Opening the laptop with a blank page to type,
Fingers skimming over the keys,
A warmth washes over,
Like sticky buns being pulled from the oven on Christmas,
A familiarity and a comfort,
Like settling deep in a worn oversized arm chair,
What will this visit bring?
The neurons of excitement firing on all cylinders,
Feeling like the first taste of coffee with french vanilla cream in the morning,
Heart and chest expanding into a smile,
Who knew body parts could smile?
A short visit before plunging into the world of business,
Where you are much like a child playing dress up,
Masquerading around among adults who seem so well suited to their work,
But here, here with 10 fingers flying across black and white keys,
Or here, gripping a pencil as it brings images to life,
Removes the concern of not having a place,
This place, this inner home, this free expression, it may not pay the bills,
It may never bring riches or fame,
But it is yours,
It is a place that does not require an application or credentials,
It does not care if you can network or if you are extroverted,
Looks or material things make no difference,
There is no performance review outside of the one you may decide to give yourself,
Therefore, go into the world,
Do as you must to survive,
But never doubt your worth or your place,
Your place is here, waiting,
It is the white space beneath the last sentence you wrote.

Moon – Tread – Cold Night (October writing prompts)

My once barren soul being re-fertilized,
Nature filling that space,
That longing to feel desired,
When I take walks and really be,
She is the woman I’ve been looking for.
I breathe and she puts smiles back to my face.
Smiles that at many times feel like 1,000 pounds to produce,
I force myself to bring it to surface even when she is unable,
Acting as if,
Hoping that the laws of the universe will return my output,
Waiting for magic,
I wait because the moon has promised it to me,
What it is, is unknown.

Treading these cold nights of my soul,
Using this time to prepare,
Growing in my awareness of both myself and the mother who surrounds me,
Trusting more each day,
Knowing that every need will be met,
Continuing the mantras, the service, the seeking,
Building the beautiful new construction of myself,
Tearing down old walls of doubt and fear,
Digging deep,
Relinquishing fresh soil where new and beautiful things can be planted,
She knew what it would take,
Time alone,
The inability to use money or women as distraction,
Endless opportunities for service,
Guides both in and out of recovery,
Providing direction to where I am needed,
I await the time when I am there,
On the road,
Hand in hand with the her, the one who requested that I follow.

Struggling to stay standing,
As the waves come crashing in,
You stand nearby unaffected,
The undercurrent begins pulling me down,
You start to move away to where the water is warmer,
Perhaps that is safest,
Finally aware of the danger you face,
With this flesh eating bacteria invading your space.

Drowning rarely looks like you’d imagine,
It rarely is the person splashing and screaming for help,
It’s the quiet ones who silently keep gasping for air,
The ones who, by the time you reach out, aren’t there.