…
Pound of your heart keeps rhythm and rhyme
With angelic serenity where rests your
Soul identity, and with no brevity of life;
Font of plenty…
Healing
Note: First published in January 2016
Now, you are more than tired and weary inside;
You can’t take life in stride or abide another day,
But you can’t stay where you are . . . not this way,
But you can’t seem to change your position either
And so your condition remains all the same
While life keeps burning you with its flame;
You feel broken and no token sympathy can help;
Lying down at night sometimes you feel like dying;
You need time to heal in peace, and quiet serenity;
Yes, without any pressure, you need time to heal
Time to heal . . .
Memory of hurts and dirty shirts, callous words, and malice
Unsheathed, all shoved in your haversack, carried on hard-worn
Back, and heart torn; you want to be reborn; ah! you have
To empty the many lies and putrid soul flies before your
Spirit dies… Unload before you explode in volcanic eruption
From heart disruption; tis your choice to bury deeper in sack
And carry what racks your mind and tracks your every step,
Entangles you in web, and strangles your life, mangles like
Knife in the hand of a mauler, sleazy bar-brawler, and taller
Than Olympian god and shod with armor impenetrable, terrible;
But with turn of the pack ~ upside down, inside out ~ all flows
Out and deals fatal blow to Goliath, so you are free to be
What you are meant to be and clear-see without cloy sheer joy,
And hear all nature sing in rhapsody of Spring that brings
Wonder in pantheon thunder, as Mother smiles on sister, brother,
And all kindred great and small, splendid vivacity in capacity
So expansive you can scarcely intake the make of the stupendous
Mystery of it all, upsurging from before history of time began;
Ah! But you have to unpack your haversack… Unpack! Unpack!
.![cloathed-with-raggs[1]](https://noblethemes.files.wordpress.com/2015/08/cloathed-with-raggs1.jpg?w=404&h=705)
Note: First published in late August 2015
I am so thankful for your answered prayer,
Especially after enduring so much so unfair!
I am so grateful that hateful attitudes
Have been washed away by affection,
And that you have reached a new altitude
In your once-strained, stained relationship;
What a surprise blessing that blesses me!
To see you so very happy and full of joy and
To know you’re not being played like a toy
Thrills and sends chills up ‘n down my spine!
What seemed so impossible became possible,
And night turned to sunny bright day for you,
And with no sleight of hand or nasty blight;
And I’m glad I’ve finally seen you not so sad,
Caught in a bad dilemma with ones you love;
Truly this was blessed blessings from above!
Ah! But time move on and the clock chimes;
All good cheer must eventually hear the call
To say ‘fare-thee-well’ and then sail away
Till another day for more fun and play . . .
My dear, you have to know when to let go;
You cannot cleave; you must let them leave!
Yes, you really can mess up
What was meant to bless . . .
Do not cling and bring an even worse curse
Than you before endured in fear with tears;
Know when to let go and say ‘goodbye’
Or you will soon sigh again in loneliness;
Oh, yes, I’m happy for you but worried, too!
If you tighten your grip,
You’ll frighten them away!
Be thankful, but with open heart and hands
Prices soar, politicians whore, and prostitutes score;
One door closes, another opens, everyone wants more
To hoard; the journalist is bored; strike a new chord;
Renegades for hire guns to fire, while children in dire
Need of food ‘n clothing are sold to the highest buyer;
Ah! but there is one Stream, beam of Light, that runs
Through our world, curled round the globe, and her
Body is full, free-flowing, and glowing with righteous
Indignation; she’s ready to flood, wash away the blood
Of the Innocents along with the mud of wickedness,
To cleanse this Earth of pollution and destitution
In resolution of Creation’s absolution, and her Light
Will shine brighter than the Sun with new life begun,
And there will be no more war, tight lumps of hunger,
Or loud political trumps, or over-satisfied billionaire
Plumps who thump along life’s highway day after day;
There is indeed the Stream, and she’s about to overflow
And blow away the chaff and trash as she flows on…
And on and on.
