Thewritingchild

Lemongrass in the Summer Sun. Just as bare feet dance so beautifully on the browns of the earth. A water hose then becomes the plaything of two people. Laughing Laughter that can still be heard.

So a while back I heard someone say that we appropriated our ability to speak from God. And whether or not this is true, humor me.

I guess let's start from the beginning. In Genesis, it talks about how there was a formlessness , and God spoke "Let there be..." and suddenly there was things that there were never before. Formlessness Defined by Words Divine. Light, Dark, Land, Sea, Skies, and every living thing from just God's "Let there ..." . And then later in the Gospel John it reads "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God." That's how John starts his Gospel, that's how he opens his message that's how important it is. That God is Word. From the very beginning.

So now picture this God creates us, Humans. And we are created in God's Image. So we desperately try to communicate with God, and how do we do that? Feebly, I guess. Because what do we do? Speak. God had just created everything with words.

Now that's Blasphemy. Because would it not be? Blasphemy, is using Words Sacrilegiously. And Sacrilegious is the misuse of anything Sacred. Words are the Tools of Creation. So Words are Sacred. Our Words or Use of Any Speech is Blasphemy!

Now, most of that is me, way over thinking and stretching that to the extremes. But do you see what I mean? Words are powerful. With tact they can sway minds and hearts, and some words are carried across time. They build relationships, people, promises, companies, and nations and according to the bible all of Creation. Words are powerful things, and once dispensed they can't be returned or given back. Just as much they can build and create, they can destroy and take. And that was everything I was trying to convey.

I would take clouds of grey, and rainy days if it meant she was my sunshine’s ray. I would take all the thorns of those briar rose if it meant she was the one I could love and hold.

 She is my delight, my joy, she is my comfort, my piece of mind. She is all the things that are good and Devine.

I love her.

If you sift through and break yourself down to it's smallest parts. What would they actually look like honestly? I think some of us would automatically respond, positively. And insincerely. Not honestly.

I think it would all do us well to better inspect ourselves.

"Yet then again," This was a phrase commonly muttered by my now deceased Grandmother Pat. She used it often as either contradiction or conjecture. It was her verbal crutch that tethered her thoughts together. "Still even in addition to what has already been mentioned" I guess is much more a mouthful than the previous statement. But I keep on thinking about that Yet. How it could also mean "by now or then". Then "Afterward" and Again "Once More". I wonder if she knew all the while she was also saying a secret comfort to us, something that was analogous to Love and how it is omnipresent in our Lives. Love is "Here and There, Now and Then. Afterwards, Once Again."

I don't know always the directions I'm meant to move in. But I do know the distance is either damned or darned by your dictation.

We are on your Bed watching Movies while I stroke gently through your hair

Death does not invalidate Life. Death does not seek to destroy you. It is not partial or bias to you.

Our Atoms are not our own. They did not belong to us before our birth. They do not belong to us after our death. They return to the Earth and become apart of everything.

Our Mannerisms are carried on by the people who loved us in life. And our spirits I believe live on forever in love.

Death is no more the enemy of Life. Than a period is the end of a sentence. And that's the nice thing about it. Is even after a sentence ends. Another one can keep going. We keep going.

There are some flowers that bloom in the sun of green groves. But not for them is our praise. There are some flowers that grow through the mud. And for them our cups are raised. People will envy your strength, but never the struggle that brought you to it. They'll love the nectar, but the never the ichor.

There is more to Spring than just the Bee's Dreams of a Meadow. Sunshine warms the petals of forgotten roots. Wildflowers sway gently, the breeze whispers secrets old, Life Blooms, and Love Unfolds