My Hands May Be Little...

My hands may be little,

but they are my strength.

From bars to beam,

vault to floor.

My hands they may be little,

but they are my strength.

I am a gymnast,

through and through.

My hands tell my story.

They are weathered

and worn.

Calloused and torn.

Beaten up,

and sometimes bruised.

Though my hands may be little,

they are my strength.

Sometimes they are pretty,

though rarely soft.

They are usually rough

and covered in chalk.

They are the connection

between falling or defeat.

I know them to be reliable,

and expect perfection,

performance without fault.

My hands may be little,

but they are my strength.

My hands may be little,

but they are strong.

They know when to hold on,

and when to let go.

They make my routines feminine 
& oh, so beautiful.

They show off my power!

They show off my strength!

My hands my be little,

but they are my strength.

They make me a gymnast.

They make me push for more.

My hands may be little, and

though they may always be sore,

but they are my strength.

So remember when you shake my hand,

to shake it with unwavering faith.

For it takes a lot of courage & belief

in all that I do.

In all that's at stake. 

With my little hands working
tirelessly to be,

the gymnast that I dream of.

The gymnast I am suppose to be.

Though my hands may be little,

they are my strength.

My hands may be little,

but they are my strength.

They will not let me falter,

They will not let me fail.

Because even when that

Happens, they pull me back up,

and work harder next time around.

To be the better gymnast,

even though I've fallen down.

For with each tumble,

with each fall.

I am confident in knowing,

That though my hands may be little

But they are my strength.


Hands: Anneliesa, 7
Photography: Dani St. George



Through This Light I Am Committed

She took aim.

Focused.

Framed.

Committed.

Clear in her course.

Her muscles fibrillated.

Mind racing.

Heart pounding.

She began to sweat!

Her back foot slid a bit.

it distracted her.

Flinch.

Shallow breath.

Mouth watering.

Lips Dry

The silence became deafening.

The ringing louder.

A flush moved up her chest.

She warmed,

exhaling the suffering with her breath.

She stopped with her last release of breath,
her finger pointing,

And drew it back on herself.

In a slightly broken curl,
she slowly drew her finger
to her fist & directed all
the light into her.

All that she was.

All that moment brought.
Then to now.

All that she is to become.

All that she ever denied herself.
She pointed to 
the soul that requested
this point of light.
Committed.

She gasped for air

A long, 
drawn out,
 laborious cleansing,
into her lungs

The energy,

The light,

Her angels,

Her guardians,

Her cords,

RUSHED to her.

Around her.
Into her.
Through her.

And through the back door.

She held up her hand,
The light was so bright...
What was she looking at?

silence in her first breath.

A piercing white space.

Crisp.

Pure.

Gone are the rationalizations,

validations,

Contempt from actions.

Gone are the 
excuses,

distortions,

the reasons why 
I never gave myself,

Worth,
A chance,
Courage,
LOVE.

GONE

were the voices,

berating's,

undermining,

and shame

The cant's

don'ts

won'ts

how could you's!

It was washed with acceptance.
With love.
With the hearts voice of

I was,

I am,

I will be.

It is the new foundation

to my inner creative. 
My complete separation
from what was theirs,
not mine.
Though I gave it ownership.
What they expected,
and demanded.

To simply

express,

feel,

pound out!

Define.

Push through
the shroud of
them.
To reveal 
me.

Immersed
in my vibrant light
only I can see.
The presence in,
and joy of,
there's only one me.
A great creation
designed 
to share.
Give.
INSPIRE!
Believe
and be humbled
by the energies 
around me.

My way
was not clear
as in a direction or a path.
It was a way of existing.

Though now,
through
doing.
Of being.
Of living.
Of loving.
Of expressing.
Of sharing.

Of being,
present.

I opened myself up
and willingly received
the grace of the energy
demanding to move through me.
It was through this light,
I finally did see.
That I am a gift,
may the world embrace me.

