Ode to Childhood Things.

 

 Ode to Childhood Things

 

I’m not sure where to go, who to ask, so I’ll write here, and be bold.

                      I am looking for a kind of soul.

                             One who knows the real gold.

                         For there is a sorrow deep inside.

When children no longer can be, and they have to hide.

    When I see their hearts have no place to shine.

And I hold the door open, hoping to keep it alive.

It hurts the most at times, when I, stand here, and I hear children’s hearts cry.

When their goodness takes on gray.

So, here I stand. 

And say a word. 

I know the truth, and point the way.

And so my heart wants to ask, is there an insurance claim that keeps childhood, a clear-looking glass?

Is there some place to file a word, that keeps all hearts open, and children voices always heard?

Is there some divine guard, that keeps paradise safe, and love unscarred?

                         A place that can protect that which is most pure and good.

                             Who will protect childhood?

                           Who will ensure that it is never lost?

                            And it is always kept a sacred spot.

               Where simplicity is loved, and laughter allowed.

                      Where all things flow, in such away, all moments are gathered, all the nows.

              Where dandelions dance, and flowers bloom.

             And possibilities are always bigger than any gloom.

                Where moments are precious, and eyes lock.

        And we see, the worth within love, and we claim that spot.

                        Where every soul remembers its youth.

A place, of undying truth.

I stand like here, and see the young come, and go.

And many times, something takes over, those whom I used to love, and know.

        And I, in my sorrow, of what seems lost. I hold out hope for childhood dreams, and things forgot.

Of all the beautiful moments, of true seeings.

                     Behind the mask, a soul, a child, within, every being.

So please, if someone you knew so well, hides their child.

It’s there.

Look.

For I know them well.

And so do you.

                     See them, even in their decaying state.

                          See the child, behind the ego’s slate.

                                Look, within the cracks of life.

                                See them shining, oh so bright.

                                    Little glimmers of that good.

        That undying soul, of fierce love, that was misunderstood.

                       I hold aloft my heart, my little flag, and say, I make my claim with the childhood land.

                        And insure that spot. And keep it safe.

This land is forever mine, where I choose to stay.

                   I have many secrets, that I cannot tell. But I do know the love, and keep safe my own well.

                        Oh in defense of wild things, I, stand here, and sing, and say, a word. And Sigh.

Oh of unplowed land, and butterfly wings.

Of seemlingly unimportant things.

                  Who will guard, and who will watch? Who will stand in the simple ways, without a manmade watch?

                            Who will wonder, and wander, and saunter, and just be.

                                        Oh, for those untamed bits, and things most cannot see.

                                  Of wind, and rain, and smiling lips.

                                And eyes, and ears, and wings unclipped.

                             Oh, the brave souls who still fly.

I hold their banner high.

I clap, for those who still dare dance.

For things that keep childhood, and loves kiss forever on their lips. 

And give simple things a chance. 

I make my stand with untamed hearts.

For gleaming eyes, and those bravest parts.

For those who love, even when blind.

For those who love, when very little are kind.

For those who give, when no one gives back.

For eyes that shine out love, in darkening times. And see childhood, and make silly rhymes.

                             I root for things most obscure.

For roots, and hidden treasures, and things most pure.

For those who know the value of space.

And those who give, even the most horrid grace.

To those who love peace, and claim that palace. My own dwelling place.

To those who revive the dead, and wake the souls of love, and crown that truth of real goodness upon their head.

I cheer for birds that dare nest in city streets.

                               Of flying geese, that speak of peace.

                                 Of puddles, and rainbows, and shooting stars.

             Of spiders that still spin their webs, within unwelcoming corridors.

                            Of untamed spirits, who dare to try, of mountains that still grow so very high.

                                   To waving wheat, and lightening bugs.  

                                        And dirty hands, and unplanned hugs.

                       To music that might sound off-key. To dancing oh, so freely.

                                Here is my ode, to childhood things.

                               To the brave and quite voice, of love that still beats, and sings.

                            I’ll stand here, in my childish spot.

                      Here it’s not too cold, and not too hot.

                           Where mermaids still swim, and fairies still dance.

                      Where little things are given a big chance.

             Here I see a harvest of souls. A place where few dare go.

                   The space where belief, and magic collide.

                And the moon makes water rise.

       And I’ll keep safe for you, your childhood place, if perhaps, you forget its face.

                I’ll stand here and wait, just outside the door, where imagination lies, and loves beautiful music is written on every score.

                               I’ll sit in the tall grass, and watch the clouds.

