labyrinth

What is powerful like a lion, 
    
    gentle as a dove,

               shrewd as a serpant, 

     beautiful as a rose, 

and vast as the ocean?


  My spirit when it collides

            with His... 

danza sacra

Just as the 
      cardinals
& the sparrows

 chase after one
        another
& twirl mid air
    in some secret
dance of 
      Spring,

 so God desires 
    our relationship
to be 
   like these 
feathered ones... 

 a sacred dance,

    both intimate 
       & playful,

ever pursuing one
      another...

 Our song
      a beautiful melody, 
a testament of our
     love for one another... 

 under a canopy 
        of green
He romances 
      my soul, 

taking me under
    His wing, 
He shelters me
    from the storm...

    He is my Guardian,

my Source, 

    the lover of my soul, 

my partner
   in this sacred duet, 

 this hallowed
           dance. 

Demons

  Hidden deep within

the things of which 
   I swore I'd never
speak
 raise their ugly head
to be confronted
  once & for all,

only now
  I'm stronger, 
     more determined
than ever... 

 If I back down
   now,
the ghosts of my past
   will forever haunt
my path...

If I face my demons, 
    only God knows 
 the depths I'll have 
   to descend
in order to
       rise above... 

But I must
  rise above... 

I will learn
   what I must
from them

  and purge myself
of the rest... 

then, and only 
   then, will I 
lay these demons 
   to rest. 

I can hear
   every flap & flutter
of their wings
    as they
chase each other 
    from branch to branch
& tree to tree... 

Occasionally they'll take
   a break
to come say hello
   or to fly circles 
around me...

Their bright red feathers
    flash in the 
       bright morning sun

as their songs,
   crisp & clear,
      pierce the 
humid air
    like a symphony 
 that stretches
       for miles... 

morning melodies

 the sound of the rain
       kissing the earth
reaches my ears 

   as my eyes take in 
the brilliant greens
  of nature
that surround me... 

 the birds' songs 
   echo
off the trees
   & penetrate 
the every weakening 
   walls around 
my heart... 

  they speak to me 
with enchanting melodies
   at once
drawing me outside
   myself
and deep within.. 

 I soak in 
      the beauty 
of my city

as I prepare 
   to leave it behind. 

the daughter of Da Vinci

full of childlike curiosity,
walking with grace & poise,

expression revealing
contemplative concentration
& wisdom 
beyond her years,

eyes hinting of 
the mystery within,

an extraordinary specimen,
a free spirit
& child of the earth,

a creator and vessel of
beauty

Bound

Do you ever feel trapped

inside your own skin?

Maddened by a song

kept deep within

Longing to break free

Taking care to 

keep from tossing 

pearls before swine

Haunted by visions

beheld by your own eyes

Pensive state mistaken 

for a quiet nature

Bound by a body

seasoned far beyond 

its years

Restless...

Hesitant
To let myself
Drift off
To sleep

Unsure of what
Waits for me
In my
Dreams

Will I receive
A word
Of revelation?

Or given a
Glimpse
Of what is
To come?

Or shall I be
Haunted
By visions
Of death?

Only God knows
What waits
For me
When sleep
Overtakes
Me.

On the road

On the road
Is where I thrive

On the move
Is where I feel alive

Only a small suitcase
& a bag full of journals
My constant companions

New lands
Ever beckoning

New corners
Of the world
waiting
To be
Explored


On the road
My soul ignites

On the road
My words take flight

Divine Creativity

When an artist creates, a piece of their very essence is imbued into that work of art. As we each were formed in the womb by the hands of the Creator, something was imbued into the core of our being: a spark of creativity - the ability to bring forth something beautiful into the world. Everyone on this earth possesses that spark, though it looks very different for each individual, whether it takes the form of cooking, building, painting, writing, playing an instrument, singing, farming, acting, sewing, drawing, etc. 

We are all creatives. The difference is whether or not we choose to invest in and validate our own form of creativity. Whether we are brave enough to pursue and develop it, no matter the cost. 

We were created to create and to pursue our passions. This is what liberates the soul. When someone creates from the depths of their being, whatever the final product may be, it will move others deeply- whether it be a powerful painting, a carefully prepared dish, a mesmerizing melody, a towering structure majestic & awe-inspiring, a tranquil garden, a passionate poem, or an inspiring story. 

