under cover of darkness in daisies growing randomly through the tall meadow grass.
I feel unstoppable; I hear the joy of my own laughter.
A stunning evening sky blossoms above me, twinkling.
The moon echoes my laughter.
The wind sings a night song.
I twinkle and laugh and sing with them.
The fireflies are back.
as the sun spectacularly and rather regally, sat behind ominous clouds while casting brilliant light across an unsuspecting sky.
This is my solace.
I did not photograph it for that is, right now, beyond me.
I look for that part of my mind that hoards rational thought, that part that keeps one foot on the road even when the road is broken.
I no longer know, precicely, who I am.
I am gullible. Now, then and likely always..
I was struggling to separate reality from fantasy and now I find myself simply trying to tread through unfamiliar water.
The sunset and following moon and stars will, this night, be my comfort.
At least until the fireflies come.
I feel lost and misunderstood.
I don’t expect to feel differently tomorrow, but I am tougher than I look.
I could give up, but that is a coward’s way.
Tomorrow might be different, and if not, mayhaps the day after.
I am beaten, bruised and bleeding; but I’m not broken.
And soon, the fireflies will come.
I await the arrival of fireflies, or as referred to in the South, lightning bugs.
Either way, they will save me.
I await them.
This is a watrebug, not a firefly. Hoping for points for not being an imbecile.
Posted in being myself, blog, creation, mental illness, nature, Nature Photographer, poetry, words, writer
the reflection that looks back does so as though nothing has changed.
As though there is no darkness behind familiar eyes.
As though there is no unfamiliarity in the mundane sameness that take morning into night and back into morning.
The sameness is likely still there, but my perception has skewed it; distorted the memories, played the ultimate trick.
Finding my way was simpler before I lost it.
Mayhaps I will find it again, but if not, if it is gone, how will I ever really know?
The irony of a broken mind.
The photograph below has my copyright, so I know I was there … I just don’t know where there is.
Posted in afraid, alone, being human, being myself, blog, broken, memories, poetry, words, writer
unfurls as it does and time is irrelevant.
It is full of many things.
Joy.
Sorrow.
Disappointment.
Happiness.
Melancholy.
There is no end to the myriad of feelings and emotions that make up the fabric of our lives.
Me, we, all of us want to belong to something, to someone.
Just to belong.
The important thing is to not lose who we are when we try to belong to that which we dont.
A square peg in a round hole.
I would prefer to know I have been true to myself than to find I had sacrificed myself, my thoughts and my feelings for nothing special.
Life unfolds in its own time.
I’m inclined to be patient while it does.
I would rather march alone to my own drummer than to give up the sticks simply to be accepted.
Nature, in all her beauty, would agree, for not one leaf nor wildflower would give up their magnificence for acceptance.
And so, I think, I shall aspire to think as a wildflower; and knowing, that though different I am, in The Creator’s eyes, beautiful.
Posted in blog, creation, faith, from my heart, Life, life experiences, nature, peace, poetry, Time, wildflowers, words, worship
I expected you to be in at least one.
Nearly five years you’ve been gone and never once did you consider slipping in, saying hello, smiling?
Ok, maybe smiling is asking too much.
You weren’t much of a smiler, but damn, you could cook.
I still remember your face, though the last time I saw it was in death.
I really thought you might visit, but being as I am, perhaps it’s just as well you didn’t.
Your birthday is coming up.
I should come sit by your grave; but I won’t.
It wouldn’t matter to you either way.
It never did.
You told me once that nobody really cared about my thoughts, dreams, words and feelings.
I didn’t believe you then.
Now, I wonder.
Posted in being human, being myself, blog, death, dreams, emotion, feelings, words, writer
descends beneath a full moon that lights the fog in the valley, turning it into a magic place, a world of fantastic images, shadows; sweet-smelling and ripe with blooms of blackberry brambles.
A beautiful thing to be part of such wonder.
Such intricate loveliness.
How gloriously beautiful, ethereal, imperial, mysterious and full of magic is the full moon.
As is any phase of the Lunar cycle, excepting the disappointing invisibility of the New Moon.
She, for I think of her as she, makes the dark, midnight hours resemble a muted dawn.
Shadows and silhouettes dancing amidst the cool wind and shifting clouds.
Such wonder in the shattered darkness that enthusiastically precedes a new day.
I talk to the moon, I stand in her light and find a piece of myself and, ironically, a peace in myself.
A moment of belonging to the night, the sky, the universe.
Simply belonging.
Different.
Struggling.
Surviving.
Living.
She, like her creator, loves me though I am flawed.
How, you ask can I speak of magic alongside creation without sounding like a hypocrite?