                           And if you must go, and make your way in the world, as most choose to do.

                             Remember, I will insure that your childhood space, for me and you.

                                I promised, you, even if you don’t remember the day.

                 I looked into your bright eyes, and saw your soul, we had a lot to say.

                            And cried, when you said you had to go.

                             And ever since, I’ve stayed right here. Guarding childhood, from year to year.

                              And sometimes, in the twilight dim, I hear a wind chime, and let a child come back in.

 

A looking glass

 

 A Looking Glass

 

Who will look into the glass 

Of all the worlds, and times, and the past?

Who will see the clear reflection.

Of God, the innocent, the perfection?

What eyes will know, what heart will feel.

The self, the Glory, the knowing, within the, calm, the still?

Who will see the child, in the aged, and old?

The beauty, of decay, beneath the things we’ve been told.

The shaking voice, the trembling hand, or in the softness of a newborn’s hand.

To know the secret beneath the veil.

The hidden things, behind the stories we tell.

Childhood. Aged. Between and betwixed.

There lies something, beautiful, forever, a truth unchanging. Fixed.

Who will seek that which cannot be sought.

The glory of God, where no battles, are fought.

Behind all the words we say, and things we do.

Look, see, There is God, inside of you.

Dark or night, day or bright.

Here, there shines an eternal love.

See it fly. High above.

 And so, I see as we pass so blindly, and disregard things that don’t look shiny.

Pause a moment, please.

For in the looking of that space.

You give yourself, love, and grace.

And hold the moment, with your hand, aged, young, new, or gritty, smooth, turn into glass, all the sand.

And peer into that clear moment.

And with your seeing, and heart of gold.

All things unreal fall away, and the truth unfolds.

                                                                               

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                                                               

 

The Goodness of God

Dear blog, 

 

There has been so many lessons it feels like I've been trying to integrate into my life. Trying to take a bit of everything I've learned thus far, with me, as I dance, and sing, and live, and move, and love, and learn more. Sometimes I find it overwhelming, and sometimes I find my heart so full, that I don't know what to say---on the sad days, or the really joyful days. Sometimes I write, just me and God, and I feel it is what I can do. And so it has to be okay.

       And sometimes I share them here. 

        And sometimes my heart just says hi. No words needed.     

           

 Bess and I have been painting the walls for our community musical----more like directing painting of walls, we did have so many people volunteer, and it was beautiful, and yet here is still much to be done, and still painted. That day there was magic happening, I feel. Even though my sister hurt her eye, on plexiglass, she was making a window for, and had to wear an eye patch. Though it's healing. We've all had to be each others third eye, I feel. 

And I feel that we are all one, at such a level, that is beautifully, incredible. And sometimes I forget, and sometimes I remember. 

And so do we all. And I guess that's the beauty of it. 

 

And today we have another music program yet again, at the Bird center. 

                    

                    We keep saying, as we go along, "Not my wall, but thy wall be done." As it is everyone who is painting this wall. And some directing, and some pointing, and some seeing.

 

But it is all our wall. 

                

                           My mom was listening to this song this morning. And as I have to get ready to do more music, I thought I'd share this song. As it is beautiful, and good. And I wanted so much to say hi, and hope that I can find the words to write more, when it is the right time. 

                 

Have a beautiful day,

 

Bess is reading out a song she wants to sing to our dad, who really liked this song, "If I had a hammer."  

So I guess better go.  

Steph

 

 

 

 

A very good day.

 Today was a very good day. And though there have been some very difficult moments, and some hard bits, it's been a beautiful month, if I took and piled up all the beautiful kind things, and people, and love, and sunsets, and sunrises, and good things, and good vibes that just float in, so wonderfully, it would be quite a list.

Smiles. 

And.

Apricots.

Rainbows in the form of sun dogs, everywhere. Vivid ones.

Water.

Swimming.

Open hearts.

Cherries.

Present moments.

Shoes. 

Loving neighbors.

Music.

Hugs.

A beautiful Rosemary plant.

Smiles. 

Truth.

Light.

Kind words.

Beets.

Laughter.

Comfry leaves. 

Good friends.

Trust.

God's Alchemy even when I wasn't sure.

Love still found its way through the cracks---even in the hard bits, there has always been a silver lining, where God clears away something, and something better always comes.

It rained buckets last night, so I had to pack up my tent, and sleep indoors. Because Bess is under a tree, her tent is a little more protected. So she went back out, during the night.

My bedding got wet, and so did the inside of my tent. So I stayed inside. 

