An Eighth Shot of Espresso: Coffee and Creativity on Mum's Third Shift

Sometimes happiness is found at the bottom of a coffee mug laced with bourbon or a tea cup steeped with arsenic. Sometimes happiness is found in the touch  of a loved one's hand or a forbidden whisper in the darkness of a secret rendezvous. Sometimes  happiness is found  in the laughter of your children at play or the wailing of your enemies' grief when their plans lie in ruins.

A flock of crows is called a "murder". A flock of ravens is called a "conspiracy", a "treachery" or an "unkindness".  English is weird. The raven and the crow got together for a chat two black shadows against a dying sky. "How is your murder?" asked the raven. "The same old same old nothing but arguments all the same." "And how is your conspiracy?" asked the crow. "You mean my treachery?" replied the raven. The crow cawed in grim humor: "Did you rename yourselves?" The raven laughed and answered "No, it means the same thing, you know." "Well, whatever, are they doing well?" The raven bobbed its head. "Well, enough, although Mother complains, same old, same old." After a little more chit-chat the raven and the crow go back to their families: one a murder, the other a treachery. 

That sinking realization when you understand that they don't need you anymore They're outgrown you they can survive without you When it is so gradual that it sneaks up on you but the inevitable gut punch is that while you become aware they still act the same but their actions confirm it every hour or every day.

Living authentically uplift those around you give hope to the despondent and life to the lifeless through words and deeds not just one or the other. In reality life goes in cycles dips and shallows good days and bad days floats along the tide. Not everyone can be happy and inspire everyone all the time, every time clouds at the edge still brings occasional storms The burden must be shared life cannot be a vacuum one cannot always give and everyone just take catch me when I fall.

Look over my shoulder Eyes wander peer into my soul read my words engrave them in your memory judge if they are wanting if they agree with your beliefs They may or may not Some will just scroll on by others will remember make a mark in their books hoard it for later but not to think of their meaning but to use it for their ammunition.

Optimists say a new day a new opportunity yesterday might not have been great but it's a new beginning to make life better. Pessimists say it's grey and raining you can certainly try but the effort is wasted why do you even bother you will fail in every single attempt. Realists say dreams are good but you have to be sensible the glass is not half full or half empty it is just there it's what you do with it. Cynics say it's who you know not what you know Money talks Popularity talks You can only get ahead by compromising your soul.

Step out into the sun and do not hide from who you are or what you have the potential to become. Authentic soul faithful to the truth instead of a construct that serves the purpose of those who want to keep you down. Laugh loud, sing more, wear bright colors dance in the rain wear high heels help those who need it defend those who can't do it themselves. Fight for what is right not for what is expedient For the next generations instead of short gain. This is what it means to live your truth.

Get the ball rolling then it hits a rock wall the impact rattles my teeth. There's a hole that needs to be filled I sigh and get my shovel. Now I need to adjust my course find a way around the obstacle soon I'm back on my path. But now the ball is leaking air I have to stop and patch it up. The path divides into two a flood washed away the left one so I choose the the right path Rocks and gravel crunch under my feet sinkholes cause delays The sun hangs low not much light left I have to camp for the night. I make the mistake and look over my shoulder that rock wall is only meters behind me.

Stare in the mirror into infinity failing body but mind is the same See every decision in stark clarity all the good ones that make you smile and the bad ones that bring tears only with the justice of hindsight do you realize that the journey you've made the paths that you chose is just a tapestry of your life. A roadmap of a trip you drove in the dark to get to the light of realization.

Mood swings like a pendulum The highest highs the lowest lows goes from one to the other in a fraction of a second wondering what face and what tone will the day bring when the sun rises until the moon sets always on high alert trying to mitigate damage this is no way to live with every noise making you jump and your empathy burnt out.

Words don't come effortlessly though it may seem like it. There are days when they beckon and days when they stay away. Sometimes ink runs like blood sometimes it is frozen like stone I have to chip away at it and write with the pieces. If I wait until the mood strikes it might not come at all so I have to pound on the door and wake it from slumber. My muse is a cranky fairy that must be bribed with coffee and sweets but once she is settled I can finally get to work.

When universes overlap sometimes things don't make sense but then they do challenges your way of thinking shakes you out of your compliance stumble through familiar becoming strange and unusual see through another's eyes introduce new information new knowledge new ideas some can be applied some need their own time. You aren't the same person who you were before. Whether you admit or not or aware of it or not you have expanded your horizons just by existing.

A broken clock is right twice a day A broken record plays the same thing over and over But eventually what is ruined just becomes background noise it is comforting until it finally runs down into silence and only then it is missed. It's just easier to leave it alone Not worth the effort to fix or even pitch into the bin. Laziness turns to apathy unless there is concrete results a motivation to change but comfort finally wins out and any progress grinds to a halt because it's too much effort to keep up with change.

There are ballads extolling the virtues of love there are songs warning about the trappings I heard the lyrics dreamed of my knight in shining armor When it finally happened my heart soared like an eagle with wings on high and a life full of happiness. Then reality set in and the gold lost its luster It isn't like the poems of old you expect a soulmate but even Lancelot and Guinevere brought a kingdom to ruin. A love must be tended or it will soon die the weeds of resentment and rage color what once was new. There is no happily ever after unless you strive for it to pass.

I write because while my body is in chains my mind is not. In a world of little hope the candle still burns bright of wonder and adventure to new times and places. The universe is the limit painting pictures bright and colorful or dark and insidious roads into the psyche of mankind A sane pen in an insane world or is the ink a sign of the times? I suppose we shall see which one it shall be.

