I'll be glad when winter is over.
But that could be the end of March.
Ugh.
Until then, I'll trudge along...
After all these years,
I'm still amazed at the relief cycling brings
to my brain and body and soul.
But I don't get as much soul-relief when cycling indoors
compared to cycling through woods and meadows and mountains.
Soul-relief comes when my soul is filled, satisfied.
Where do I experience that?
When is my soul lifted beyond the material?
When I solo-travel into nature,
cycling greenways and rail-trails
and driving the winding roads of the Blue Ridge Mountains
as I listen to music, which also
feeds my soul.
I am transported into the multidimensional,
a space in time where I feel connected and whole,
where Father Time seems to slow down and whisper,
"This is what you were made to do..."
Life pulsates all around-within.
The presence and witness of the trees
and ancient rocks and cliffs and the rolling river.
The presence and witness of gnomes and tree fairies,
whether or not they really exist.
The presence and witness of wildlife,
who oftentimes make themselves known.
Sometimes our eyes meet and time stands still.
Sometimes the life moves alongside or above or below me.
Upon answering my two questions,
which for me are really one,
I felt a tiny inkling of guilt.
Shouldn't my answer be when I am with friends or family or loved ones,
the people dearest to my heart?
Or when I witness another's freedom from a long-term bondage,
another's wellness and wholeness?
But if I were to choose my two shouldn't-answers,
I would be lying.
I'll be glad when winter is over.
Until then, I'll pedal mostly indoors
allowing memories to roll me along
into the multidimensional...
Thursday, January 17, 2019
Tuesday, January 1, 2019
A sort-of Christmas poem
Christmas is over, again.
2019 is here for the first time.
But really, it's simply another new day.
One that is here for the first time, again.
Man devised a calendar numbering the days.
I think Nature's New Year would be the moment after Winter Solstice,
when Sun begins to shine longer in the day-sky,
starting the cycle anew, again.
Each year would have two different New Years,
one in the North and one in the South.
If a body had the means to live in each hemisphere,
they could begin a New Year every six months.
But still, there'd be only one Christmas each year.
Man devised Christmas, like he did the calendar.
Fond childhood memories I have of Christmas.
One being, sitting solo in the presence of the tree.
Lights aglow, darkness surrounding, smell of fresh cut pine.
Quietness in the air, mystical, magical.
Since being married, we had always adorned an artificial tree.
But we've not put it up since at least 2010.
Nerve damage developed in Spring, 2011.
I miss having a Christmas tree.
This year, I told Hubby,
"If my improvement continues,
I'd like us to get a real tree for Christmas."
Next year? Year after?
Dim... Bright...
Bright... Dim...
Bright.
Keeping my hope alight.
2019 is here for the first time.
But really, it's simply another new day.
One that is here for the first time, again.
Man devised a calendar numbering the days.
I think Nature's New Year would be the moment after Winter Solstice,
when Sun begins to shine longer in the day-sky,
starting the cycle anew, again.
Each year would have two different New Years,
one in the North and one in the South.
If a body had the means to live in each hemisphere,
they could begin a New Year every six months.
But still, there'd be only one Christmas each year.
Man devised Christmas, like he did the calendar.
Fond childhood memories I have of Christmas.
One being, sitting solo in the presence of the tree.
Lights aglow, darkness surrounding, smell of fresh cut pine.
Quietness in the air, mystical, magical.
Since being married, we had always adorned an artificial tree.
But we've not put it up since at least 2010.
Nerve damage developed in Spring, 2011.
I miss having a Christmas tree.
This year, I told Hubby,
"If my improvement continues,
I'd like us to get a real tree for Christmas."
Next year? Year after?
Dim... Bright...
Bright... Dim...
Bright.
Keeping my hope alight.
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