 But I just set my tent up again, so I'm excited for the fresh air, and the moon is full tonight. It's just really a nice evening.

Bess, I and Amylia had a very nice play practice, today, though it was so baking hot on the the stage. One kid had sunburn that was quite miserable looking---from a previous event. I had brought some of my comfry cream that I'd just made. Actually, I can't say I made it alone. As it felt like it was doing itself. Someone brought us some olive oil to make some more with. And someone else brought us bees wax, and essential oils, and comfry leaves. Bess was the one who first taught me how to do it. So technically, I just put the ingredients together. 

Anywhow, so we put some on his burns, I hope it helped.  There was another person who had just got hurt from his horse not behaving, it was smaller horse, and he was trying to hook it up to a little wagon (to use it as the wells Fargo wagon) the day before. But it bolted or something, and the wagon really got him, so he was bruised. He also got some cream. Then there was another person who had hurt his back lifting a too heavy box, on the 24th or 25th of December, and it had still been hurting him, so he got some cream too. 

Amylia brought a big umbrella, that saved the piano players, that were baking in the sun. She also brought a little pressure thingy, that misted water. So we took turns misting everyone one on stage, to keep us cool. And for the most part, it was quite fun, and I felt like we were all trying. And that is beautiful. 

There is a lot of sets to be painted, and designed, and Bess volunteered, so we will also be helping with that. I also hope others help, too, as it is a big job.

Then when we got home, we helped Amylia get her very heavy ride on lawn mower, unstuck as it got stuck in sandy dirt. And it's really, really a heavy thing. And at first it would not budge.   I got a shovel, and shoveled the dirt away from the tires, and then we all three of us pulled it out. That was satisfying. We have so much fun together, Amylia has such a big heart, she makes Bess and I both laugh. Which is real nice.

Then I got some much needed cleaning done in the kitchen and bathrooms.

It was getting late, and Bess and I both wanted to swim, but the canal was empty, and we thought perhaps it was too late to go to the rez. But Bess asked Amilya if she wanted to come, and she did. So we three went to the rez. And we swam, and showed Aamilya our favorite spot, we call the cove, that is hidden by most swimmers. It's just a nice little place, surrounded by green, though last year they dug out a lot of the trees. But the green is growing back again, and little while flowers are growing there.  We all swam and enjoyed the sun setting. And the beautiful mirror-like reflections on the water. I swam up to the shore, and slipped, and found the mud was very slick-clay. Amilya likes mud, and so I gave her some. It was very much moon--mud like my nieces, and nephew's would call it.

I handed her some mud, and she promptly smeared all over her face, and around her eyes. I did the same thing, and we both looked quite funny swimming around with mud covered faces, our eyes, peering out through the water, and mud. 

Then...

When we got home, my little sister, wanted to do fireworks off, as everyone in my town is celebrating pioneer day, today, instead of the 24th, like they usually do. I got my ear muffs on, and watched her, my brother, and my nephew light fireworks. Mom, Sarah and Bessie too. 

I also got my singing bowls out, and Bess and I sang, to the singing bowls. 

The moon was bright, and full, and beautiful. 

While I was tiding up the kitchen, I was listening to some music, and this song came on as an add, to interrupt my normal playlist. I stopped, and had to watch it, and though it was quite lovely. 

So I'm sharing this here. 

I'm real sleepy, so goodnight.

  

 

Through heaven's eyes

I have a headache today. Sister had one yesterday. And someone in the play had a headache the day before.  I was out trying to water my garden, but it was so hot, I had to come back in, even though I'd gotten my head wet several times. I was in my room, resting, and decided to go say hi to Tess, one Bessie's violin students. And Tess hadn't heard these songs before, so Bess was letting her listen to them on youtube. I found this version, and I really like these songs, so I sharing them here.

500 miles

Bess also showed me this song. My mom also really likes it. It's the first time I've heard it. It's beautiful.
 

Puff the magic dragon

 Bess has been playing this song so much, it made both her and my mom cry. It's so cute. I'm sharing it here. Plus a boy they focus on in the audience looks just like my nephew, and he loves puff the magic dragon stories. 

A way back Home

 

                         A way back Home

 

This was today's sunrise. It was so beautiful. And worth sharing. Bessie is always pointed them out, and I was lucky to see it. 

 My little nephew Kippen turned 13 this past week. And all his cousins had so much fun plying at the res, digging a mud hole, and getting special silky mud from the deep part of the water, and bringing to shore. It's a tradition they have every year for his birthday. And they always get so muddy, and funny looking. This time, I decided I'd hadn't ever joined them in the mud puddle, so I did. I got in, and got super muddy like they did. 