Warm spring sun with very low humidity It is not summer not yet A rare surprise but a welcome one the bright rays go through my window and when I step outside I smell the newly cut grass that makes me sneeze and hear the shrieks of the neighbor's children as the first day of break invites all to play A slice of spring before the wave of heat decides to arrive in all its scorching glory.

The princess placates the grumpy dragon humoring him, so he doesn't realize that she's plotting her escape. He sits on his hoard of riches commanding his legion with an iron hand. But slowly, every so slowly she moves her pieces into place her plans to fruition. When the shining knight comes in and demands her hand as payment for slaying the one who took her prisoner "I will not trade one cage for another be just another trinket for you to claim." She takes her share of the gold and leaves.

Waves head to the shore hit the sand then hiss on back retreats to gather power and do the same again. Voices rise and fall go into a crescendo then become softer and softer heading to another peak There are good days where it seems Luck loves you then She turns her back and you gnash your teeth. The highest highs and the lowest lows. It will happen over and over Don't expect either to last.

Take comfort in whatever you can even when the world falls apart The little things of life like breathing like the sunshine on your skin the rumble of thunder in the distance Your mind is your own your potential, yours to shape your abilities, yours to control Do not turn over and concede to those who would exploit your mind For your thoughts, your drive, your courage can make a difference No matter how small the simple fact you are here is already an act of defiance to those who want to erase you and your hopes and dreams and your creativity from the face of this earth.

Dance along the webs of Fate with silver shears in the palm of your hand. Look behind you before you work Please measure twice, but cut once. "Such power you wield is uncanny who are you to control whomever lives or dies according to your very whim? "How can you be impartial and not be motivated by spite or even the wings of mercy before you swing your scythe?" A little voice answered me: "I listen to the inner voice Time tells me when to do my job And here's the truth Man cannot bear: The universe is not so fair."

Sharing is not meant to be a competition I want to show you why certain things make me happy and maybe you can join in too. I didn't expect you to go all in and assume control try to tell me you know more in a few days than I know from doing it for years. I don't want you to feel like you must be better than me be more skilled more knowledgeable but that seems to be your nature. And your need to be right sucks all the joy right out of what I had loved before.

I smile but less and less. and it doesn't reach my eyes. I laugh but it sounds hollow with not much truth within it. I love but it is more of a habit and an obligation than anything true. I cry but only when I am alone away from ignorant eyes and only deeply inside so the smile can hide it.

Fate is fickle and so is the crowd. One day, everyone's darling the next, their pariah. Fair weather friends foul weather enemies. Everyone wears masks but not all can change them as easily as others. Hide all your innermost thoughts guard all your secrets from those who would exploit every little weakness. The one advantage to never lying: you don't have to keep track of what you said to whom.

Should I be silent? The urge to write is too strong it is a part of me has been, will be My pen will not stop my words will not falter They might control the means but they cannot chain the thoughts in my head the love in my heart the song in my soul.

Jisei are poems written near to the time of a poet's death. A farewell to the world and an insight into the attitudes of the time. Inspired by Inspired by Japanese Death Poems: Written by Zen Monks and Haiku Poets on the Verge of Death by Yoel Hoffma  I. Let them argue over a useless corpse: My soul is free II. Life's bitter draught first tastes sweet on the lips it lasts for years III. Cicada's songs last scarcely over a season the forest remembers IV The mocking sound of his voice is finally no more oh I love the silence! V. Sun high in the sky but the clouds weep bitter tears go past the darkness. VI. When pain stops the body realizes euphoric release. VII. The painter puts down her brush declares her life's work done. VIII. It comes for us all by choice or no roses at the tombstone.  

The fool who takes up the pen creates a world that makes no sense But when one looks closer it has laws and logic all its own Exists somewhere not here or there or anywhere we know but in the fool's mind Up is down and down is up grounded in the world already known but a life all its own at your feet. The invitation beckons to step into this realm of all sorts of possibility mystery and magic

So much rain good for the plants not good for joints that creak and pop when air pressure falls Thunder announces the arrival as rattle of drops strike the roof above streaks down the windows. The clouds are crying letting it all out in one fell swoop and then feeling lighter the sky brightens Soil turns to mud water shimmers in puddles for ants to swim in reflecting the rainbow in the sky as if in apology

No one said it would be easy They didn't warn me of the challenges or the triumphs The tears shed every night the smiles made every day Championing their cause in spite of opposition and paperwork and red tape. It's still a long road ahead but looking back I would be lying if I said I enjoyed every minute of it But it's not a lie when I say I am proud of who they become.

sadness sitting on the bathroom floor with tears streaming down my face a little brief moment of peace and happiness snatched away because you are incapable of every saying those two words that are too difficult for you to say "I'm sorry."

 I. Cheerful light is gone the cloud rolls over the sun colors are muted II. They say it won't last shadows are temporary the darkness lasts years III The mole squints upwards: says, "it all looks fine to me." dives back to his home. IV. All the birds take refuge protected by the green trees they weather the storm V. When the fury passes debris scattered everywhere pick up the pieces VI. Fix what is broken continue living again soon all forgotten.

Where does the time go? Huge calendar with all the dates written in color coded marker red for me, blue for the kids green are husband's events Notifications ring out on my computer. Post-its, planners timers, countdowns I remind everyone days hours, minutes in advance Carving out time to squeeze in appointments... ...and somehow they always run late or completely forget. What more can you do? I'm their mother, I'm his wife but I feel like their secretary.

A mess of wires what plug goes where sitting there in the tangle trying to make the crooked straight. So many devices too many to count what do I need what can I remove what doesn't work anymore? Connectors not connecting plugs not conducting devices not updated: remove all the fodder dismiss all the outdated. Technology is supposed to make all our lives easier give us more free time to do whatever we want but that time is spent on upkeep.

