Solitude

Everything seems quiet
No traffic whine
No crowd drone
No planes overhead
Or is it?
Not as much quiet, as solitude
The noise of man means nothing
Here to there and there to here
Nothing, really
The noise of nature contradicts us
Here to there is survival
Migration, gathering, hunting, fleeing
There to here
Returning, mating, nesting, raising
Man's bustle does not compare
As much as we are part
We are separate
Except in solitude
Here we are many connected as one
We have but to listen to hear the meaning
We have but to watch to see the message
We have but to feel to understand the purpose
We are not as transient as led to believe
The connection is tenuous but it still exists
In solitude we find the key
For in our noise we are many
For in our noise we are connected as one
There is no lock
No need for a key
Listen, watch, feel
In our world solitude need not be sought after
It need not be bought
Solitude is found within
Anytime of our choosing


Where I live have a place on the property where I cannot hear the road that is 2kms away, when the wind is right. At those times I have found some of the solitude that I needed to survive.... maybe survive is too strong a word, cope may be better. Anyone can survive but they are not always alive. When I wrote this one I was just standing around in the "quiet zone" and listening to the nature sounds and determining what they might be...as compared to man's noise (I can hardly call what we make sounds... it's more often noise).


Later, about a week, I picked up a book in a Chapters store entitled "Solitude". It was a journal (edited) of a fellow's experience spending one year by himself on an island in Patagonia. The only contact he had was email once a month. I read fast so I scanned some of the parts of the book randomly. I read the "punch line" where he finds that the solitude he sought, and got, was not all that it is cracked up to be...I figured he should know. I plan on buying the book but I had used up my book allowance for the visit already (I gave mine to Kathy as she wanted a more expensive book). He has been searching for his solitude since 1970. I figure if this fellow has taken this long and gone to great lengths to find his solitude and he still has not really found it...then perhaps he has been looking in the wrong places.

Long and short is that true solitude has nothing to do with nature and more to do with how we perceive our surroundings at any given time. I am sure that some can find their solitude in the busiest situations without a hint of what most of us might call nature. I did not realize this until reading my poem just now.

Solitude is a state of being. It is found when you know where to look. Nature is a tool, only a means to an end that we use to help us find that inner self, our center.... the point from which all else is referenced.

Solitude = Solitary Attitude.

Jeff.

The Prize, or The Search

I feel larger than my shell
How do I remain contained?
I do not
Can people not see me outside of myself?
My aura, my chakra, my Soul
It escapes in spirals and waves
Tendrils of my Essence
I do not feel like retrieving them
They search
They have trouble finding what they seek
I release them to continue
Seeking and not finding concerns me
What is so important to be hidden so well?
I look inside for answers
They are there
Ignore the form
Break the rules
Shed the trappings of human existance
Free the Soul
Nothing is truly hidden
I must continue for I am driven
I find what I do not look for
Like baubles found, once thought lost
That tells much about the real prize
Then I consider...
Is there such a prize?
Is my desire to find, only a human construct?
Perhaps there is nothing more than to find myself
Nothing more than freedom of spirit
Nothing more?
Another corporeal thought.
What more could there be?
Nothing more.
Death will reveal the rest
In it's due course
I am not ready for that great journey
So I search for that which cannot be found
I reach out with my Soul and touch
I touch the people that I find who may be searching also
I touch without touching
We are like baubles found
Once thought lost
We are all the prize

"I am still immersed in my own internal process. I have embraced my writing as a new part of me and yet it still feels like a release, I do hope that does not change. I begin to wonder how I can remain contained "

That was the trigger, the word "contained".

I cannot shake the feeling that I have described in this poem. It took writing another email to let me feel the ending as I stumbled on, "So I search for that which cannot be found". I am not sure whether this is about the search or the prize as they are so intertwined...finding the prize does not end the search....and the search was not really for the prize in the first place.

I hope never to shake this feeling to be honest.

Jeff.