My sister Jeana tossed out shells, and polished purple glass so the kids could have fun finding them, like a real beach.

 On the fourth of July, one of my brother’s home-school friends came down to visit. I think it’s been 25 years since we saw him.

                He and his sister did some school with us, growing up. One time, we all flew kites together. That was such a fun day. My aunt, whom I thought was very rich, bought us all kites. And each one of us got their own kite. It was so fun. It made a huge memory. And ever since, I’ve always thought flying kites was wonderful. And It's something I like to do, with my nieces, if the weather permits.

                Anyway. I wasn’t sure what to think about coming in to visit with this long past friend, as my brother and him were older than I, and I had mostly been friends with his sister.

                But I came in, and said hi, and he seemed happy to see me. And after a little visiting, I found out he played the guitar. We have one, we don’t play, so I got it out.

                He tuned it up, and really sounded good. He sang, and played, and sounded quite beautiful. He said he used to have a band, but had not played much now. He looked quite afraid, and I thought it was beautiful that he sang for us, even though his fingers shook.

                I wasn’t familiar with the song, and he said, "it was a Pink Floyd song. Wish you were here.”  I had to go look the artist up, because I haven't really heard his songs, that I can remember. 

Either way, It was very interesting. His coming. He seemed very somber, and quite sad. I think he has a computer job that is hard on him. But he seemed very happy to make music for us, though.

                Anyhow, that night, I went to watch the distant fireworks on the top of the chicken coup roof, it was quite lovely, and beautiful. Bess joined me for awhile, and then went back inside.

I saw a beautiful star shoot across the sky, and go green. Almost like it was showing off, competing with the fireworks.

After the fireworks stopped, I got off the roof, and went to check the goats, because I heard a little goat baaing as I was making my way to the roof.

                I got a flashlight, and found a new tiny baby goat. It was super cute, with hardly any ears. It was a lamancha goat so its mom has really tiny ears, and the baby hardly any at all. I think I want to name it July, or sparkle, or star. Something to do with the forth.

                Then yesterday, was interesting, because our sister, Sarah's car was having problems, and really needing new tires. So we followed her up, as best we could to the tire shop in our car, but we were a little slow, but we ended up at the shop together. Enough to find out she'd gotten the wrong size of tires. She ordered one tire, and will get the rest later, and left her car to get fixed. Then we went shopping, and took Sarah home. She has grown a ton of plants, so many, lots of fig trees, in pots. She loves flowers, and gardening, and is always growing beautiful trees. Though she's been a lot more tired since she got shingles, and loves, loves to eat popcicles now. So she loaded up on otter-pops. Then we went and ran another errand for another sister. 

At the end of the day, we wanted to go swimming and invited our friend down the road to come with us. But her hip was hurting, so Bess and I came to her house, to give her a massage. Afterward, Amillya, (I'm really not sure how to spell her name) gave us her old guitar from high school, because she never plays it, and is cleaning out. So now we have two guitars. I wonder if I should learn how to play it now? She said her first husband was an artist, and painted a black and white picture on the case, of some 70's artist I think. I can't remember who she said artist is painted on it is---billy something? I just thought it was interesting, because I’ve been shopping for a necklace similar to the one painted onto the man on the guitar, case, to give the lady who had actually given us the guitar. Because she likes turquoise.

 So it all feels connected, and quite interesting, and beautiful.

    At play practice, today, a lady asked me to compile pictures I'd taken from all the past shows, because they are having a party big cast party at the end of the month in honor of the director, with a special gift, I can't mention, just in case he finds my blog. All the cast members from past shows are going to be invited, and so now I'm going to be going through old pictures I've taken, to share them.  I guess all the past plays that I've been present in. At least the one's I've been apart of in some way,

    Today at practice, my favorite part was rehearsing around the piano singing with a bunch of other women. For a moment I could feel my heart vooming.

The girl that sang the Voice for our Blue notes concert--and read the scroll for us, is playing Marion--the librarian. She was there, and was happy to see us. And all the women seemed happy to be singing in that little room, trying their very best. And it felt quite nice. I love those heart vooming moments.

     While rehearsing, outside, on the lawn. I stood back, and pondered how interesting this all was. I was watching the director, and some of the cast members saying their lines. The director was having a lot of fun, helping them get their lines right, and put themselves into the part.

  I wondered…as I watched them all.

Wondered. How curious it all was.

Life.

And us all acting here on his lawn. And everybody trying their best to play their part well. To do it the best they know how.