Sometimes it is one little thing that can get in the way: a pebble in your shoe a button pressed at the wrong time a switch flipped the opposite way You can make all the plans but you cannot account for human error or the whims of nature. Should that deter you from ever trying anything new? No, do not be so easily defeated take care of the problem without loudly announcing what your plans are Karma will hear you and act accordingly.

Put it away for some period of time: days, weeks, months maybe years. Perhaps you forget about it perhaps not. When it returns to the light of day see it with brand new eyes. See new possibilities that weren't there before fresh ideas, other concepts branching out from the soil that needed to lay fallow to rest. Those tender offshoots may blossom in other places and take you elsewhere you did not expect.

Constantly changing the hues of the palette seem to mix in strange and unusual ways The wood warps and cracks paint seeps through the edges stain the deep set grooves in rainbow. You could trace the ages through splatters of cobalt and the era of styles through sprinkles of glitter. Memorialized in contrasts white swirled in dark to make it lighter russets and oranges shade into verdant swipes that may be leaves or maybe grass for spring flowers or dying falling petals. Any painter throws it away but it is a memorial or a testament to canvases gone by.

He sleeps in his chair Very much like his father did before him. Tiptoe around him don't make any loud noises he is resting They all hold their breath to not rouse the slumbering dragon to keep the peace. I refuse to be cowed I give him his space I grant him his peace. But while waiting for him I write my words and refuse to let the world pass me by.

I never asked for fame Never considered myself worthy for admiration. Shun the limelight keep to myself. Always stood on the sidelines let others have the credit and the glory. The years went by Unremarked, unnoticed the tall poppy needs to be knocked down. Some people have the luck and the contacts and the charisma to be successful. Opportunities pass by so I wouldn't rock the boat draw too much to myself make anyone feel threatened the status quo maintained then something snapped: I'm too old to put up with someone's petty insecurities. Now I listen to my Muse and encourage others out of their shells I'm not ashamed to show my enthusiasm and my zeal and my talents. The bright red poppy stands straight and tall.

Twenty two years ago was not expected but quite long awaited Never a doubt he stole my heart the first time I laid eyes on his tiny form. It's been a long road full of pitfalls and heartache but full of love and pride to see him carve his own way despite all the roadblocks life has thrown at him. He's a fighter. Quiet and reserved among those he doesn't know. Although he doesn't speak his smiles say plenty and he's expressive in his own way. Happy birthday, Son. Mum loves you.

I can't change circumstances beyond my control I can't make things better even though I want them to be. What do you want me to do? I can't change the nature of people who don't want to care. They say pick your battles then be upset when I do that. My sympathy only goes so far. I wasn't always a cold-hearted person my heart bled for whatever hurt you but your constant demands closed my ears and my heart. Suddenly I'm the insensitive one. I can only go so far bend over backwards so much before you ask the impossible to make you feel better. In your story, I'm the monster.

Just sit back and watch be relaxed and soak up the atmosphere. All the goings on happen around you. You quickly ascertain the ones in the forefront the ones who hang back and the ones who are there but on the sidelines like you. Each player has their own way of asserting their presence. The movers and shakers and the ones in the shadow. What kind of company they keep and what kind do they avoid? Every little word, gesture song and dance The antics they get to the humor under the surface. The puzzle of who they are every little detail improvised and habitual tells who these people are. And you know more about them than perhaps they themselves know.

Wait for an opportunity the right chance You have to be patient you have to work hard But opportunity does not appear at the most convenient time or the most convenient place It often shows while the rest of life happens and perhaps in the middle of your other plans. So when I come to you to tell you the news: "This isn't the right time for the rest of us."

Easter bargains stock up on marshmallow chicks dipped in chocolate jelly beans gummies shaped like carrots. All of the treats the kids like and all of the ones for the adults. Mother's Day gifts milled soaps, perfume, roses my daughter looks at me gives me the side-eye and asks, "Is this supposed to be a hint?" Even if I get nothing from my children I can just munch on Easter candy.

Knowledge in books live by the numbers there's good and there's bad there's black and there's white. Wisdom in living live on the streets there's neutral and complicated there's many shades of grey. Ideal to have both live in two worlds there's law and some order there's chaos and fun. Too much of one it tips off the balance if one to too favored then all life will cease.

Locked out monochrome in the rain looking through the window as warm light reflects within. They sing karaoke take their turns on the stage and other applaud it's the effort that counts I softly smile and push down the sadness turn around and walk into the storm. It looks like a noir movie with the protagonist as they accept their lot... I tell you, it hurts.

So many grains of sand slip through as the moons turn and the tides rise and fall but there will always be more. As long as there is one pen that scratches words on paper no one will forget even if memories shimmer and fade. As long as there is one brush that captures color on canvas no one will deny even if voices are muted and soft. So many dreams in clouds form and dissipate in smoke and fires rage and burn but they will never be gone.

The world with pastel colors late spring, not quite summer the oils stain my hands as I capture it as best I can. Golden sun overhead wind stirs ripples through the lake bubbles from fish and frogs just lingering near the surface. A young family nearby with their impromptu picnic basket hikers on the Greenway nod as they pass each other on the right. The sounds of laughter on the breeze a pick-up game of soccer on the field suddenly becomes the Tournament with all ages represented. A moment in time a little slice of peace I want this to last forever and never return to the real world.

Mom called and asked again if I went to church today I told her I'm spending time with the kids and yet again I told her that they would not sit still for Mass because of their issues. Selective hearing all she heard was "No." and demanded to know why and she said not all churches treat my kids like outcasts. I should know that. I should know better. I didn't tell her that if she was worried about my immortal soul and going to heaven she should take care of her own. Instead I wished her a Happy Easter smiling through my tears and just returned to what really matters my family and making my kids happy no matter what others say.

