Stone at Roxborough: Photo by Noelle
Veins run deep. Pockets of distortion, pits and sticks. A landscape cracked and disturbed, stained and bleached from the sun. Colors soft, contrast drifting into shade. Solid, firm, reliable as an East wind. In stone a story I hear with my fingers.
Stone and Sky: Photo by Noelle
Stone and tree
Earth and sky
Balance
Red rock erosion: Photo by Noelle
Crumbled
Water first,
Then wind erodes
My surfaces, going
Flecked off or tumbled down
As sand piles slowly at my feet
Snow at Raccoon Creek: photography by Noelle
Snow on spring blossoms and turns the sky in shades of gray. The yellows and greens are gone today while slate and shake burrow beneath thick robes of white. Silence fills the afternoon where birds had been singing only yesterday. No mowers out for lawns and the garden gloves are in their buckets. Huddled in the house the quiet pulls up last year’s losses and leaves them in the compost for the flower beds yet to be turned. It should be a sadness that tugs in the silence, as my heart was hungry for the trail. Instead, in blankets of tartan red I absorb a last winter’s charm. In the dark afternoon blooms my peace.
Path into a wood: Photo by Noelle
Image pulled from The Mind Unleashed Facebook page
The deep secret of the divorce. I stole a pair of my exes jockey shorts. The ones that are actually like shorts. Gray cotton soft, gentle waist band and my ass looks great in them. Even the flap in the front seems to flatten my belly. I love that flap. Like the secret door to a magical mystery tour. I wear them to bed or dance Zumba topless around the house. The naughtiness is in the theft and that they’re the wrong sex for my wide hip need. My friend thinks it’s odd, but I challenge she simply lacks the courage to step out of the feminine box. We tell men to find some estrogen, well I dig the testosterone rush when I slide them on. Sexy and charged is what they give my lazy Sunday’s reading the paper.
They remind me of him, in the way he liked my style. My need to be only me. For many reasons, I needed to let him go, but his jockeys still belong to me. It’s the part of the story of us that still lives in my jeans.
(Work in progress from The Writer’s Church in Boulder. Hosted by Marj Hahne and inspired by “Pink Pantsuit” by Nancy Simpson)
Re-posted from Twin Flame Reunion Facebook page
“She undressed my thoughts and made love to my consciousness.”
(Quote posted by Jacob at Dreamsmatic group on the Insight Timer app)
Free Bing Photos
Emptied egg shell
Pock-marked, hard exterior
Now cracked
Potency gone
Creepy membranes of
An old self
Cling
Crushed into earth
Proteins
Seep deep
Enlivening
Another seed
Waiting
And hungry
For energy
Transfer of life
One to another
Each new
Unique
But
Connected
In wholeness
And
Brokenness
Such is life
Such is death
Free Bing Photo
“You exist in time, but you belong to eternity. You are a penetration of eternity into the world of time. You are deathless, living in a body of death. Your consciousness knows no death, no birth. It is only your body that is born and dies. But you are not aware of your consciousness. You are not conscious of your consciousness. And that is the whole art of meditation; Becoming conscious of consciousness itself.”
~ Osho
Re-posted from Meditation Masters Facebook page
Heart an ocean bay
Drawing in love on a wave
Herons wade the reeds
"Nothing Exceeds Like Superfluous Jejunity "
Stories and Musings on Modern Life
Explorations in Authenticity by Michael Mark
Myths, legends, folklore and tales from around the world
❈ Silvia Ganora Photography ❈
Free to Be!
Usually Poetry
5-7-5 syllabic haiku in the english language
Love
Intertwined passions ~
Design, Make, Pray, Repeat
Auf einmal ist alles relativ
Just my various random & miscellaneous stuff...
Expanding Fully in this moment, understanding ourselves deeply, finding happiness
Meditation Travelogue 
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