Through this light I am committed,
For this is the clarity
of who I am to now.
 To Be ME.
A gift for the world by 
simply being me.

Image By Ladyp Enrhyn
https://www.facebook.com/mary.springham.9

What Matters

What Matters in

What you See.

Or is it

What you See 

That Matters?

To See the Matters

That Matter.

To what Matters

Can only matter

By what's Seen.

So it Matters

How I See.

Because what I've Seen

is the Matter of Matter.

Matter-of-fact,

I've seen more than I'd like.

But I like

That it Matters.

What I've Seen.

And the Seen in my Matters

Is more than 

what Matters.

Because of how I See.

I see what

 Matters, 

because it Matters

that I've seen

what I need to See.

So to See into the 

Matter,

Is as important as

the Matter 

coupled with to See.

One is not complete

without the other.

The Matter,

Or to See.

You see?

MySELF

I sat down, almost in a slump. 
Arms limp to my sides.
I had had about as much as I could take.
Nobody knew my story.
I had grown tired of explaining.
I had exhausted in IT.
IT was feeling like a burden.
A spiritual lesson I couldn't quite seem to understand.
A botched Law of Attraction.
And, while in the midst of wrapping my brain around a recent diagnosis of my middle child,
it hit me...
Look inside at what you give to the outside world--then look beyond MySELF. 
NOT, yourself.
BUT, MySELF
This was an issue of ME!
OF SELF! 
MySELF.
The part of me, the SELF, who I am.
MySELF
Whom is that?
What makes up the SELF wrapped in ME or MY?
How does that affect those around me?
What drives MySELF to make my life extraordinary but leaves me depleted?
The disconnect happens where?!
Within MySELF.
Figures.
(*Figures IS figuratively coupled with literally.)
[*What is always present & in front of you, BUT has NEVER added up to a clear picture.
A descriptive way of giving that mental image of here & now...its ME!
I keep getting the wrong answer!
I know...
It's because I have always sucked at math.
Funny how math affects EVERYTHING?!
(my business math teacher from college would be laughing right about now)
Its gotta be multiplication.
And it's not just the math. It's the one engaged in the math.
It's the order of the operation. 
The methodology.
SHIT!!
I've got the order of the operation completely wrong!]
ANALOGY TIME.....
So, like the butterfly, it's flight creates vibrations.
It's flight vibrations are sent out into the world.
With each flutter, another vibration dispels its energy into the world.
In all that I do, I am creating a ripple in the energy of my life.
And those close to me.
And those around me.
And those beyond that.
A circle of energy through vibration will travel back to me eventually.
Some days I am like a boulder rolling down the hill & crashing into the water...
Not much survives that title wave of power.
Other days, 
it's just a tiny droplet hitting the surface.
Initially not making much of an impact, 
but eventually the results reverberate back to me in a much larger & changed form.
I've been looking for a different result. 
When I've already put IT out there,
what will eventually be returned to me.
To, MySELF.
What goes out as love, comes back as a greater love.
What goes out as indifference, comes back as boredom.
When I give up, sorrow & suffering are returned.
MySELF feels & responds from experience.
MySELF decides worth.
MySELF argues with my heart & my head.
MySELF, my soul, often grow weary.
Needing rest.
Needing nurturing.
Needing permission to let go.
So it can rest & nurture itself.
MySELF seeks clarity.
MySELF knows & denies LOVE deliberately, often defensively.
It's that denial that causes the slumping in the chair.
Exhausted & worn.
It is not a state of presence. 
Of being MySELF now...in this moment.
I have the order of operation all wrong.
I am slumped on the giving end of MySELF.
What I was, has been returned.
TO ACCEPT in that energy that I sent out.
I had forgotten,
in whom it affected.
In how it changed lives.
Good or bad.
To inspire comes from what I give....AND how I receive.
To inspire takes a lifetime.
To receive takes but a brief moment.
I don't ache in my slumping, 
as I am in position to receive.
It is through this receiving & accepting,
that I can release my energy again purely,
clearly,
as
INSPIRATION to those willing to receive.