The last rose

The killing frost has passed already
The leaves have all but fallen completely
The last stragglers hanging by a thread
Not really alive
But not yet dead
The last apples are harvested
Gardens are brown and withering
Plans for winter snow are in the air
I wander in this desolate garden
I recall the splendid glory past
I breathe the musty air
I imagine the smell of a rose
Sweet, mellow, lingering
I feel the soft petals on my finger tips
It seems so real in my mind
I realize that this is no dream
As here before me is the last rose
It was no imagination of mine
or was it...
I do not recall the rose here moments ago
Is this a conjuring?
I bend
I see the intricate pattern of opening petals
Ivory and pure
Smell like mid summer garden
Feel the velvet touch of the petals
This is no ordinary rose
A rose of magic to survive the killing frost
I share this with others I love
That they may appreciate the essence
That we may share the last rose
And appreciate it's beauty
Together.

The last rose of summer. It was a beautiful ivory rose and smelled like no other. I stopped, smelled the rose, I stopped my daughter and let her smell the rose. I stopped my wife and let her enjoy the aroma. I almost cut it to bring inside but chose to leave it as a sign of resistance against the frost of fall. I wrote a single line on a scrap of paper to return to later to expand upon. "Stop and smell the rose", as cliche as this sounds. This was written immediately after the "Choice" in the previous post....in the same email in fact. The rose that appeared in the Choice reminded me about the line I had written before and it was the right time to finish it.

I actually wanted this to have been a piece about the end of things when I first jotted down the single line. I was prepared for desolation, sorrow so great that it could not be survived. My spirit has chosen a different path for this thought and I am glad. The last rose should never be an ending but always a beginning, so this is not so much a poem about smelling the roses as it is a description of a last rose and perhaps about the power of imagination...I am sure that theme may appear elsewhere.

Jeff

Choice

We live this life but once
It is what we make it
Hard, cold, short and bitter
All is a choice
Everything
Once we understand this truth
Life also becomes what we wish for
Forgiving, warm, long and loving
Do not wait for the stop sign
Pause while the choice is yours to make
Smell the rose now lest it be your last
For all life now will end
Let us choose the path it follows
And in turn the quality it can achieve

I met a fellow that I see once a year at a conference in Toronto. Last year he didn't feel so well at the last conference and had to leave early. Little did I know until this year that that was the beginning of a fight for his life against a strain of flesh eating disease, I cannot recall which one. After five weeks in intensive care, four months in the hospital he has a different view of what is important.

This gives me more than pause for thought.


Jeff.

Center off Center

I find my center
Only to find it off center
I know where I am going
As I wander directionless
My compass spins
I follow a hunch
I know where I am
I do not yet know the path
Call of a goose
I follow
Point A to B no longer
There is no straight line
There is no line at all
I travel while standing still
Eating up the miles in my mind
Freedom
I cross borders that do not exist
They never have
Borders in my mind
Stifling my Soul
I know that now
Wasted time while I bumped against them for years
...Or not
Learning the path
Where there is no path
Time goes nowhere
It is still here
All the time
In an eternity
In an instant
I find The Center
Mine does not correspond
It is aligned none the less
In time and in space
In my mind and in my Soul
My center only seems off center
As all centers are One

Well, another inspired by an email. I have been pondering paradox without intending it, as has been pointed out to me, and I find it fascinating. I am finding that it only exists if you let it. To see into and through a seeming paradox is where the real fun begins, the other side. Perhaps the fun is also where the truth is...now that is something worth pondering.

Paradox is only a human word after all.

Jeff.

Meeting

Somehow, to me, we felt different
We parted first as one soul
Went our separate ways for a moment and returned as six less one
We had our masks in hand if not on tonight
Just in case
We must be alert to the danger
The danger of replacing the mask
The danger of slipping into the old path
This path does not become us
My mask is only a shade now as I work at removing it entirely again
I am saddened at having to work at it yet
A tear tugs beneath this shadow
A tear that I will use to help it slide away
A tear to loose my grip for good
I thought I had shed enough already
Perhaps I was wrong
I recall the evening and cannot help but compare
Shall we capture that true connection again?
Shall we sit in silence and speak volumes again?
Shall we spend time as one again?