Because the magic, joy, humility, blatant brilliance and magesty of creation takes my breath away. That isn’t hypocritical, it’s simple fact.
Yes, I love the moon.
This time next month, the fireflies will frolic and dance beneath her easy light.
I can scarcely wait for them.
Judge me if you must, but it won’t stop the fireflies nor the words the moon, if you listen, has to say.
So, yeah.
I do love the moon.
Posted in blessings, blog, blogger, bloggess, creation, earth, human, Life, life experiences, moon, Pentax, Pentaxian, photographer, Photography, words
Tagged blackberry winter, creation, might sky, moon, universe
there were none.
I’m standing on the front porch as the day completes itself.
The sun is setting over a field fresh with young wildflowers and high, lovely hay-grass that will grow tall and be mowed mid-summer.
It smells so good; nearly, but not quite as good as freshly turned earth in early Spring.
The soon-to-be full moon will shortly rise over budding trees freed from their winter solitude.
After this night, changes will come.
I am uncertain of the changes, but am trying to make myself ready for what will happen in my brain.
How odd this must sound.
I have things I must contend with that will very likely alter the way I see everything, including the moon.
It has been a difficult decision to make; this knowing that the way my brain perceives things and people and emotions will change.
I am only what I am, and if I cannot be what I am then I could very possibly be what I have always feared.
Nothing.
I have dear friends who are angry with me, who have not forgiven me for things I was not aware of.
While that hurts me now, next week it will likely be irrelevant.
There is a better then average chance then I will not remember that.
A curse more than a blessing for I am sorry but may not recall my remorse.
I sacrifice one madness for another.
Where, I ask, is the sanity in that?
This night, my last night without the influence of medication, I watch for the moon and hope, that when the lightning bugs come, I will be happy to see them.
I have always found joy in the lightning bugs.
For the first time I can recall, I am not an optimist.
That, in itself, frightens me.
And I dislike being afraid nearly as much as I dislike knowing I am potentially sacrificing my identity.
I suppose I am, after all, a coward.
My niece, unafraid
almost always comes as a surprise.
We know we are different and unusual; difficult to tolerate even during good days.
We know we have odd tendencies that ostrasize us from the general population.
We do things that are out of character and can be hurtful, even though that is not who we are, to others.
Others we love or care about; or think we do anyway.
I say we because it is more comfortable than saying I.
I take responsibility for my madness even though it often happens without my knowledge.
Some of the world’s greatest artists and thinkers were mad, so I am in good company.
But being in good company doesn’t relinquish nor excuse the madness.
Sometimes it feeds it.
But being so, mad that is, leads to one place … a solitary life.
Who, after all, wants to be associated with madness.
Everything isn’t always as it seems, but judgement is swift.
The world will never understand who we are.
You are.
I am.
Madness.
It is a lonely place to be.
But it is, at the end of the day, a place I recognize.
forgotten
Posted in alone, being human, being myself, blog, blogger, bloggess, emotions, feeling crazy, Life, life experiences, Mad as a Hatter, Time, weirdness, words
have their place.
For the most part, they are useless and do little more than induce a headache. They can quickly escalate from simple tears to uncontrollable sobbing.
While sobbing uncontrollably can be purging and purifying, it is one of those things that lands you in the back of a police car in the wee hours of the morning for a personal escort to the nuthouse.
I’m not guessing here, I’m telling it straight.
Tears sometimes come unbidden, unexpected and inexplicable.
No reason.
No provocation.
They come as they like because tears have that kind of power.
The power to overwhelm, discombobulate and wreak havok. They lie and pretend and make merry of themselves without any indication to their derivation.
I have plenty of things I could, were I so inclined, to cry over, but I choose not to because crying doesn’t change anything. And yet tonight, I find tears that I cannot define and have no understanding of running down my face.
I cry over many things, that is true, and sometimes, I cry just to be crying. But I know when I’m crying that it is for a specific reason or, as is sometimes the case, just to be crying.
I am not, as I am tonight, stymied by the origin of the tears or their purpose.
So I came up with the only explanation I could think of …
these tears aren’t mine.
I don’t know who they belong to, but I am rejecting ownership.
I cry when I need to cry; when the wind is right, when the clouds are perfect, when lightning finds its way into the lens of my camera, when someone close to me is gone, when my friends are hurting, when I miss someone, when I realize that I am an idiot, when leaves change in Autumn, when I’m mad (mad tears being the ones that get everyone in trouble), when I’m happy … well, this could go on for days, so lets just say, I know when I cry even if I don’t know precisely why I cry.
I’m not the one crying.
Not this time.
These are not my tears, but because someone is crying them, I will endure them for their sake and hope that the morning brings them solace.