Sitting in the back people watching seeing how people interact can be a fascinating pastime. Some talk with their hands animated in a language all their own as they get their points across. Others only stand and nod in agreement. A person's body reveals more than they expect their posture, eyes, demeanor betrays their inner thoughts. Sometimes trying to mingle is so overrated: be still, be quiet and look you can learn just by osmosis.

Magic rosin coat the strings with even strokes so that the bow can bring out the music within the varnished wood. Turn the pegs slightly, ever so slightly not too much to perfectly capture that elusive note in the series of harmonies. It is time sheet music at hand stage lights are low din of preparation dies down concertmaster stands and bows plays the single note you match your instrument to the rest of the world.

Sense of time you remember an event that seems just yesterday blink and twenty years have passed. Where did this grey hair come from? The kids are no longer toddlers his favorite store has closed he can't remember when. Mornings come earlier Christmases come sooner I remember when my parents were the same age as I am now. Hurtling towards eternity not growing old gracefully just wandering,stumbling counting the days until the final sun sets.

A hard pill to swallow when the facts are there in black and white shiver down my spine. That sense of disassociation of a hidden truth that you didn't want to acknowledge. Past events make sense realization going back years ten, twenty, thirty all come roaring back in force. Standing at a crossroads what to do now but it's all not just about me not anymore.

I miss the purr of kitty cats the wag of my dog's tail when he sees me coming the laugh of a good joke the cheer of victory after a good race the conversation over a good meal. the discussion of hopes and dreams for a brighter future the debate over good drinks and truly awful ones the happiness that family brings the concern when things go wrong the time when they were small look up to me and say "I love you, Mom."

Two bottles of ink one black, one gold sit alone on a rack discounted. Price gone down twice fancy labeling on the glass hues bright and dark| ready to be used. Maybe for invitations or calligraphy with a steady hand a drawing of sunset shades and crosshatches. Last chance, final clearance once they're gone, they're gone They're perfect for my project so I give them a home.

My life breaks apart on a daily basis: every character I write every subject I draw has a little part of me that has broken off to live on its own. immortalized but not by words on a stone plaque but an idea left behind on paper, on screen. I cannot stop it from happening the ones so different from me are still me just mirrored in a way. And in this case ideas last forever.

Dreams flit through my fingers like gossamer spider webs floating on the spring wind Torn from their moorings they drift over to land in faraway distant lands Perhaps they can catch the sunlight for a different place and a different time Some fall on rocky soil a handful on the sands of time still others drown in blue ocean The ones that remain are strong yet supple that bend with the breeze Will they weather the storm catch the droplets of morning dew shimmer and blaze in glory? And nothing lasts forever as they fade away to the ether of evening's shadow.

I miss the sound of ocean waves as they hiss along the shore the foam sparkles in the sun as it eddies around the rocks. I miss the sound of seagull's cry crabs skittering on boulders dark blue on the horizon clear azure around me to the bottom of the water. I miss the smell of a clam bake the laughter of good friends the whirr of a fishing pole the feel of warm sand the clear stars high above. I miss a simpler time when we could just watch the tide roll in and out and we were young and so much in love.

The temperature rises the grass sprouts into a carpet beneath my feet Tulips poke their leaves out of the newly turned soil. The sound of carpentry from the next door neighbor as the new addition of a sunroom takes shape at the back of their house a dream made manifest. A group of children playing ball in the next court they're having a pick up game basketball on one end a cricket pitch on the other. Our subdivision comes out of its winter slumber the parks and the pool come alive I sit on the porch and smile as they all go by.

Sometimes being blunt still cuts like a knife. "I'm being honest. I know you wouldn't want me to lie." That is quite true but how you phrase it can affect how your 'truth' is taken. You have no idea They said that you 'cannot read the room'. That you cannot put yourself in another's shoes. It is either right or wrong black or white and there is no such thing as levels of grey. It hurts to be on the receiving end of your 'honest truth'. You pride yourself on being direct, to the point but you never see the tears as you tear me apart analyze everything I've done 'wrong'.

 In times of trouble at least I have this: the need to write to express whatever lies in my heart the will to create and carve a little bit of sunshine within the dark clouds. the softness of heart to realize that these days will not last forever and after the rain the sun will shine again.

Jokes can be funny if it is shared by all involved if it is cute and witty and all in good fun. Nowadays there is little to laugh about with the world going to hell and people being cruel and mean spirited. A good knee-slapper can uplift the spirit strengthen bonds between us a shared story to remember We need to laugh again find the humor in life take it one day at a time one chuckle at a time

Can't say no cannot refuse they've been so nice to me everyone says how lucky I am to have them in my life. I smile and nod outwardly agree but inside I am screaming my voice is stifled every idea every want taken and given dominated by what they think is best I have more than most Little struggle, much harmony that's what it looks from the outside but behind closed doors my body is a marionette and they pull the strings my mind is encased programmed to do their will.

The Muse perched on my shoulder She gave me a gentle nudge: "Take a break you are very tired life has been hectic Take this time to refresh and refocus You cannot write when the well has run dry." In some ways, she is right as much as I try the words would not come. "Do not force it it will come out wrong stilted and flavorless this is not you. These are not your words this is not your melody." I've ignored her advice before much to my detriment. Exhaustion caught up and smothered my voice. So now I will listen and curl up and hibernate interpret my blissful dreams and new ideas on paper.