We shall, we have, we are
We do this every day
We have but to open our souls to feel it
We need not meet face to face
A word passed, a phrase turned
All are transparent to the true self
We are one
We stand alone while joined through the aether
Our sorrowful laments are turned to joyous celebration
Let our hearts sing as we turn up the volume



This appeared in an email that I wrote after meeting with the group of people that attended the retreat with me. We are coming to grips with not experiencing the same spark and oneness that we found while spending almost five days together. We are very close and nothing external can change that, so thinking about it now I do wonder why we are worried about anything at all. I added, just now, the verse after the break as it answers the questions that I left unanswered at the time.


To those who know, believe, we have a gift that cannot be taken away.


Jeff.

The one that got away

I feel a small tug
Nibble only
I wait, expectation
Another, stronger
Something definitely there
Hungry, curious
I wonder which
Another yet
Persistent, determined
I tense to set the hook
Waiting for the perfect bite
Alone I sit, solitude
Single loon cries, my guide
I am the bait
Waters chummed with pieces of me
Blood poured on the surface
Cast the line
Small piece of my soul
Tempting morsel
Small price to pay to troll these depths
A hit, hook set
Game on
Line snaps taught
Struggle for life and death
It knows my plan
Introspection then dissection
The surface breaks
Glorious prize as it breaches
Terrible in it's beauty
Dives to escape
Reel whirs, tension mounts
No ground given, none taken
The struggle even
Decision made
Line is cut
The glimpse and fight
Worth the price
I will return one day
Stronger line, better prepared
To catch the one
That got away


I think I knew that this one was going to get away before I started writing so I was not surprised by the end. I did struggle with leaving the lines, "Alone I sit...", through to, "A small price to pay...", where they fell. It seems appropriate to leave them where they are, somehow, even though it breaks the flow and changes the feel. It grows on me now that I re-read it.

I did chuckle at the unintentional rhyme at the end. It seemed a little light heartedness after playing some dark thing.

I wrote another about fear and death, previously posted, this seemed to be going in the same direction but it is not. I'll post the other next. Meanwhile, I'll have to ponder on this one and see where it might take me next.

Jeff.

Dance at Dawn

The edge of dawn
Big dipper fading fast
The moon still holds it's own
Fog slowly creeps across the field
Hint of pink in a sky of deep blue fading to black
The air hold it's breath in anticipation
The fog seems an adversary
Obscures first dawn sign
And masks the scape in milky white
The moon still holds it's own
Ringed in an eerie glow
The sky pales a hue of orange
Pastel through the fog
The mist flexes, tenses as it prepares
The world seems small
A bit of grass and a few trees
Encompassed in white
An island
Such a peaceful place for a battle
No hint of stars, they have succumbed a while ago
Fading quietly into the light
Dawn brightens yet again
The moon still holds it's own
Seeming only a witness
As he smiles, out of harms way
First sign of fear as the fog gives some ground
Colours return that were not noticed gone
Splashes of yellow, of green and of red
Reminders of fall
Dawn's hero approaches
Prepared to engage
Fog digs in ready to stand
A lance of light flashes through the tree tops
Revealing a roiling in the air
Fog is not so quiet as expected
The sun breaks through
Dazzling bright, glorious gold
Something unexpected
The fog glows white
Unabashed and proud
Where is the fight?
The earth returns to normal
Shafts of warm light through branches
Golden mantel about the sun
The mist moves and dances in the light
The moon smirks from above
He knew all along


I was not going to even write anything on this morning as I was going out for a run. So I started a little jotting to remind me another time to write something about the dawn. I still don't know why I stayed and watched, curiousity I guess. This actually started out as a battle between the dawn and the dark. As I wrote the dawn unfolded before me and the fog was not going to be a factor as it did not exist at first. I didn't even know why the moon showed up so many times until the end, cagey fellow that moon.