I like to imagine that I live in a world where the few people close to me know me unconditionally. I realize that while they know me, they, in every likelihood, will never really understand me.
That is a constant that I have learned to live with over the years.
I can’t keep up with my own madness so how, pray tell, could anyone else.
There is no fault, no blame, no accusations.
Just the smack in the face of reality and reality, make no mistake, can pack a serious punch.
My drummer plays a tune that is out of sync with the real world. That’s how it is and I live with it.
But … since these are not my tears, I simply say wth, wipe them away and move on.
Or try to.
They are persistent, these tears that are not my own.
I have a life to live, photographs to take, places to see, dreams to dream, music to learn, piano to play and I don’t have time to play emotional games with players that apparently, since they can sic their tears on me, outrank me by a considerable margin.
It would be more conducive to rational behavior were the tear-sharer to make themselves known to me.
If I sound nuts, then all is right with the world at this moment, because I am, even on a good day, teetering precariously on that fine line between reality and insanity.
I don’t deny that.
But dammit, I know when I’m crying tears that belong to me.
I am what you see, what you see is what you get, what you get is what you see and there aren’t any games.
So … somebody claim these damn tears and face your own demons because my schedule is already full.
my depiction of an eye … a pencil sketch.
Posted in a photographer's heart, being human, being myself, bipolar, blog, blogger, bloggess, emotions, pencil, Photography, tears, words
Tagged blog, emotions, gina minton kearns, life, Through the Eyes of the Spirit, words
for a bit of a while.
Wandering aimlessly even though I knew full well the direction.
But I didn’t follow them.
The directions.
It happens to everyone at one time or another.
I left what I knew to be true and followed what I wanted to be true.
A path that can lead to nowhere in particular.
I have made it clear in previous posts that “religion” has very little to do with me.
Depending on what someone believes, their “religion” could be just about anything.
I love Jesus.
I do.
I fail to show it more often than I succeed, but it is true.
People fail.
It is in our nature to falter and to struggle.
We. Are. Not. Perfect.
But Jesus doesn’t expect perfection.
And that is a very good thing.
Otherwise, we would all be doomed to what we have done.
Don’t shake your head and say you haven’t done anything because trust me, you’ve done plenty.
If my past was the crux of my salvation, I would already be doomed.
I could tell you stories that would curl the hair on your head, and if your happen to be bald, it would sprout growth.
I deserved to have stones thrown at me.
I still do, every day, and yet, for some reason, Jesus loves me.
One day, He will dry the last tears I will ever cry.
That is a lovely line and I would like take credit for it, but it comes from a song from Casting Crowns called “The Wedding”.
It says a lot of things that mean something to me.
Why?
Because I know that any goodness I have, have had or will ever have comes from Jesus.
He made a choice to give His life for all of us.
God didn’t make him.
Jesus was, as we are, of free will.
He could have opted out and even prayed that the cup be taken from him.
He could have refused.
But He didn’t.
It should be enough to know that he could have and didn’t.
I judge myself daily, multiple times. I don’t need others to judge me, but they do anyway.
All I really know is that He shows me incredible things through His creation.
I feel the wind on my face, the sun on my skin … see the lightning and hear the thunder.
I am amazed by who He is and what He has done.
I feel odd saying that He loves me, but He does.
I don’t know why and have stopped asking.
He just does.
Via Casting Crowns: “There’s a stirring in the throne room” … “the last tears she’s will ever cry have been wiped away”.
Today is Easter.
The “Third Day”.
“Resurrection Day”.
I believe this just as I believe the birds sing, the sky is blue and the moon is beautiful.
He loves me even when I am unlovable, tainted, scarred, sinful, judgmental .
He finds me beautiful as He will find you.
I will share this day, not my photographs, which He has given me through the eyes of His spirit, but a song by the group Casting Crowns.
Know your worth in Christ.
He is beautiful and finds you to be the same.
Don’t be ashamed of who you were, be joyful in who you are.
We are His and He loves us even though we are not worthy.
A beautiful thing, that.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C2q4mxl1OXM
Psalms 139:14 ~ I will praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
Marvelous are Your works, And that my soul knows very well.
Posted in being human, being myself, believer, blessings, blog, blogger, bloggess, broken, brokenness, Casting Crowns, choices, faith, follower of Jesus, free, Freedom, God, Jesus, joy, Judge, Life, life experiences, Photography, Time, words, worship, writer
Tagged beautiful, beauty, blog, Casting Crowns, creation, Easter, encouragement, excitement, faith, gina minton kearns, gina minton kearns blog, God, God's creation, grace, He is Risen, jesus, jesus christ, life, love, sinner, spiritual encouragement, Through the Eyes of the Spirit, words, worship
A Photographer's Heart 