Daily Prompt: Silence

via Daily Prompt: Silence


Still my head in the clanging of the night, the time when darkness amplifies the messes of a life

hard on ourselves, we shush the racket, we roll, we toss, we justify it

A reason for the clamor banging inside our skull; there are a hundred

the list makers tally one two three

the naysayers find, then deny, the pattern

the lost find crumbs in the replay- the words, the moves, the comebacks missed

Jaws clenched, shoulders shrugged, the toss, the turn, the ujjayi

This life

and where it is taking you, in this one night-

relived, revised, reviled-

Breathe through,

settle a silence in palms open,

and cradle forgiveness beyond admonition,

allow your gentled, paused and playful spirit

to hold abundant grace and mercy for your reflections.


She is certainly stilled;  yet crossed leg with foot twitching, gives her silence a war.

#for Reticent Mental Property. Participating in Daily Prompts. Sept. 20, 2016


Her Truth

hanss ontattoo

I’m in a time of great change, Dear Reader.

My priorities remain constant- my children, my mind, my authenticity.

My growth causes pain; my heart is larger than my frame; my choices force choices where none were thought needed.

I am learning so much…things I didn’t want to learn, things I didn’t want to teach.


She grabs her mat and goes to her practice. 


#for Reticent Mental Property. Images courtesy of the web.




Two women stand an arms length apart breathing in harmony in the darkness.

The oiled floor is silent under their feet. The windows reflect postures, shifting positions, stretches of subtle and fluid awakening.

The outside world holds the secrets of the prairie in silence until the sun rises,

and reveals.

It is very early. The dumbstruck voice of darkness before the dawn is like no other.

Enveloping the two women in the rocking womb of the day, the silence is welcomed.  Measured movement and paired breath introduces the good of the earth to the face of day through firmly rooted toes and soles.

With arms and elbows locked to the highest point of reach, the two then bend like grasses in the summer wind and sway back and forth. Intentions are set and energy flows between them, half-lift, fall forward, rise up, greet the light.

Red tulips on slender stems, loving women reach from heart and head to capture serenity and create a sea of calm in the crevasse of unsatisfied desire to secure a peace-filled place in the world of decisions.

Time brings each down the path into this. And it cannot be stopped. But it can, and is, embraced.


The sun, she loves. 


#for Reticent Mental Property. Image courtesy of the web.

The Altered Altar

RMPaltarCan’t talk now.  I’m in church – and today it is a yoga studio-  vacillating between confessing all my wants and seeking absolution from myself for taking the easy route.

I am my own judge, at least in my head, until i open my eyes and the mirror reveals my physical form as a woman, someone transformed by rites of a sacrament into someone I don’t recognize anymore. Now, seeking new holy places, creating labyrinths of meaningful encounters,  lessons for my own sanity, divine interventions of the carnal kind, I embrace my wholeness.

Kneeling here in child’s pose assuages my conscience, diverts attention away from the mind-numbing conformity of this decade.

Today, praying to the nature god is as close as i can come to a true church. I find this one built on a cold but slowly warming rock, set solid on the side of a mountain, with a view facing the slowly rising sun.

Here and there, I sit, and I am present.

See, a glorious coffee in my hand, my bible the words of Muir, and on the sacrificial altar: my smallness, magnified by nature, and my words requiring no band of angels to shout above the simple quiet of the groves.

In this silence, my truth is honored.

Know me. Accept me.

I have.

The characters and connections of my choices, my life story, come to me on the mountainside, created and constructed in the image of my own history and my ego,  feeding my mind,  authoring champions in the lessons and defining moments.

I assign my heroes, my mentors, my guides. These are the relationships I have birthed and nurtured over the years,  the patient readers of my scenes, who join me in defining what we scrape off the page and I release within each lover’s bed until he is spent.

Today, my mind’s library joins me in this simple place, this studio, this church of mine.  The rows of mats, these familiar strangers, rising, falling, wanting, giving, never touching yet communing, and gratefully i lie down, and rest, and release, and maybe lie a little longer to myself.

His face, just another face, someone who needs her more than she needs him.  Her battle scars hold her accountable and where no scar exists, she will find a way to cut there, next.  She preys.  She craves this thinking business; this place of honesty without a pew.  

#for Reticent Mental Property