I send out now, 

with my hands upward turned,

My creative energy in all I must tackle.

Be that through my art,

my writing,

words spoken or felt.

I send out to the world, in a small ripple

my love & a bit of warmth,

from

My SELF!

And in the end, when you can't find your way through. There's always one place you can go to find what you are seeking....its through the mind of Dr. Suess!

"Unslumping yourself is not easily done."

exactly!

She Painted Souls

My heart thumped loudly.
It was all I could hear.
His voice distant now.
I once danced just for him,
He loved it so.
Dirty, though elegant.
It's all so distant now.

She fumbled her words when she spoke of her dreams,
He didn't pick out the points she was tirelessly trying to make.
This frustrated her, an inability to describe the thought.
She gazed sometimes at other men,
He thought she was straying,
She was curious how some men carried themselves.
It didn't always mirror the way they were dressed.
He began to respond as if betrayed.
She didn't explain well.
He did not understand.
She painted soul's she saw on the street,
Men mostly.
He began to rage and said, you'll know no other man than me.
BUT....she still couldn't explain so he would understand.
So she painted.
They were faces that moved her brush in paint.
She could speak with each stroke. Line. Color.
Jumbles of light shards & emotion moved her soul.
Awaken her mind.
Pushed her to create.
But she could only paint what she felt.
It was her way to tell her story.
He did not understand.
He only saw him.

She wept as she painted him some years later.
He didn't look the same as in snapshots.
She remembered him differently.
Strange.
His face had hard lines & little kindness.
It was not a gentle image she pushed onto her canvas.
I love you so, she cried.
You made me want to dance...even when I was alone.
I don't dance anymore.
But I paint you now in my sorrow.
You've changed.
I loved this? She wondered.

His image hung in a gallery window.
He passed by.
He was grief sicken at his image. A reflection of his soul.
He could see her dancing, dirty and elegant.
He gave up on her to soon...

Original art by Cherie Strong

A Boat

She never said the stillness could hurt--
                                                                      Inside at least.
                                                                      She only said, that the void of waves had a soothing 
                                                                        affect.
      The mist blanketed me, 
I was melding into the curve of the hull.
                             There were faint sounds, but I 
                                                couldn't make them out,
                                        or to which direction had they come.
My light shone bright.
making up for my sorrowful heart--
a heaviness, like the air.
                                         To that,
   I think it was the clouds that had come down.
         They do that you know...
                                                     when you need to see things differently & refuse to respect the
                                                   order of things.
                                    They drop down & make the world obscure of its color,
                                               it's life & all that entails--
                                                                                          to whoever is participating.
                                                                     Some just go along, with the ebb & flow of the tide.
                                Others like me, attempt to control, direct...define the circumstance.

      hhhhmmmm...hhhmm...hhm...hhhmm.......
                                                                                     hhhmmm....hhmm...hhmm......

I find myself humming effortlessly...
a meditative state like no other.
                                    My pain fades.
                                                              I smile.
                                                                           I look so peaceful floating in my boat....
                                                              ......oblivious to the ebb & flow....
                                                                                                    ....as I go.

Away, with the clouds....
the light burns out & the wind whistles through the cracked lamp glass.
And there the raven dwells,
                                      peering at its reflection. He is the alarm to those who see this boat
                                        adrift....weighted with a death.
                                                                        Dusk, casts color over my soul & flickers in its 
                                                      beams on the water. The raven drops his stone.....
                                                        I am now meerly ripples.

The boat & light & sounds are all so distant now....I can barely
              make them out.
                                             I will continue my rest....as I ebb & flow to another world.


                                                                 

I Stand Alone

I Stand Alone
In many things I do
It's not always by choice,
Or even because I want to...
So often,
it's just a matter of circumstance,
a fact of life.
So often 
I Stand Alone
and I just don't want to.

Then there's the times I think I'm in the lead,
the one who's ahead.
When I stop...
shit, there's no one behind me...
I Stand Alone.
Or when I got pushed,
And told, "you do it!"...I stood there...alone.

