Monday, January 31, 2011

Some Prose

The Stack of Books

I sit precariously on top of a stack of books of many sizes. Text books on top of small books of poetry. I feel as though this small mountain of books may come crashing down at any moment. I am scared of the crash and the fall that will surely come. I wobble and shake atop this mountain of ill piled books. How far is the fall and what will happen when I hit the floor? I can’t say that I believe that I will die, because I know that I will not. It’s the unsteadiness that scares me most. I am not on stable ground. Everything that I am, have been, and believe that I one day will be is built on a shaky pile of books. Who will I be when the first book has been pulled out from under me?

Cup of Light

The sky rained diamonds that day. A cup made of shimmering blue light hung suspended in the sky, eclipsing the moon. I drank from the cup and became filled with bliss. I drank and my heart began to fill up with blue light until the light overflowed my heart and spilled out, splashing particles of magnificent light throughout my entire body. I held my pulsating blue heart in my hands.

The Color of Words

Stuck within pages that have already been written on. I have been looking for my voice for so many years. There has been an absence of words and a fear that the absence will continue to haunt me. For what I want most is to be a river deep with words. Painting pictures with beautiful words. Words in acrylics and pastels bringing a blank canvas to life. Red, blue, purple and yellow words. Words swirling together creating deeper and richer colors.


  1. Not just prose, poetry in prose!!! So beautiful and I so relate to the Pile of Books. Just last week I helped a friend go through all of her books and I thought about a time when I did a ruthless book clear. What I was so struck by the reason I hold onto certain books. I was afraid that my identity of student, intellect, and philosophy geek would be lost and I would topple if I didn't have Plato, Aristotle and all of the other philosophers perched on my book case. It turns out that I am still who I was before.;-)

    Your 3 stories remind me of Tarot cards. It is like you are recreating the tarot. Instead of the Seven of Wands here is a tarot reading with the Color of Words, Cup of Light and Stack of Books. LOVE It!xoxo

  2. You'll always be you, or you'll re-invent yourself if the first book in that stack, where ever it may be, is pulled out from under you. You want life as you choose it too much not to. Wow! Cup of light, sounds like the thoughts of one in meditation. Beautiful. Pick a dream and run to the stars with it. Seems like you really need to quit being so cautious and just go for it. I know nothing of Tarot cards, but La Belette Rouge always gives such thoughtful comments.