Being true to your inner creative and pursuing that creativity passionately is of utmost importance, for it is what points toward the divine creativity within each of us. That glimpse into the divine is worth the path of uncertainty that comes with following your spirit rather than worldly ambition. 

the Tide

  
    my hands
          more often than not
are stained 
        with muted tones
   of acrylics,
           ink & charcoal
  these days...

    ink of a more
permanent kind
       has begun 
  to creep 
       down my arm, 
 proclaiming 
    what has been 
  hidden underneath
        for so long... 

the long, golden locks
     that once fell
   to the curve of 
         my lower back
   are gone, 
      replaced by a 
            boyish crop
   that now 
     accentuates 
my sharp features
          & eyes
  the color 
     of a rainforest,
 full of energy
         & life... 

  the diversity
of cultures
        I've been 
  exposed to
      & influenced by
becomes more 
    apparent by the day
as my art
    once again 
 undergoes the process
        of evolution... 

It seems my 
       horizons 
   are expanding & 
compressing
      at once, 
rendering me
     unable to do 
anything
    but surrender
 myself to 
       the Tide,
  the Current
    rushing through 
my veins, 
     allowing it to 
guide me
      where it will... 

always moving, 
       growing, 
              changing...

 only now 
    has it made 
itself known
         outwardly,
rather than 
    keeping the 
fire hidden 
      within... 

 I hardly know 
      that I'm ready 
for what lies 
         ahead, 
  so surely
      they will 
    not know 
        what to think  
  of me 
     anymore... 

  but no matter... 

 I will ride 
      this current
upstream, 

  I shall let 
       the Tide
wash over me, 
   purging me
of the
    meaningless

   & take me 
      to a place 
  of life, 
     transformation, 
  renewal, 
           freedom, 
       & purpose. 

divergence

    the falling snow,

          pure & white, 
  
                 clean & weightless,

  reflects my heart, 

       washed anew, 

          purged of the filth, 

    the residue that 
    
         remained from past sins... 


 a new woman
  
    now occupies this body

that sits looking out 

        the window

into grey skies

     birthing these intricate crystals, 

 these fleeting treasures... 


  Gone is the youthful innocence that once was, 

          here lies a more
                    seasoned soul, 

          clothed in grace, 

  ready to spread her wings

          & soar. 

inception

   I had a dream long ago - 
a vision, if you will, 

     in which all the people
of the earth
        pursued and engaged in
  that which they were
               created to do... 

those inclined to create music
        created beautiful, melodious music, 

       those inspired to dance
                  danced with grace and fervor... 

those inclined to paint
         painted with all the colors
      under the sun... 

   those inspired to build with their hands
               built sculptures and buildings
        with great precision and grandeur... 

those given words and insight
      wrote with profound eloquence and wisdom...

  those with a special bond to the earth's soil
            cultivated crops and plants 
                      for both beauty & sustenance... 

nimble fingers
 sewed, knitted, and quilted 
                 brilliant fabrics and 
                     soft materials for clothing and warmth... 

    all working together in wonderful harmony and
              in such a sweet rhythm, 

        meeting one another's needs, 
                bartering their crafts, skills, 
                     & time...

   
   I awoke with tears filling my eyes
       from witnessing such beauty
    and from having to leave such a place... 

   
  Upon much reflection, 
           I now know that this 
is the very reason

           the world now makes sense
       only when 
I am in front of a canvas
            covered in paint...

   the reason I must continue to create, 

            to bring a piece of that 
    vision into fruition
                 
            here amongst a society
  looking only to make a buck,
              leaving all inclinations 
    & inspiration behind
         somewhere along the road 
between expectation
                        & success... 


  to inspire others to dive head first 
            into this vision,
                 finding their voice, their place, 
    above the noise

            & calling out to others
                       to do the same. 


    

through the eyes of another...

   Beneath these bright, 

         cloudless skies 

crowning this luscious, green 

     country

  I sit

  under the shade of trees

  that rest 

    at the foot of the volcano...

turning a piece 

  of lava rock 

       in my scarred

but lovely hands,

 I observe its surface,

      porous & rough, 

while a gentle breeze 

     washes over me, 

kissing my dark

  skin

     & rustling the foliage 

above... 

  I close my eyes

      and breathe it in,

praying that it

   washes away the 

scars in my heart

       & on my body... 

  I can smell the lake

on the breeze... 

Lake Kivu, 

    

    both beautiful 

        & haunting, 

where thousands of 

   coffee farmers

drown every year

       attempting to 

smuggle their crops

    across the border

        after dark

to do business 

     in an economy 

better than their own... 

  Sounds of bodabodas 

        & horns, 

    the bustle of the 

            market, 

  & children playing

           in the distance

reach my ears... 

   There is much 

to be done...

     cooking, cleaning, 

  & taking care of 

     my younger siblings... 

but I had to 

     get away,

if only for a 

      moment... 