I Stand Alone mostly as a matter of consequence.
Like, when I am waiting to hear the results for something that might be bad news...
I don't really want to be alone.
OR
When you might win! Then I want someone there to jump for joy with and definitely NOT be alone.
OR 
When I am feeling over-whelmingly grateful, happy, in LOVE, appreciative, thankful...then I want that someone who's invoked those feelings there, so I can give them a HUG!

BUT
sometimes, no matter what...
I so often end up alone.
I've resolved it as a lesson being repeated that I have not learned. Standing in public spaces or wrapped up in heart-wrenching moments, I Stand Alone.
Alone at the bus stop...not another soul to chat with.
OR
Waiting in a line at a store...cashiers can be so cold & matter of fact.
OR
Expecting a call or hoping for a letter to come.
OR
When your heart has been broken & your in a room of people.

Sometimes, you burn a bridge & even the most loyal of friends abandon you...
...that's when you are really standing alone.


Sometimes I Stand Alone when I have protested my opinion firmly on something that is in desperate need of a voice to shout to the masses & tell its story, while everyone thinks you've plum gone mad!
That's when I proudly Stand Alone.
Sometimes we have to take walks that no one else can walk...
Down paths that have no matter to them, only you.
It is then I Stand Alone.

When these moments control my time, I look to my faith to remind me of this journey.
That within each moment that I Stand Alone, I am given a stronger foundation of ME to stand on.
So that one day, when I am out front, either from being pushed or by choice, or with those that followed or also know...
I am wrapped with a different kind of courage, as
I Stand Alone.

MY Sowing of Me

I'll just straighten this  a bit...and nobody will know.
I'll make it look like its always been here.
Bury the smell underneath the underbelly,
Until it begins to blossom & it frightens the weeds,
Then the birds can come,
As well as the bees.
They will do their work
Spread the beauty.

I hope nobody see's me.
It's my last seed.
The last of me.
Nothing will bother it here.
I pray
I believe
I just need to find the right spot.
The soil must be rich,
Black and
SO Cold

To this soil I sow
my hopes
my dreams
my wishes
my cares
my loves
my pain
my sorrow
my faith
my courage
my kindness
my laughter
my humility
my struggles
my strengths 
my liabilities
my perspective
my resilience
my fragility
my fortitude
my envy
my creativity
my heart song
my wind song
my prayers

I  don't want the ugliness in there.
It prevents complete growth
It's genetically tall like the bamboo
Utter strength
And the color
Cataclysmic!
I'll leave the sins out
They dull & wash out the color
And the delicacy is gorged out by negativity of control

Releasing this seed to the soil
Connecting
Completing as intended
The Sowing of Me
Will wait & see


Photographic Image By Emily Yost
http://www.emilyyost.com/

Last Two Petals

It seems vaguely familiar,
This light that is blinding me.
As my feet are cold & wet.
There's muddy sand trapped between my toes.

There's only two petals left on my daisy.
This isn't turning out like I thought.

          I can't see what's in front of me.
                Everything is piercing white.
                                                     There's only these last two petals...
          

The draft is pushing me from where I was.
Almost forcing me into the white light.
With it, there's damp.      
And cold. 
                It smells of mud & moss.

I turn away from the burning sunlight.
The heavy cold draft rushes over my face. 
                                                  Calm.
I thought I'd melt in the light.
The cold dark was comforting.



I step...toes first, touching with my fingertip the last two petals...
humming random notes with each breath. 
The cold puddles rinse the grit from my toes. 
I have a romantic swagger in this darkness..
in this cold.

With the tug of each petal, I release part of my life.
In this space, my soul feels its pain.
                                               I release it.
one petal...it was good.
another petal...it was bad.
My life....
....and so on. 
                 humming non-sense.
Would it have turned out differently?
One more or less petal?
Too my end.
                As it should be.