Return triumphant he wears an apron that says "Kiss the Cook" meat seasoned to perfection sun shines brightly outside he whistles on the patio keeps a watchful eye on the charcoal and the hot flames below He's not the only one the neighbors come out of hibernation it's one huge party of who can master the subtle art of cooking with fire.

This balance is delicate Too much of one thing and the scales are tipped. This will make you better but there is a very slight change very very very slight that something else will go wrong. It is a challenge to manipulate the weights so you will not be crushed on one end or the other. What is one more spinning plate when there are fifty or more and you rush around trying to keep none of them from falling. The effort tires you and all compliment your skill but leave you to do it all alone.

A wounded animal is skittish around a gentle hand extended in friendship. They know better than to fall for that trick again. Experience is a bitter draft and pain is a harsh teacher. It takes a long time and much patience to coax a smile or a loving nod from one who is used to being betrayed then ignored.

Deep dive into facts Share them with anyone who is around to listen. They marvel at how smart you are. They wonder if you have any friends. See all angles of a problem talk about this solution or that solution They see how tactical you are. They wonder if you think of anything else. "Do I talk too much? Am I too much? I shouldn't overshare." They tell you you're fine. They wonder if you'll ever catch a clue.

Throw paint on the walls and see what sticks improvise a rhythm a snippet catches your ear. Arrange random shapes a subject takes form From nothing comes art an idea just lingers until you reach out and hold it closely. It has no name until you give it one. It takes a life on its own perhaps it evolves in a way unexpected: do you let it breathe twist and turn its own way or do you halt its progress?

Sorry isn't sorry when it's apologizing for your own inconvenience: "I'm sorry it's been a waste of time (for me and not for you)." Remorse isn't remorse when it's not your soul that has been ripped apart: "I'm sorry for what I did (because I got caught)." Sadness isn't sadness when it's just crocodile tears and it's for show: "I'm sorry for your loss (though I think it's good riddance)."

We fell out of teatime No more quiet afternoon of drinks and snacks As the seasons turned and the shadows grew long and the leaves went from brown to green again. No more plastic kettles and little teacups on saucers and the parrot puppet asking for more lumps of sugar or the penguin stealing chocolate chips from the yellow beaked toucan. Hot tea is so posh Iced tea from Daddy's pitcher in a summer's day biscuits and gravy instead of biscuits and sandwiches childhood put away Mum's teacup stands alone.

Soft baked cookies smell fills the kitchen peanut butter and coconut gingerbread and lemon chocolate chip cakes and croissants gumdrops and brittle bowls pile up in the sink a tang of burnt edges powdered sugar like ground up snowflakes drifting on currents from the air conditioner and catch grains on the tongue. Gift boxes filled bundles set to go can't wait to see all the smiles and the joy the warmth and the rumble of tummies waiting to be filled with sweets from the sweet.

This can be better Analyze from start to finish Examine every detail with a fine tooth comb Rip it apart to the foundations out of a sense of love because you care. It does not reflect what you feel is the best for its survival. This part is good but, but, but it still has flaws it's not perfect for your own aesthetics If they had done this the way I would do it it would be perfect. Tell everyone what you'd do if you would do in the creator's place. Find those who agree with you Spread your ideas why this idea isn't perfect Nothing stands up to the test of time. Why do people like this in the first place when it is so wrong? The sense of love and the sense of care has turned into a sense of hate.

Look into the mirror Do the rituals speak the incantations See who stares back. Some transformations are only skin deep hair color, eye color face putty, padding in cheeks. Others stretch deeper permeate the soul become a different character leave the normal behind. How long can you keep it up? This charade, this facade Just for a night on the stage or for a stretch of eternity?

Tranquility Peace all around you sound of running water breeze stirring leaves thunder of heaven's doors soul is at rest no stormy seas ahead all is right with the world Patience watch as the nightbloom unfolds slowly ever so slowly the baby takes her first steps unsteady but soon with purpose a musician builds a repertoire from constant practice. Nothing is perfect from the start. Clarity All in sharp focus plan broken down in stages First one then two then three the path before you unhindered proceeding with confidence with no distractions towards your ultimate goal.

Trending downwards down to rock bottom the bar is set so low look above the light has disappeared a murky darkness surrounds and permeates the skies and ground The pits of despair so described throughout the ages never thought it would appear here for real no sound, not even the howl of wind from an evil demon overlord. It would be easy to just withdraw and watch the world burn in a wave of apathy and a blanket of hopelessness. But that would be handing all of existence on a silver platter. If not for yourself then for the ones who come after. The souls not yet born the songs not yet sung For a single sliver of dawn can lift up their hopes for tomorrow.

Flowery speech can't quite capture the feeling of a mundane life. You can only write so much about the cherry blossoms that drift on the breeze. Or the dust that needs to be swept from the kitchen floor every day. Or the laundry that must be picked up from the floor and thrown in the washer. The beauty in the ordinary can be hard to find if your thoughts are on the next task and the next. Then you try to wax poetic about the good things and the bad things of the world and words fail to come.

Every letter typed every word written a bit of emotion packed into each one. Straight from the heart the mind struggles to make ideas coherent complicated made simple. Some understand others shrug and move on but the lines impact a reader one way or another. If opinion say to agree even if your soul says no will your words reflect the truth that you feel?

The gleaming tower still needs a foundation that extends into the ground. That solid base supports what stretches up to the sky. What you see is white marble what you don't see is concrete strong and sure capable of holding up the weight of the wealth above. But what is it that you don't see? Hidden beneath your eyes and not fit for the public? Is it as sturdy as it needs to be? When was the last time anyone bothered to check it? For a structure is only as strong as its weakest link.