This is one of the very few poems that I consciously wrote...one of three I think. I still have not done anything to it other than group or split some lines and I am sure it needs some punctuation to delineate some of the ideas expressed...I hate to sprinkle periods and commas throughout though. I could stand to resort a couple of lines to smooth the flow a bit too. Another time.

The run was nice. Trail running is my favourite but I tend to overdo it as it is so enjoyable to get lost in the bush. I had an owl for company that morning, interesting fellow named Wilbur who gave me some very good advice . . . but that is a nother story.

Jeff.

The Adversary

Here I stand, facing down an elusive feeling
Who will blink first,
"Not I !" I scream in my mind
It may be a silent scream but it is potent
...or so I envision it as my adversary cowers in fear
Fear.
Is it fear who now fears me?
Is this possible that I should find fear in this manner?
Find it
Face it
Overcome it
Fear of the unknown
Fear of the almost known
Fear of the shadows
Fear of the depths
Fear of death...
Ahhh, I find the truth
Death is the last bastion
Shall I face death itself before overcoming all of my instinctive fears?
How many faces does death have that I must triumph over each?
Death of self
Death of another
Death of a loved one
Death of a child....
Death of a child...tears spring to my eyes
They turn to fire
The heavens have no fury great enough to withstand my wrath over this thought
Who dares threaten a child, my child!
But it is only a thought
My Soul cools...slowly
I have pity for those who have lost a child
There is no consolation for them from outside
They have only to look within
Yes,
This is my last and greatest fear
My last and greatest anger
My last and greatest sorrow
I wish never to face these combined
For they may yet have the power to crush me

This was unexpected. I started an email, got interrupted, then returned to it to find that I had nothing to say. So I just wrote a line that I had floating in my head for the afternoon "Here I stand, facing down (fill in the blank as I did not know what I wanted to face)". The rest just flowed, about ten minutes worth of thoughtless writing. I found it funny at first as I pictured myself yelling at a shapeless feeling.

I have tried to come up with fears in the past and I usually came up blank...well, except for some of the normal stuff but no deep seated shake in my boots fear.

Perhaps it is fitting that I post Fear right after Love, afterall, Love is the base and Fear is probably a close second.

Jeffrey

Love

So... what is Love?
An ocean current
always there
deep and slow
tempering the weather
A cool breeze on a summer's day
refreshing
fleeting
anticipated and missed
An apple high in a tree
red and tempting
worth the stretch
bitter and sweet
A soft winter snowfall
silent
pure
beautiful
A small child's giggle
playful
innocent
quick
Love is all of this and so much more
Words are no justice
They are not the medium
Love is expressed in a gesture
a glance
a kind word
Love is felt in closeness
and in great distance
Love connects people
draws them together
Love is a force
a feeling
Love is a perfect state of being
Strip all else away...
Love will be there
Love is the base
Love is the power
Love is the spark
Love is the beginning
When time ends, Love will be there
Another fresh start
Love... IS !


I have delved the depths of some very strong and base emotions that have both plagued and uplifted me. Anger, frustration, joy sorrow to name a few. The one that seems so elusive is Love. I figured out why. Once the others have been stripped away and I think there is nothing left I find the one pervasive and steadfast emotion that is so enigmatic as to be almost unrecognizable while attached to, or hiding beneath, some of the other more transient but powerful emotions.

I try to write something about Love and words fail me. Nothing comes unbidden and everything that does feels unworthy or contrived. This all adds up to Love being very easy to take for granted...which has been my Nemesis all along.

Inspired by Kathy, my dear wife.

Jeffrey.

Leap of Faith

Here I stand at the precipice
Solid rock beneath my feet
Bolts bored and fixed there also
I lean over the edge
Time stands still...
...for a moment
I see the bottom
My destination
Far below
I turn my back to check the anchor
I know it is secure
But knowing is not enough
I must trust
I must have faith
In myself
In ones who have before me faced this challenge
The first step
Always the hardest
As if a leap to the rocks below
Sweat trickles from my brow
A fly buzzes past my ear
Then silence...
...again time stands still
As if holding it's breath
Muscles tense
Weight shifts
The move is committed
The step taken
The anchor secure
The faith tested
I hear a sigh
Time breathes again
Then so do I
I find myself at the bottom
Destination reached


This is a little lighter than my usual, that is a good sign for me I think. Progress. I wrote another this morning that was purely about another hobby ...without any metaphors or whatever, just the joy of the ride...so these are out of order, but who cares.