I can barely drag my feet,
As I pull another petal for the draft to carry.
I feel the cold seep in.

the last petal.
I am on my knees... exhausted & without fear.
I kiss the last petal.
                               My last breathe leaves.
                                                       together we gently swallow to the water.
There to rest in our death.
Our end.

I had wished to leave without pain in me.
In that last petal.
                      I was distracted to a gentler place.
They have freed me of my anguish.
Their innocence engaged me,
yet by my own decree.

Those last two petals released me.
                                             I am free from thee.



Ladyp Enrhyn, photographed by Barek Art

https://www.facebook.com/mary.springham.9
https://www.facebook.com/artbybarek

A Little Wish

I was standing in my worn out, holey slippers, underwear & ratty old shirt, watching the sun crest our tree tops behind my house. I was close enough to feel the cold draft float from the door. What a view. The wind decided to blow at like 40+ mph mid yesterday afternoon & hasn't let up since. If it weren't for the Canadian winter now upon us & everything being frozen to the spot it was abandoned, I would normally have crap all over the yard. Between children & the husband, there's ALWAYS something left somewhere for no apparent reason. They are all easily distracted by most anything. (Hence, The Little Red house of ADHD!)
It used to bother me having shit laying all-over the place & I worried what my neighbors thought as well as the irritation & needling from my parents. (It drives my mother bonkers! and I admittedly think I passively have grown comfortable with it just so I can take small pleasure in it ruffling her feathers & irritating her--horrid daughter I am). But then I realized I was wasting my time obsessing over it. Wasting my energy harping on my children to "pick-their-SHIT-UP!", when it's just how they are wired--like me. (You don't want to try & locate anything in my office or studio...). This too shall pass or work itself out. I mean really, it wasn't only a few years ago the yard was littered with Nerf toys, big bouncy balls, Tonka Trucks & several kiddy pools. Now its bikes, & boards from building tree-houses  Skateboards & scooters. Pretty soon it won't be anything at all, because they will be grown & gone. Instead, I became present & relished in the small moment of their childhood & my time with them as their mother. Now that's not to say they have free reign to leave their shit everywhere, as I do request they help their "OLD-WORN-OUT-MOTHER" out with all the mess...(this guilt trip usually works followed by some reward in the form of food. NEVER-EVER knock Pavlov's theory of conditioning...he was a brilliant man!!) Through it all, I just think, "if I had less shit."

I usually write about these moments in, "NOTES FROM MY BACK DECK". It's not literally always actually from my back deck...dependent upon weather determines proximity, like today it was the back door to the deck! It's those alone moments early in the morning that I can revel in solitude from my life, children, husband, business, the traffic out front as my neighbors are all rushing to work. My little bit of zen. It's in these moments I am able to erase my disposition from waking, (which many mornings can be foul) to that which is more appealing for a successful day--and that could mean fucking off & watching movies all day without regard to answering to anyone & free of the ingrained guilt of not tending to my responsibilities or tackling the never-ending to-do list. It's my time to make "a little wish" for whatever needs tending to, caring for or just my attention. Though as of late, I've felt quite tapped out of these little wishes. I wish I could recall whom it was, but someone told me that's what happens when you spend all your time  making "little wishes" for everyone else & forget yourself in the process....I didn't know what to do with this tid-bit of information.

"A little wish" for me? By me? For me?!

It seemed absurd & selfish. To get love, I must first give love. I believe this was now a conundrum. I was left without an answer. I couldn't seem to connect the two...as the sun has now crested the trees. W A R M M M M...through the glass at least. What is it I wish for? I was realizing it was far easier to wish joy, love, luck, happiness, courage, peace, ect., to everyone else. The thought of offering myself "a little wish" brought an utter silence to my gut. My mind was blank.

OK, I wish for the worth & acceptance of something better for me. No matter how small that need may be. Even if it is a want. My "little wish" is to allow it in its most purest form--from the universe I let it flow. To grasp the understanding of the gift of receipt as giving love, to me. My "little wish"  is be refreshed in my giving, so I don't miss anyone, or what they might need. May my random act of kindness be

"a little wish" just for me. 