They have seen much The color of waves on a stormy sea now more white-cap foam than sixty years ago. Memories dance bright like the lights at the foot of a stage eventually go dim as the curtains close. What is now isn't what it used to be isn't what she remembers how much things have changed she doesn't recognize it. Hues once vivid have gone to grey shattered and cracked like pieces of a puzzle that no longer fit. Her story forgotten unless a kind soul wishes to help her recall the lessons of a lifetime to bring to the light.

Is that green blob a tree, a mountain a patch of grass? Narrow your eyes and use your imagination. A drop of azure water a hint of cerulean sky and mirror of ice what can this be? Anything you want it. Yellow and orange a roaring campfire or the last bit of sunset perhaps a bowl of fruit what should it be? A bit of uncertainty is unsettling for sure. Nothing is explained nothing is crystal clear you interpret for yourself.

I remember when this book this song this film first came out. How can it be thirty years already? Time passes so slowly when you are young and you are impatient for it to hurry up so you can do all the things that the adults do without any restrictions. Then you get there school, job, family the seasons turn one by one summer to winter then summer again too busy to notice. One day you realize you aren't young anymore and you remember when your parents and elders were your age now how can that be what happened to your life?

Clickity clack the dice hit the table fate chooses whether or not you succeed or if you live or die Do you think that the Gods sit high above and play tabletop role playing games move all their miniatures on a cosmic graph board? Who among them is the Game Master? Or does it change on a whim? One day it's Fate and the next day it's Whimsy? Look at your stat sheet and make sure you level up and pick up better gear as you go from quest to quest in the Game of Life.

 I. Can you imagine rainbows at your fingertips cool rain on your skin no ash falling on your brow no blood dripping from your hands? II. Dawn shows its promise golden light streams from the East Birds sing their praises and their hope begins anew maybe today things will change. III. They are supplicants pray that all will turn out well while their fellow man revels in extravagance they wonder why words don't work. IV. Afternoon wanes low and dusk begins to approach sun sets like always bloody red on horizon shadows loom between the trees V. You sigh and then smile as the birds all fall silent everything the same yet you still cling to the hope that the dawn comes again.

Fire, Wood, Water Metal and Earth Wu Xing, Five Elements Each one affects the other For good or for ill. Too much of one upsets the balance and all must be in harmony. Process and change nothing ever stays the same it is the essence of the elements a stick is just a stick a rock is just a rock Wood is the essence of life Earth the stable foundation. Where is air? Fire, Earth, Air, Water, Metal Air surrounds us It need not be said The essence of being in all living things is not limited to just one physical form! All five plus the one encompassing the Spirit, the Soul It will still be there when all is long to dust that spark of existence will carry us on that drive to live will carry us through.

How many words does it take to paint a vision for you? Short, sharp, economical or long, flowing text? Which do you prefer? And how much reality are you willing to accept in one siting? Lies don't have to be lyrical truth doesn't have to curt honeyed words have the same effect as ones that cut to the bone. So tell me what you can handle and what you can understand for life has no patience for do-overs.

Learn the rules so you know how to break them. Chiaroscuro to give form to abstract color. It is the norm when suddenly it isn't. A turn of phrase that isn't grammatically correct. It's so consistent until you find the one time that makes you pause and have to think. They know what you like the tried and true it should be a success its failure raises questions. Times change, norms adjust what works then doesn't work now What is reviled is suddenly revered cast up or down at the speed of life. Consistency is good yet if you stagnate what you create will not reflect your very soul.

A humble workshop where creativity lives Quiet and private tucked in the shadows of a Parisian alleyway or perhaps within view of the Bow Bells in London. The painter does yet another study applying the imprimatura and pulling out the lights out of the darks giving form to the formless and shape to the shapeless how many values black and white with warm grey and dark grey or even more than that? A sculptor finds life in marble chisels away the excess and what remains is the core of the stone's meaning. A potter shapes curves and ridges with their hands as the wheel goes round and round slower then faster then sets them to find strength in the fires of the kiln. Time hardly passes here but techniques become new as they are employed with the old.

Not quite queasy but you know that something just doesn't feel right. Head hurts just enough to be annoying but you can push through it. Am I sick or am I just tired? Or am I sick AND tired? It's hard to tell the difference anymore. What I need is a tropical paradise vacation waves along the beach where the palm trees sway. What I really need is a few days of sleep a long luxurious bath in that order.

The dam broke the rushing waters surged into the valley the force of years finally being set free. No one could hide no one could outrun the full fury of nature unleashed in an instant and Nature feels no guilt. Analyze the stones find fault in the building material in the very foundations the warning system was faulty there was simply no time. Everyone and no one is to blame. Others deal with the cleanup pick up the pieces let's look to the future. But we all know that in the grand scheme of things if you need to point a finger at the cause: it was the dam's fault.

Why can't the responsible adult play once in a while? Let them frolic in the meadow float down the river on a patched-up inner tube. Walk down the Boardwalk and devour ridiculous-sized hot dogs filled with cheese! Eat cotton candy without worrying about all the cavities! Run in the sprinklers and the fountains in front of the office buildings downtown! Laugh at the mime's antics until their bellies ache! Dance ring around the rosy until their heads spin with happiness! Pet all the dogs! Nap with all the cats! Echo all the parrots! Ride with the horses with the wind in their hair and a song in their hearts! Let them drop their burdens and be who they are for once in their lives!

We're doing the rounds here what's on your mind nothing is excluded nothing is sacred. Open your mind and don't cling to the same perhaps a new idea blossoms like a spring flower. The only block stopping you is your own set of stone walls Let them tumble down in a pile of hard rubble. You carry your baggage whether you want to or not dump it on the platform or let it drag you backwards A rarity to feel safe in a group of troublemakers life speeds along but you don't want to be left behind.