I was waiting for a late client sitting in my car and thought I should try to write something. All I got was "Knowing is not enough"...then I put pen and paper back in my pocket and waited...then thought of the first line "Here I stand...". The rest just flowed and, unbeknownst to me, the "knowing" line took it's place in the jotting.

The end leaves something unsaid but I am not sure what yet. Perhaps it will come to me later. Something about the journey down the face of the rock I suppose.

I figure that the "what" was the bottom and the "why" was the test...so the "how" just took care of itself...someone told me that's how it works most times. Thanks.

Jeffrey.

Missing Piece

I can see into the dusty recesses of my Soul from here.
I feel an expanse that I cannot fathom
The corners recede faster than I can approach
My sight is only glimpses
I have found myself in there
And yet, something is missing
Hiding in the corners
Something I truly need to be complete


For the record I found my completeness since writing this. I was rummaging through my scraps of paper that hold my original jottings and thought this one was, well, worth placing here.

Jeffrey.

Untitled

I feel the depths stir
The surge as the deep shifts
Others notice only the tremor
They don't feel the mass
They don't understand
Gaining speed
There is no wake
No surface sign
Only a few know
Only a few prepare
There is no wind
No driving force
It is a reaction
Building upon itself
Silent to the deaf
Thundering to those who listen
There is a rythm
There is a purpose
A natural order
What will be left
After the wave passes.



I leave this untitled as I am not sure what this is about. On the surface it feels like a description of one of the Tsunami events as I recall watching videos of people standing on the beach watching the first wave approach. They do not realize what is happening while only a few run inland to escape it.


That is not it though. It is more basic than that, more powerful and yet more elusive at the same time. I am doing some reading on the 2012 "event" and other possibly related topics, so perhaps I am just getting a vibe from some of what I read.


On the wording, the tsunami waves recede, they do not pass...for some reason that is important. I tried using the word recedes instead and it does not sit right. Passes means something else entirely, almost non-physical but still with such mass as it cannot be stopped. Perhaps it will come to me, perhaps it is like the storm, to be harnessed and accepted rather that withstood and weathered.



Jeffrey.

Silent Cry

"I swing form anger to sadness and I seem to have no control over this"
"Shutting down my temper and reactions seem to shut down most everything else as well."
"I can't get away from it and I can't deal with it"


Frustration, anger, helplessness
A silent unbidden cry for help
Echoes, absorbed by the aether
as a single lone call of a loon in the fog
A stirring, unnoticed
A whisper, unheard
The cry is answered
The future set in motion
The stage set, casting complete
The aether ripples, the cry the source
Souls are brought together
Five cries joined by one
They are answered
Soothed by pain
Pain of knowledge
Pain of feeling
Pain acknowledged
Pain embraced
Six souls briefly become one
Never to be only six again
The cries are no longer silent
The cries are heard by all as if one
As a single call of the loon answered in the fog
The stirring felt
The whisper heard
The ripples still spread
A single cry cannot be stopped.

I was preparing the Thanksgiving Day meal, listening to Nickelback, while the house was empty and this came to me...I don't know if it was memory triggered by the lyrics, the music or just time for this to come out. I no longer think much about the why, I just accept it and keep listening to the whispers.

Those who were part of this know the significance of the numbers, the pain and the loon.

P.S. I added the first three lines from a letter that I had written 4 months ago. Those were the basic distilled messages that it contained. It is worth noting that the first three words, frustration, anger and helplessness figured prominently in the letter along with the lines.

While the letter was not on my mind, as I had only stumbled upon it while searching for something else today, I do believe that it was my silent cry.

Jeffrey

The thought that counts?