Small Things

Each day I make a conscious effort to be mindful & grateful. 
To appreciate even in my tragedy or hardship.
Since Thanksgiving I've been feeling depleted from the negativity of people around me. It forces me to retreat into the simplicity of small things.

I clear my head. I lean back in my chair. I look around, staring in my office/studio. It is here that I write. I could sit here for hours & not take in all the stuff my walls, ceiling & spaces are filled with. Forty years of my visual arts life! You see, I don't remember well---for many reasons. Having all this keeps me connected & grounded to the most import parts of me. My children & my art. Except when I have dooms-days. Those days I think of things like; "what if my house burned down?...what if the basement flooded?...what if I died, would I have left enough for my children to know who I was? what I felt inside...will it matter?...will it have affected anyone or made a difference? did anything I did with pure humbling intention create a butterfly effect?" 

All this tragedy thinking makes me have to pee. SO, I go to the bathroom. As I'm sitting on the toilet, attempting to redirect myself to the present appreciation of small things--necessities. I look around my bathroom. A room I  have complained about from day one. Originally it was inhabitable, so we gutted it EXCEPT for the original cast iron tub. (Apparently nobody would step up to admit it was past its life because nobody wanted to deal with the back breaking work of removing it---so I'm stuck with it) It was not redesigned as I would have really wanted it, as budget & function (both criteria met) were the defining sources of what we could end up doing. And now, well, although it could use a good scrubbing, I feel blessed to have a newer functioning bathroom (except for the tub---ugh)...heat to keep my home comfortable...air conditioning to keep my home cool in summer...lights & appliances that bring ease of living: gas stove & oven, heavy duty washer & dryer, portable dishwasher, microwave, fridge, freezer. I mean those things seem common in their place in a home, but when you put a perspective on it, gratitude prevails. 

Most recently hurricane Sandy took out Manhattan, New Jersey & New York. It took your breath away at the catastrophic repercussions left for people to re-build. All of those conveniences of home, have now become luxuries. What one wouldn't give to have their air conditioning working in the stifling heat following the hurricane. Or the early snow that came & people who were broke * they didn't know how they were going to get a heater to turn their back on. Not to mention all the debris that starts to rot. The smell. What the hell would I do? I would certainly not be prepared for anything even remotely like this on so many levels!

It got me to thinking, what do we need? What is it that I really need? I felt over-whelmed! I mean I surround myself with all these things I have found, my children have made, mementos of a moment in time, because I forget. And when I forget I feel lost. So, what if I lost everything? How would I remember? How would I feel grace in the small things? The truly small things like a hot shower? I can't answer that question. Although I can look around & recognize how unbelievably beautiful my studio space is. How it transports me simply from everything the world ties to trample me with to an attitude of gratitude. A spot where creativity has no walls or limits. That expression of one's self becomes the small thing that keeps the heart beating, nourishing the mind & cleansing the soul. Small things, become many big things & the big things make up our lives. It's these little things that start the ripples into the world, that it desperately needs.  

I guess, I can sort of answer the question now...if I lost everything, what would the small things be? It would be the support that surrounds me, like everyday & then some. It would be the health & welfare of my children. It would be the tale to tell to live another day. It would be the reality that  I will remember all those things in the rebuilding of my life. The little thing of cutting something out of paper with a new pair of scissors or putting donated pencil into a soup can that provided food when mine was gone....just like before. Just like the tin cans that my pencils are in now...they held food that fed me before it served as a vessel for my art tools. 

Small things are the life force. Small things are the connectors to each other. Small things bring bursts of joy & moments of sorrow. Small things give perspective when I become complacent & unsettled. Small things remind our heart to love more. Small things remind our body that even the smallest sliver can bring a man down. Small things give energy to the soul & carries this trinity to the next day & out into the rest of the world. It's the small things that make all the difference to me... particularly today.