 I open my eyes

    & my gaze 

falls once

       again 

to the scars 

    that cover my body... 

scars from a group 

      of rebels

that passed through 

      our village, 

destroying our homes 

        & crops, 

 killing many, 

     attacking & raping

me and many 

     other girls

    who couldn't get

away fast enough, 

      first hiding 

their siblings

   & children they'd born

from past attacks...

  The flashbacks 

        force me 

to close my eyes

           once again,

 trying to blink the 

       memories away...

 I take a deep 

       breath

& slowly open

     these eyes-

     these eyes 

holding more 

     pain

        & 

        maturity

than a girl 

    of fifteen years

 should hold... 

     I take in 

         my surroundings

      and 

      for the moment

      the images are gone... 

 I stand up slowly, 

      brushing dirt off my skirt, 

 and place the lava rock 

     in my blouse pocket...

 I thank the trees 

         for their shade 

    & solitude, 

      then begin my 

way back

      to the village. 

7:30am

[A morning in the life

of a Congolese girl]        

  

Reverie

A bird

hidden amongst

the trees

sings to me

loud & clear,


adamant 

that I

hear him out.


He has a beautiful

song.

admonition

   Embrace the moment.
       Breathe each breath purposefully. 
Realize that you are right
where you need to be... 
            that this very step
            is essential to the next. 
   Open your heart & your mind 
   to the lessons 
   waiting to be learned. 
               Close your eyes & listen
               to the answers
               waiting to be revealed.  

His Presence

1/29/13



     there is no 
           part of the forest
   more alive
         than this one

    at this moment... 

         the birds flock 
    to him, 

         this solitary boy
    with his guitar
          singing praises
   to the One 
          who created 
   this sacred place...

       they sing along
              with him 
   to the Song... 

     on this bench 
          called "No Regrets"
          I sit
     as He stirs my 
             soul, 

   romancing me, 
         showing His great 
     love for me, 

          His unconditional love, 
     of which I've 
              never deserved...
      

beneath grey skies...

  Underneath these grey skies
            I rest
     looking out across 
                the tree tops
     bare & lifeless... 

      birds small & large 
           sing to me
      their winter melodies
             while hiding
        behind roots
                 & limbs...

       they sing to me 
                 of distant lands
           from whence
                 they fled
    when the cold air 
                 descended... 

    they sing cheerfully
           on this warm, 
                grey Tuesday... 

  perhaps the mild day
           has fooled them 
      into thinking 
             that Spring 
is right around 
             the corner... 

 that sunny skies 
        & the warmth it brings

 both to the earth
          & my soul

 has come early
       this year... 

Oh if only it
       were so!

How I long to bask 
       in fields of green 
grass & brilliantly 
       colored buds

under the harsh
     rays of sunlight
darkening this now
   oh so pale skin... 

 Oh how I long 
        for this cold, 
  lifeless winter 
      to be but 
an ever fading 
          memory... 

  Dear feathered friends, 
      let it be so! 
Sing to me
      of newness
  & life

     teach me to sing
            once again...

 Cool breeze
       course through  
 my hair

    & clear out 
 all the thoughts 
      that 
  crowd & cloud 
      my mind... 

  swaying trees, 
       teach me
  to dance again... 


 

metamorphosis

  It is incredible
       how much the sky
changes
   in the hour 
               the sun
        travels 
from far below 
                  the horizon           
to spread its rays
            across the earth

    forcing the darkness back
          & bringing in a new day... 

  displaying more colors
          than i could
                 hope to record

  & radiating warmth
        through the cold air
and my ever-searching 
                            heart...

unveiled elegance

    today is my first day
         wandering this place
      since the leaves fell... 

        the crisp winter afternoon
 leaving the trees bare, 
       reflecting pure gold
   beneath the bright sun

         contrasting against 
     the cloudless
             pale blue sky...  

    the magic & mystery
          has remained
      even as the 
            foliage passed away
                & 
       the deer all but disappeared 
                 from view... 


    there is something beautiful
               about the naked limbs
     cascading over 
                   the dark, glassy lake...

    the vulnerability,            
            the unveiled elegance... 


 a solitary raven
            soars high above
     the water, 

            higher & higher, 

 taunting me, 

      beckoning me
                    to come...


   then disappears
        over the crest of the
   far hill.

Winter Blues

    how easy it is

         to look 
            without seeing,

  hear 
     without listening,

                eat and drink 
                 without tasting,

        touch 
           without feeling... 

   to become only a shell
              of the person

               you once were. 

fan the flame

1/11/13
1:00am


   Sometimes I forget
              the fire
 that burns inside
                     my chest... 