It is the thought that counts
Who is counting only the thoughts?
I send a flower
I receive a garden
I send a note
I receive a book
I send a feeling
I receive Love
I send myself
I receive another
It is the action that gives meaning
It is the action that begets reaction
It is reaction that makes it all worth while
Do something for someone today
They will appreciate it
Only then is the thought counted

Today I noticed a pattern in a daily activity that made me compare other unrelated patterns in my life. The last line in an email I was composing triggered the jotting. The line was , " I do something nice and someone else appreciates it, it is now more than just something nice, it builds upon itself as the appreciation itself is appreciated by me.". It reminded me of the cop-out that people say far too often..., "oh, well, it was the thought that counts". I realize that this is used when someone does something for some one and means well but the message is misunderstood. In my and my wife's family circle it is more often used as if to say, "I thought about it and that is good enough.".

Well, it's not.

I am often known for thinking and not acting. There is little "payback" for only a thought however well intentioned it may be.

Jeffrey.

Snake skin.

I have found that I must know myself before I can even begin to know another.
All of the surface trappings are just decoration and only serve to distract from the knowing.
Perhaps they are a shield, perhaps a haven.
Sometimes they appear as a true self and for these sad Souls I weep,
As they can never know true Love and be happy.
I am shedding my decoration as a snake shed's its' first skin, dried, restricting and spent.
Look at my new self and know me.
I am real,
I am true,
I am me,
I am happy.

This was just a jotting that I put in an email in response to some one's experience at a social gathering where they recognized the false masks everyone was wearing. It rang true to me, so I put it here.


Jeffrey

The Child Within

I feel like I am looking upon myself as a child
I look back at myself as and adult
We connect...like a Father and son.
We are in a field of greenest grass on a sunny day
The child smiles looking for acceptance, he finds it
The Father also smiles, ruffles his hair and tells him
"Everything is all right now"
"Everything is fine"
We hug
We are one and yet we are still two
He says to me, "I hope I grow up to be just like you"
I say to him, "You did, and I am proud"

I have no comment for this one. It came to me today and I think it is self explanatory.

I am not sure why we are still two though. That perplexes me somewhat.

Jeffrey

The Storm completed

So, an ending for the Storm came to me a few days later while emailing someone else. I'll put the whole piece here rather than break it up.

A storm approaches
I feel it's power
Am I it's victim
or am I it's master
I feel the wind
as it howls about me
I fight it's strength
I am losing the battle
I push against it
Only I am blown back
I take a breath
I feel my center
From there I can see
I am the storm
The storm is me
Am I it's victim
or am I it's master
I find I am neither
and I am both
I am a conduit
I let the power flow through me
The storm works it's fury
Against marble walls
I diffuse it's anger
I harness it's might
I let it work for me
It gives up the fight
I am the storm
I have the power
I will prevail.

The ending sounded a little egotistical to me but that's how it came out and I choose not to change anything. It really refers to the power over self as opposed to power over others...I think that is obvious due to the whole bit being about an internal struggle.

Jeffrey.

The Storm

A storm approaches
I feel it's power
Am I it's victim
or am I it's master
I feel the wind
as it howls about me
I fight it's strength
I am losing the battle
I push against it
Only I am blown back
I take a breath
I feel my center
From there I can see
I am the storm
The storm is me
Am I it's victim
or am I it's master

I find this unanswered so I don't think it complete...then I ponder tonight's actions (long story) and I realize that it will never be complete, there will always be a storm, a struggle and a result. If I can only remember this jotting when the storm approaches then I will be the master more often. Perhaps someday I will learn to avoid the storms altogether, that will be a great day.