I go to a unique space
In another time and place
To face my dæmons once more
But there should be no more gore
This will not be like before
I am going for healing
And to get out of life more
I’m so sorry I lost you out of the blue
In the hurried, blurried shuffle of life!
I’m so sorry for being so chary and wary,
Not paying heed to the very merry you!
To me you used to belong, but somewhere
Along the fine line of passing days
I lost you in the haze of busy ways;
By all the starry host above, I’m sorry!
Now thunder rolls at lightning flash
And I crash and burn, trying to turn
Back the unforgiving hands of time
That chime my demise; I was so unwise!
Can you ever forgive and give me . . .
Oh, give me one more chance, though
You have every right to lance my heart;
Turn night to day, let me play my part!
An extraordinarily beautiful woman stood unclad upon the shore, so placid, plainly glad to see me leap and turn, sweep and churn so freely and gleefully in the clear, cool waters; then surprised me and dived into the small sea of revival with appearance of primal force. She quickly made course to my side and looked into my eyes, and what did she spy? Nothing hidden; nothing for me to deny, yet there was no shame, no blame; only claim upon my better self … the someone being torn from past with Bast and being born anew.
“Yes, this is true,” she softly spoke, holding me, pressing breast to chest. “This day is new and bright, with no plight of past…” And before I could speak, “Yes, it will last for as long as you want to belong to this moment, wherever you might be; sight and sound of this new day you may carry with you. This belongs to you now, as new song of your soul.” Keeping back my tears — no, I could not — but my weeping seemed to please her and appease some deep desire. Good. Pure. Refreshing. “Let them flow and the wind blow them away; let the waters bathe you and swathe you in purity and divine assurety. Here there is no cruelty, as you can tell, as you can feel, as the waters peel away all of the hurt and pain, strain and ill-gain, and stain of life lived before.”
Her words tore, but I bore them with strange, mystic pleasure like some celestial treasure. “Who are you?”
“Şifalâhe, one daughter of the Tri-Mater … sent by one bent on on attention to your redemption.” She smiled again, pressed open mouth to mouth, and breathed into me what seemed to be … youth and truth, vitality … simple spirituality, ethereal sensuality. “Healer. Here to freely give you wealth of health,” Şifalâhe spoke as she stroked my back. “Sink now to drink the fine wine of life I offer…” She gently persuaded me to my knees, completely at ease to open and please this one so young with heavenly honey slowly flowing to be tasted and enjoyed, swallowed and employed in ongoing restoration from night of such desperation and deprivation. Şifalâhe filled me to satisfaction with no depreciation to herself, no deflation, frustration, aggravation … only ejaculation of joy.
“Can you feel the energy? The synergy of heaven and earth? Virgin birth of your own invaluable worth? Can you feel the Spirit within, without, and all about? Here in these verdant hills, can you feel the fervent love of ever-observant Dyēus?” Tightly Şifalâhe pulled me to her mightily and lightly kissed with brightly lips … and smiled such smile that outshone the high-noon sun. “Can you feel the surge of new urge to live? Can you feel light and truth emerge, and converge with joy and peace, at last, as your past fades away? Can you feel the tidal waves of all good that saves?” Her eyes held me captivated, and I had no desire to be emancipated, but to live in the moment forever, so potent in my atonement.
Her deep, brown skin was soft as down, yet firm, and crown of Şifalâhe hue of sky-blue hair in pair with colour of ruddy soil of Gaia, like an ever-flowing flower over powerful shoulders, streaming down supremely curved back; well toned muscles, perfectly honed legs and arms that would do me no harm. There … there was only love from above. Raw. Primordial. This I clearly saw and felt without question. I needed no suggestion; this was more than impression. This, the Deep, inviting me into its keep? Yes. No. Kept in protection with no rejection, but not imprisoned; no! Never … not ever in all eternity. Yet union in communion here and forever after. Was this the reason for pantheon reach, to teach me? To claim without blame; to train without chain? To sift and lift as freely given gift?
.
.
Şifalâhe — goddess of healing; combined from two Turkish words
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