My dreams are held up by gossamer spiderwebs strong silk threads and they look fragile. But they are stronger than they seem. Suspended in air for years at a time it collects morning dew that dries up as the temperature rises. It takes more webbing to hold them in place even as the lair expands. They end up out of sight somewhere near the ceiling. All it takes is one spark one raging blaze that lasts only a second. It races along those strands and burns them away. Oh, I forgot those were there! As they land in my lap. I look at them in silence Old and cracked ancient and dried out. Now that I have them again what will I do with them? should I hang them up with new webs from old or can I finally see them in the light?

I wish I can write about floating cherry blossom petals carried by the spring wind the hiss of ocean foam on a peaceful beach on a tropical island. About the turn of seasons from winter to spring and from spring to summer how the fireflies dance between autumn trees. The fragility of life at the knife edge of death ah, I have a vision this is the meaning of existence at the end of the road. What is the sound of one mind dragging day to day living off sugar and caffeine dealing with life as it really is?

The pillar that holds the foundation ever reliable ever dependable. Through wind rain and hail lightning storms and deep snows Worn smooth with lucky touches on the way to work Early or late it will always be there Never erring and never complaining of the weight it carries. The young grow up and move on to their lives The old tell the stories of the one fixture in the past. But what will happen when the invisible cracks that run deep suddenly shatter apart?

It's a quiet life: He works all week at the computer What does he do to relax? Sit in front of the computer. Sometimes he falls asleep like an old man in his favorite chair headphones on his head blocking out wife, kids the rest of the world. Tiptoe around him don't make a sound No one does anything no one says anything he's in his element the master of the house I do not lie I describe the ennui of my life take care of all problems soothe the screaming children and show through words why fantasy is better than real life.

Rune-carver with your knife and chisel and your magical words on the tip of your tongue stone and bone leather and wood a talisman of protection a sword that craves blood Your curses are not taken for granted. Each part of the formula is a part of the whole no bit is useless and no shortcuts will do. Each stave has a meaning. More than just an artisan you are a mage with the power of life and death in your god-laded spells.

See pure white Not an inch of ground uncovered Over miles and miles With no end in sight. It's cold outside So bundle up before stepping out the door. And make sure you're wearing hat and gloves! Flurries dart past your eyes Over your head and cling to your clothes Under your coat to melt on your skin Rivulets soak through fabric Look, children playing outside Even dogs are paddling like otters Tears of joy crystallize in ice Terrible wonderful shrieks of fun Each minute a wonderful memory Racing heartbeats during play. When will the storm let up Or will it stretch out for days? Revel in the magic of it all Dally in forgotten childhood.

The snow falls softly softly with scarcely a whisper of wind and barely a touch upon the ground. Yet wonder fills brightly brightly with such a light of happiness and hardly a word of complaint. The child watches eagerly eagerly with bated breath of anticipation and carefully a sign of no school.

Every week the bite of the needle hoping to stave off the pain for a little while. It's better than sitting in a chair for hours while medicine flows through your veins. It's better than losing a day in a drugged stupor where sleep doesn't give you rest and family resents the loss of a Saturday. None of it is your fault just a body that is falling apart. But it's better than being dead I suppose.

The problem with making yourself essential: they like you for what you do and not who you are. Your worth is measured in convenience in time in efficiency and in coin. One disruption upends their entire world the whole operation grinds to a halt but the fault is never theirs. Even worse when you aren't there as an employee: when you're there on the bond of supposed love.

Not all is shiny and new with time all becomes more natural what it is meant to be. The storms overhead bring hail and high winds yet even in the dark clouds there is a hint of sun. The maelstrom swirls all round but you learn to stand fast they cannot uproot anything with a firm foundation. No one is in a vacuum nothing is left untouched but the strength of your resilience comes with the heart of experience.

They thrive in chaos One well-placed word one half-true fact They let the knives fly The truth is flexible and it is not completely a lie. It all depends on a certain point of view. All from a seemingly benign sense of propriety: "I thought you'd want to know. So and so has been talking you might want to set the record straight. After all I don't want to see you get hurt." Then they sit back and watch the arrows land straight on their targets. An observer of justice. Nothing is ever their fault no one is ever their favorite Everyone is treated equally at least as far as they can see. Pitting friend against friend lover against lover royalty on the chessboard but they're careful to cover their own tracks as they enjoy the festivities.

A bouquet of flowers Roses, to be precise Smell so sweet in the air See how much he loves me! Each day is a new beginning Never dull or boring It bolsters my faith that love Can solve all problems! Never a doubt that In his heart of hearts Going to work and coming Home each night There is the eagerness over Several hours of not being Here with me, and an Addiction that is hard to shake Desperate to race home Even as his heart beats quickly! Day to day I am restless Early to bed and late to rise As the months go by There is a foreboding Heavy in the air tonight.

What is life when there is no thrill in living? What is death when there is no memory or legacy? What is art when there is no soul or human heart? What is culture when there is no innovation or exciting trends? It is mockery when it is a mere shadow of itself. It is tragedy when the very best fall by the wayside. It is a travesty when an achievement great is subsumed by ego. It is a pity when they know it could be better.

  I. Grey skies shine outside a chill still enters the bones It's February. II. A drone to my left hear fussy minute details I dream of big dreams III. Making the best of ashes that slip through my hands find no diamonds. IV. The world has moved on and all my feeble attempts drop in the ocean. V. Mortality looms blackened petals curl and burn return to ether. VI. Name is not spoken true death happens twice over ghost cries silently. VII. When spring comes again thorns surround roses petals remember.