Jeffrey

The question. part 2

I take the hand of a child in mine
It feels strange, and yet, familiar
We take a step, then two
We are on a journey
A journey led by innocence
We walk past a pond
cool summer splashes
We walk past a robin's nest
wonder of new life
We walk past a corner store
contraband candy
We walk past an old building
ancient mysteries
We walk past an open field
kites in the wind
We walk past a flowing stream
pebbles and ripples
Look, children playing, let's go!
Tag, hide and seek, blind man's bluff, baseball, hopscotch, skipping rope, snow forts...
That was such fun but now I must leave
But...why?
I am an adult now, duties and responsibilities call
But...why?
I have children of my own
So?...bring them along
I have a wife, I love her dearly
We will make room, bring her too
...OK, let's run
Why doesn't matter in the long grass
Why doesn't matter in the tree forts
Why doesn't matter with the pet snakes
Why doesn't matter with the puddle splash
Why doesn't matter when bubbles are blown
Why doesn't matter to a child who has grown.

Although it was necessary, I regretted opening my eyes after this journey as I did not want it to end. So now I do not consider it ended but renewed.



Jeffrey.

The question. part one.

Where am I?
I am in the past, your past
I am in the ball thrown by a child
I am in the scraped knee after falling from a bike
I am in the teddy bear on the small bed
I am in the first game of checkers
I am in the dog that brings joy
I am in the A,B,C's and 1, 2, 3's
I am in the tree where I should not be
I am in the "you're it!" in a game of tag
I am in the giggles of new humour
I am in the moon seen through a scope for the first time
I am in the first worm threaded on a hook
I am in the dew on bare feet in the summer
Why can't I see you?
You have forgotten, I am still here
Close your eyes and let's go for a walk...


This was at the point of realization where I found that what I was missing was not what I expected and that the realization, on it's own, was not the finding. The realization, as hard as it was, was the easy part. Little did I know when I was writing this that closing my eyes and going for a walk in my mind with my Soul as my guide was, quite literally, what it took. I thank Cindy for coming along and keeping me focused at that particular time.

I wrote this on Saturday morning during a 10 or 20 minute break and I left it unfinished until Wednesday sometime. It took that long for the journey to sink in and, I think, being back with my family shed light on what it meant for me.

I had to let it steep.

Jeffrey.

It begins

I stir an emotion
Let it steep
Skim the surface
Then touch the Essence
and let the words flow
As oil wicked in a lamp
The Essence becomes light
Discernible to the eye
And understood by the soul

A little context note:

I could never have come up with that, or any of what I may post here, if I tried, normally...whatever normal used to be for me. At the right time it just appears on the paper. Almost unbidden. That took little more time to write than it actually took to physically write which is, or was, so terribly uncharacteristic of me. I almost don't say that as I don't want to create a block by making any claims of great insight or anything else. So I call them jottings.

I feel that I have finally touched my inner soul and now I can hear it speaking to me...it just happens to be on paper. I truly believe that anyone could have the same conversations with themselves if they understood about themselves what I understand about myself now. Their conversation may just take a different form.

I hope that, perhaps, I can open a door for a person or two along the way.

For me, I have started to Hear what I ignored before.
For me, I have started to Listen as I did not before.
For me, I have started to Know what I could not before.
For me, I have started to Love as I have never before.

For those precious few that now know me for myself, you know who you are, this will make perfect sense. I would not have been able to "BE" without your love and support. I blame you wholly for loosing my true self.

I cannot thank you enough.

Deepest Love,

Jeffrey.

Intent

I started this blog on a whim, and with a little bit of a push by some very dear new friends. Besides, I figured I should soon stop bogging down their in boxes. This also allows me to compile them in one handy accessible location.

I have found that keeping a journal is a very powerful tool for enabling me to express myself to myself and as means to get across to others what I might not be able to say normally. While exploring this medium of self discovery I stumbled upon a new passion.

The written word.

While I do not presume to know anything about that which I do here, form, rules, meter...I write straight from the soul in times of emotion and have found that there are no rules. I let the words take me where they will and in so doing, they form their own patterns. The form is in the understanding.

I hope that you, as a visitor here, have an enjoyable experience and take something away that might help with your own personal trials. Even if it is just a smile of understanding, every little bit helps. Feel free to share any opinions or thoughts that you wish by commenting, let me know what you think, what you feel, or just say hello.

For those who know me, I am a little boy.

For those who don't, I am still a little boy at heart. Perhaps you may come to understand.

My name is Jeffrey.