Mine, All Mine

Sometimes the concept
feels weighted with hubris.

We’re borrowing everything!

In a day
how many breaths
are you forced
to give back?

Why be so invested
in holding on?
Your stack of stuff may one day
smother you.

Every room
in your being
could use a big exhale.
Why not just let it go?

Come on.
See that mirror?
Look, you’re turning blue!


Messages of Love

On January 28, 2017, the day of my sweet husband’s inurnment, my friend Amy sent me this:

Dearest Sister Sandy,

   Today I participated in a yoga workshop…Inner peace for World peace…4 hours of yoga bodywork, oils, meditations and profound healing teaching of the Chakras.  The concept..we are One…when one shifts…all shift.
   The last meditation we experienced. The following prayer was first spoken for us, as an individual, then for our loved ones family and friends and then for one certain person that comes to mind….the Lord brought you to my mind…..and then we finished for our nation… the same prayer….
   So around 5:00 today, this prayer was spoken over you…by 20 people
May you be filled with loving kindness and grace.
May you be safe from dangers both inside and outside.
May you be well in body, mind and spirit.
May you be happy and at ease…
On this special day for you and Bob….feel the loving kindness…
You are loved
Sister Amy
Here’s the thing—
At that very time, 5:02 by my camera card time, I took this selfie
because I was being flooded by a beautiful golden light as I sat on the sofa. 
I don’t remember such a light striking me on the sofa before:

Faces from the News #7

photos-from-the-news-1— Pencil on copy paper

How quickly the faces comes across the TV screen to be followed so quickly by “a word from our sponsors,” and deftly erased from our minds.  When this woman appeared,  I felt her and I identified with her plight, so I paused the TV and took a few minutes to commit her to my memory, taking pencil and paper, and living with her for a moment in line.

Bach and Debussy*

Bach and Debussy


Why such a title?  I suppose it was my attempt at synesthesia.  It is, of course, an abstract piece, but it seemed musical to me.  Bach seems sort of golden to me, while Debussy seems pink, lavender, and flowing.  
Perhaps it brings something completely different to you, or even nothing at all.
From wiki:


Main article: Chromesthesia

Another common form of synesthesia is the association of sounds with colors. For some, everyday sounds such as doors opening, cars honking, or people talking can trigger seeing colors. For others, colors are triggered when musical notes and/or keys are being played. People with synesthesia related to music may also have perfect pitchbecause their ability to see/hear colors aids them in identifying notes or keys.[20]


Frozen winter day,
Silent in its surrender.
Nothing left to do.

Frozen into a paralysis, neither
Right nor left moving, safer that way.
No branching choice, no “or” nor “either.”
“Primum non nocere” as they say.

Winter sometimes seems like stagnant death,
But’s more like sleep and dreams, this dormancy,
Cacooning branches bare, of leaves bereft,
Awaiting Spring’s renewed transmorphancy.

Day comes once more.  A new horizon sun
Breaks radiant beams as croci lift their heads.
So fresh, so bright, so clean and new this one,
As fearless-furled Prometheus now treads.

Silent underneath the many stories
Exists a bass line body’s ears can’t hear.
In spite of all man’s wars and wiles and glories,
“Be still, be still, and know that I am here.”

In this, in that, and in the other thing,
If you could see with artist/mystic eyes,
And know tree truths residing ring to ring,
Then much without would vanish, being lies.

It’s this, it’s that, it’s God, it’s you, it’s me,
Though words and words and words will not reveal
The Suchness of this It-ness’ Primacy.
A thousand variations still conceal.

Surrender now.  It’s what you want to do.
With empty hands and open heart you find
Your drained, dry vessel free of residue,
As God comes rushing in to fill your mind.

Nothing.  No thing.  The empty-fullness reigns.
And Being in Own-Most-Ness now resides.
No goal, no dream, no Midas glitter deigns
To tempt you from where Beingness abides.

Left is nothing more for you to do.
And though you stay, you have already gone,
And walk in peace where others see the fray
“As it was in the beginning” and is now after all.

To understand the seasons is to know
A comfort everlasting that enfolds you.
The time has come to halt the to and fro,
And rest within Love’s womb beneath the snow.

Do not fear the sun in solstice station,
For all is gone of struggle and of strife.
“It is good” is how God judged Creation.
Surrender to the respite ebb in Life.

The Attic at M. L. Edwards

  The Attic at M. L—    –Watercolor

This anchor store in Mt. Vernon, Texas has been collecting remnants of its life for over a hundred years.  I was charmed by all the pieces of this and that, and had to paint them and their secret, gigantic room.  It was summertime and the heat was challenging, but I loved the wonderfully cluttered space whose windows with their antique, rippled glass overlook the town square.