She seems to have it all runs her business like clockwork words pour out of her fingertips with little effort at all. Her children adore her she takes them to the park talks to other mothers organizes play dates Her husband brings her roses they sit on a vase on her desk his handwritten note next to it: "Just thinking of you." A whiteboard with all of the dates appointments, birthdays, meetings Not every day is packed some have nothing at all others have SPA DAY in big letters. Bills are paid on time her doctor says she has perfect health walks around her neighborhood practices yoga and tai chi for her own peace of mind. I look at that other woman marvel at how she does it and keeps her sanity through it all. Then I shake my head and pick up laundry from the floor.

 I muse to myself that I'm in the wrong profession. I should've been a meteorologist.  Yesterday was seventy-seven degrees Today is thirty degrees cooler The thermometer is confused.  I feel the air pressure drop in my joints and in my muscles. My ring clings tighter to my finger as if pleading not to let go. It runs hot and cold I wish Nature would hurry and make up its mind.

The park has come alive: dogs sleep on the grass children run on the playground teens shoot hoops on the blacktop fishermen cast at the lake. The warm sun bears down crickets chirp merrily the breeze stir the budding trees a couple sits on the bench and watches the goings-on. A writer sits in a shelter records her impressions in a notebook as the painter stands on the shore easel and paints set up captures a jumping fish on canvas. It's springtime, for certain and the earth unfurls from its sleep person and wildlife alike stretches and breathes in the warm air. Difficult to realize that it's only February.

Clear Concise Comprehensive and yet impersonal imperfect impressive. Breaking it down into Elements and yet not seeing how any of them connect. The details do matter every single one given weight being heard and they change the narrative. But concentrate on the bigger picture see how much it really matters miss the beautiful forest for the old gnarled trees.

Do you believe in footsteps in the night? Voices caught midway in conversation an echo of times past The walls can speak the windows can see the cries of mothers the gasps of lovers Lights flicker drift in search of their beacon in a room no longer familiar. Cold fingers caress your cheek blow across your skin want to tell their story make sure justice is done Footsteps along a lonely path doomed to retrace steps over and over like a recording. Whether you acknowledge it spaces have witnessed and scenery will talk.

I. The smell of roses where oh where does it come from across time and space. II. Danger like a snake glimmering fangs quick to strike hits glimmering shield. III. She wanders in dreams this ethereal maiden calling out to me IV. Wolf howls at the moon and I long for his embrace eyes bright as the sun. V. Journey takes me far Every day I hear her voice sings me off to sleep. VI. My world falls apart pieces together at last I wait till he comes.

Wake up every day one of two paths: disappointed re-energized. Path One: wonder why I'm still here yet another day in Paradise that is Hell on Earth. Path Two: There are Things to Do and each day is a new adventure. They all say it's a matter of attitude One leads to dark places the other leads to fulfillment But in my experience both seem plausible one seems to be reality the other a fleeting fancy. Which one is the real one and which one is what I want it to be? I solve that every day.

She looks in the mirror blinks and she is an old woman when did that happen? She does not remember. Her thoughts drift back to his smile a bouquet of roses that are now wilted the petals scattered. Drink coffee stare out into the rain in the fog she hears the echoes of children playing. Snatches of music a waltz long forgotten but she hums the tune traces the steps on the wooden floor. She cherishes the good times gives no thought to the mistakes a young ingenue again the belle of the ball an opera in her mind.

Starting again is never easy But this time it's different. It's because I want to do this not because I have to do this. Endless recitals reminders to practice more because all the aunties ask and so Mom 'asks' for a song It was like a gilded songbird trotted out for a single moment only to be put away again to hear the accolades given to its preening owner. A bragging chip for social credit "You have such a talented daughter." I have to learn the scales correct finger positioning all the foundation that had been skipped or glossed to get faster results I am like a little child again but I start at the beginning and work my way forward.

Love affairs with imaginary characters a writer's dream. In olden days they'd call me dreamer lonely, heartsick, insane Their thoughts haunt me crying out to be heard I am only their chronicler. Unbound by modern rules magic and mystery abide by their own calculations. Each life is precious with their own backstory how can we ignore them? Alternate lives in alternate worlds separated by the thinnest of veils who says they are not alive?

Sixty two degrees The birds are confused Plants poke out from the dirt Is it time yet? Two weeks ago the thermometer sat at eighteen degrees. Step outside not needing the heavy coat the sun's warmth bright reflects off the windows in cheery shadows on the wooden floor. Soft wind blows stirs the still-bare branches couples walk as children ride their bikes and their laughter floats on the breeze. Maybe winter is over. Perhaps the earth takes a breath tries to thaw from bitter cold enjoys this quiet reprieve instead of going straight into blazing summer.

Grass is greener on the other side when you compare things across the fence. Envy begets bitterness but it can spur innovation "Just why is it better and how can we achieve it?" "Can we reach this point can we make it better? What do we need to do and what do we need to change?" Seize the opportunity to improve your understanding to make your world a better, brighter place.

Twice a week now there is blessed quiet in the house. Kids are at school Hubby in the office I can concentrate on writing. Sometimes karma decides otherwise and I just roll my eyes. You know the saying "Don't say it aloud or you'll jinx it?" Maybe today it will be different and it will be uneventful. No sudden phone calls no last minute e mails no one suddenly sick. It would be nice to finish a thought all the way to the end.

It's rather odd... My ancestors have come and gone generations separate us and yet... I still feel them every time I take up my brush and trace every character stroke. And every time I put my hands around a bowl of steaming egg drop soup. When I go through language lessons wrapping my head around measure words and many dialects. I try to pick up noodles with the plain wooden chopsticks with very little grace. Today starts a new year The Year of the Wood Snake "Gõngxĩ făcái. Happy New Year."