                                                And I wondered, from my view, maybe we are a play within a play.

                                                Maybe we on the lawn watching them play, were, in fact, playing our part so well.

                                                Maybe all of us are in some sort of life action movie.

                                                Maybe we’ve rehearsed everything before we ever came here.

                                                Maybe every mistake, and every bit we did or didn’t do here, was something we’d all scripted long before.   

                                                Maybe we got so good at our part, we finally all came down here. Playing this cosmic drama out, word by word, action by action.

                                                Perfectly rehearsed.

                                                But without a memory of anything before this.

                                                And every character feeds of the other cast member saying their lines, and that is how we remember our lines. Because we’ve done it before. It comes naturally.

                                                Whoever comes, is part of the story.

Some are side characters, some walk in walk and walk off. Here they are. And then not.

Some play big roles.

Some add drama.

Same add comic relief.

Some add plot twists, and turns.

Some add beautiful soft elements.

Some are meant to stay, and some leave.

                                                So here we all are.

                                                Saying our lines. Acting our parts.

                                                Perfectly.

                                                And maybe, just maybe, once in a while some characters get glimpses of something a flash of light. A seeing. A knowing. A feeling. A sense, a remembrance of something else.

                Out in the audience----cast members that have gone off stage.

                A prop breaks, and someone forgets their lines.

                And everyone is confused.

                What to do?

                Someone in the audience claps, the weather makes something glitch.

                And some of the actors remember, “Oh, that was just a prop.”

                “Oh, that was, So and so’s line. But I can step in, and say something. Maybe add a bit here.”

                And maybe some actors roles are quite simple.

                Maybe someone is the door.

                Maybe someone puts props on, and takes them off.

                Maybe someone’s only job is to give you something and go off stage.

                Maybe someone’s job is to cheer those behind the stage, as they come off, and on.

                Maybe someone’s role is just to help the cast member remember their next lines.

                Maybe someone's job is to a mirror, very simple. Very still.

                To be as clear as they. So that those who pass by can remember who they were long before this play started.

                “Oh, I see you, there you are, Love, you’ve hidden so well.

                I see you.”

                There you are.

                Love. Hidden under old shabby bones, and an angry face. “You almost had me, you played your part so well, I nearly forgot how beautiful a soul you have.”

                “I see you, love, hidden under vices, and woe, and all those stories that kept you running the same lines. I wouldn’t have seen you, except for the crack. But there you are, like the sun gleaming behind clouds.”

                “Oh, and you, pain, and sorrow, and l knew there was more to you, than what I first saw.”

                “Guilt shame, glory, honor, rich, poor, happy, sad, big, small, no matter your costume, I see you.

Love.

Dancing on the stage.

Sometimes the story is very convincing.

But look.

There you are.

Love.

Light.

The truth of who you are.

What fabulous costumes we all have, what beautiful fabric, what amazing props, what a fantastic director. What a script, what lines.

What a story.

And all passing through, and for how long?

A play, so grand, we all have taken part.

Seen every role played out, as we have been part of it all, until we have come here.

And the mirror was given a mirror. 

A mirror, and some light.

Someone shone light on it, and it saw itself clearly. 

And the mirror knows, that, though the story runs on, and the actors too.

And sometimes the mirror gets fogged, and needs cleaning from time to time.

Here we all are.

Look.

See.

The audience, too. 

Do you see?

We are all just seeing something, saying something.

Dancing, watching. 

Wondering who will give away the secret first. 

Playing together.

                And when we get all caught up in the pictures we see.

A glimmer of light flickers somewhere. On or off the stage.

Even the cracked mirrors show light, and can reflect the entire show.

             And little by little,  we remember, and see, and know, that built into every person.

                Is a mirror.

                And when there is enough light, I see myself, my truth, reflected in you. 

                A beautiful mirror of love.

                The divine truth animating us all.

                And when I am still. I see the truth, reflected within, and without.

                What a beautiful thing that is.

                And if we are still, long enough, the sun always shines, stars always gleam, the moon will always show its face. And light will always have a place.

        Your heart will always shine light out.

So that one at a time.

                As we look, one by one, we all remember, color by color, the veil over our hearts is lifted.

        And we shine out.

        The message of the entire play.

        The words written behind the story.

        Love has woven us all together.

        Love was directing the entire show.

        Love always helps you find your way back home.

        We were meant to, as Ram Das so beautifully says, "We are all just walking each other home.

             

 

This is a song my mom wants my sister and I to learn, so we can sing it somewhere.