Every day life, 
             expectations, 
  the fog, 

      the complacency 
                 that surrounds, 

  they all creep 
        into my 
   subconscious
                 and 
  
     I neglect the flame,
leaving it 
       a mere ember

      and leaving me

                     numb. 


   But then I remember
            the insatiable 
            fire
                   roaring from 
the depths of my soul...

   the energy, 
         the passion, 
     the potential, 
the determination

      betrayed by 
the gleam in  
     my dark green 
           eyes... 

    the slight 
         upward curve 
of my lips
      only hinting 
   of what lies beneath..     

      at times
         the flame 
      grows so strong
      that

 I wonder 
       how my small 
   frame will 
          contain it. 

  It is then I am 
        reminded 
to always 
        remember

             the fire

that lies 
       within... 

never to take 
    it for granted, 

    and to continue 
         to fan the flame

until the day
         it flickers

and is 
extinguished. 
  

Old Haunt

in this little 
      coffee shop

squished between 
      the Hermitage
Home Depot 
         & Lowes

    I've spent more
  time
      than any house
I've ever lived... 

   It was here 
         I spent hour
 after hour
      reading, sketching, 
  writing, working... 

    talking with 
           old friends
       &
  making new 
                 ones... 

   It was here 
         that I broke up 
with my 
     high school 
  boyfriend

and spent
       the following 
   weeks
       adjusting 
to single-hood

    and eventually 
embracing it... 

   here I     
     deflected 
many a 
   creep,

   chatted with 
lonely old
      men 
         & 
    women

  frequenting 
       this 
caffeine 
      sanctuary 

 hoping for a 
        sense of 
familiarity...

   It was here 
my dad
      chose to 
visit me

  like some 
cold business 
        meeting...

  here 
     I acquired 
the taste 
    for my coffee black...

   here I escaped 
        from the 
suffocating walls 
     of the 
  small Christian
        college I attended... 

  It was here 
        I began 
to challenge 
    the way 
         I'd been taught 
  to think
       about the 
    world
       & 
   about God... 


  and though 
      I've traded
this old haunt 
       for new ones
  in the heart 
    of Music City, 

  it is here 
      that I come 
to reflect
      on all the 
  things that 
       make me 
who I am 
     today... 

  It is here 
       I still 
escape to... 

   here I feel 
home. 

the refuge

    high in the trees
            there is a place, 

a refuge, 
      filled with vast walls
  made of glass

      where the birds keep 
one company 
          & the squirrels oft
     swing by to say 
            hello... 

   where sunlight 
              filters in
         casting a golden 
    haze throughout
              the space
    like some divine
              vision... 

It is not a house 
       but is indeed 
a home- 

  A place to find 
             rest 

  & commune 
            over
        bread and wine... 

  a place of 
      weighty conversation

where books 
          tower high

 & jazz music
         dances around
    the enclosure...

   not a house

   but indeed 
            a home. 
          

propriety

  It would be 
       more acceptable

to speak of

        the long nights
              downing coffee, black
      or brandy
          on the rocks, 

 the days spent 
        skipping showers, 
   shaving, 
        and clothing, 

        running around the 
              house
       in my underwear 
      
  baring every tattoo
                   and freckle,

  or surviving 
       on a diet 
of bread and almonds
       for weeks

   all for the sake of my craft


had I only been born 

a man. 

Morning Glory

  I sense the sun
         before I see it... 

My eyes open 
     slowly 
  to take in the 
        warm light
filtering in 
     through the 
  closed blinds... 

 I stretch out 
      on my back 
warding off 
   the lingering 
      haze of sleep... 

 I make my way 
     down the stairs
of this new house
       of which I am 
  merely passing 
       through... 

always passing 
     through... 

 I grind up 
    the cheap 
       coffee beans
I find in 
     a cabinet 

  and put a pot
on to brew... 

   I lean against 
the counter
      and glance over 
at the gorgeous 
        piano
 beside the staircase... 

I walk over 
      and sit at the 
bench 

    running my fingers 
over the 
      smooth ivory keys... 

  I begin 
      to play 
a familiar 
     tune... 

Beethoven's 
          Fur Elise 

   My fingers 
dance 
    up and down 

the familiar keys

   sending notes
beautiful & haunting
        through the 
otherwise empty
                 house... 

the hardwood floors
           & high ceilings 
 provide incredible
     acoustics...

    
    I move on 
to another 
      familiar tune... 

      an old hymn, 

Come Thou Fount... 


     again my fingers
glide up and 
          down 
   the full length 
of the piano... 

    the notes loud 
and clear

     full of energy

I let the 
      last notes

linger... 




     looking up 
I see my 
        reflection
  in the 
      glossy black 
finish... 


     I am a ghost
           in the reflection
of my 
   beautiful piano.