Saturday, September 3, 2016

The heat of a late summer moves over the southern land in relentless waves of heat, and I insist in seeing unobvious signs of a much too early fall.  September days have arrived in vaporous mellow skirts and it sits over my days like a shy damsel from an aristocratic family waiting to be introduced to the world at the coming of age. 
We waited for the promised downpour the other evening.  A storm was brewing on the western sky and a most captivating of a limelight streamed through the window, enticing me outside. I followed the voices and took a few pictures of our little white cottage under this light, feeling this sensation of stumbling into a fairy tale book of dreams and whimsy. 
 I waited leaning against dreams as the world was gently being swallowed up in this light and the first shadows descended upon earth...  waited for the sound of rain to lull me to sleep later on, but rain never came.  We need the absolute blessing of a rainfall.  Trees and shrubs and roses resembles the mourning women of yesterdays...
 I keep bringing in more roses and making more bouquets, and I cannot truly say if my heart favors the fresh roses above the dried ones, for I have a special fondness for those dear rosesouls that know how to keep their true colors intact beyond death. 
It's been say that when you’re feeling your worst, that’s when you get to know yourself the best.   I am a total hermit and a mute soul.  Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
As summer wanes and fall moves in, I find myself adding more fairy lights to our rooms...  in the early mornings all the little lights are turned on to welcome the new day in shimmering soft light.  I'm keeping this lamp turned on again.  I don't usually would do this during our bright summer days when the pungent sun bathes the earth in light and warmth before we're up, but as shadows linger I look forward to the romantic softness bestowed by tiny lights. 
 I remember when I was around 13 or 14 years of age sitting alone on the tiny balcony in my parent's 5th floor apartment after dusk, my eyes and heart fixated on a lamp-illuminated window on the building right across ours.  How I loved it then that yellowish, soft magical light reflecting on the window.  The warmth and coziness of the otherwise dark interiors talked to me in profound, magical ways I could not even pretended to understand then, as I imagined my own little home illuminated by the romantic soft light of lamps, and a husband I wasn't even able to put a face on in my young mind.  But the thought made me felt good allover and the feelings have remained with me ever since.    

Tuesday, May 31, 2016

It is so nice to be back, safe and sound, after our long journey to South Florida.  Back to our rained-down little white cottage and to a mess of a garden, where weeds have gone rampant in just those few days we were away...  

I always imagine weeds watching out for me, hiding behind bushes, or from under the grown, talking among each other in hushed little voices as I go about the garden pulling those braves one who have dared come out, out of my garden forever.  The minute they don't see me around, they'd all go out... one by one, and throw a loud party.  All of their instruments will come out, whistles and tambourines, and musical instruments come to light, while the weeds sing and dance to the beat of their music. 

So that's what I've been doing this morning... pulling weeds, and throwing away all those precious potted annuals that didn't make it without my constant care... sad, but I'm learning to move on, to not be bothered by the little things in life, as much as I used to.  It is a happier, more effective way of living.  It is a happier life indeed, not having to worry about the little, unimportant things, and I need to take this philosophy to the human sphere too, because the little garden of my heart is quiet a mess too these days, with worries about my ageing parents and all those people I love... I worry too much because I love too much.  But in the depth of my soul I die a little bit with each worry.  I harvest too much inside me, and that abundance have always hurt me exceedingly.  I am learning.

I LOVE HOW Nature keeps a timer all of its own... there's a time for everything under the sun, so it's been said, and each wildflower knows this too... they know exactly when is their time to shine and their tine to rest.... right now, it is the time for the daylily and iris to shine, and they are all in bloom, pervading the garden with gentle delicatessens and precious loveliness...

The yellow golden ragwort wildflowers of early spring are done, but I've kept a reminder of them as mementos of another year gone to memories, until the following spring...

These days, it definitely is rose bouquet season around here.

I prefer to leave my roses in their bushes, and only bring them inside when they're passed their glories...  it is my way of enjoying them for an extended, longer time...

If I bring them inside while at their prime I will only enjoy them for just a few days, but if I let them be, the joy will last longer....

It is safe to bring some roses inside these days now... 

I don't have many tea roses as I used to back at the house in the roses, because it is hard to cultivate them here in the humid, hot south, but the Knock-out roses are something else.   They're the queens of the south and are so prolific here, it does not matter how much you take of them or how hard you go with your pruning...  you just cut, knowing that soon you'll have yet another bout of showy re-bloom.  

These tiny, perfect buds of the prettiest pink little roses are something else...  

Again, not the tea roses I am so fond us, but these rose bushes, low, and expanding in nature, are brimming with thousands upon thousands of little roses in the sweetest of delicious pink.  Dozens of miniature, perfect pink roses in just one stem... they are quick repeat bloomers too, and fungal disease resistant, and I can always fill many vases, without the guilt.

Sometimes, when everything is quiet in the garden and no bird's song is to be heard, there are times when I hear an unidentified sound... a song? A wail? A call?  And it's the 'wee-wee' cry of a baby fairy.  And sometimes, I'm rush to think it may be the squirrels up above the canopies, or the voice of the feral in the brambles or the baby rabbits in the deep of the woods, but today when I was standing very close to the woods, I heard it again—the 'wee-wee' wail, and when I looked up to see if I could identify where it was coming from I saw it.... a black bird, or some type of a black, common bird? 

These are long days, and somehow they're still too short of days for the soul who loves the heat-swelled hours of summer and the perfume which cling to the walls of my cottage and the walls of my soul in sweet moments... my heart write nothing except sentences full of sunshine and the scent of the privet flowers and warm rain. I drink green juices and have a salad for lunch and write, then take pictures, then work some more, and sometimes, I get to sit in the quiet garden and read, and listen to the birds that sing restlessly over-emerald shrubbery and sapphire skies; and keep on waiting and hoping upon their Creator for their livelihood. 

Tuesday, May 17, 2016

The rains

The other day, a hasty darkness descended like an early night upon the garden.  Birds flew away to their hiding places furtive down the woods, and every voice in nature quieted down.  I call this most impetuous, swift moment of a fracture of time, "the moment before rain". 

A sudden thunderstorm, with hail as big as marbles made its presence known, crashing into our hilly neighborhood in a furry of strange sounds.  From my window, I saw the wind spinning up a tornado, but it wasn't.  It was just the force of the rain and hail and the terrible sound of Nature, when mad.  And it rained so much and with such incredible force, that I felt a tinge of fright in the deepest, calmest part of my little heart.  Wind, and rain started hitting on window panes, and broken branches and leaves accumulated on the hollow of the skylight on the kitchen ceiling.  Above it, the sky appeared dark, and menacing. 

Then the rain subsided, and just as quickly as it came it went, and the sun came out again.  Little swirls of fog started coming up the ground and from the trees, and from people's roofs danced little ghost of fog, created by rain and humidity.  I saw these ghostly figures traveled up the hill in a happy little dance, and I saw these souls hopping up and down waiving their little hands at me as they march up the hill...

In the back garden, towards that part where the woods meets the hedge of the hosta gardens, everything looked magical.  Light streaming through tree branches filled each space as sheets of fog drifted up from the ground to meet this light, gently, mysteriously and capriciously lovely. 

Privet branches bended low, heavy with rain, and the little creek swelled and water rushed through the edge of the garden in quieted, little notes....  in the forest, in that open space where the fountain stands sunlight poured through tree branches forming visible sheets of light, and cheerfulness and amazement and hope.

And above the canopies of trees opened up a clearing through which light filtered down, passing through a clot of thick privet trees in flower and thorny bonds of vines, filling the woods with golden nuggets of magic.  I closed my eyes and dreamed a path through he woods.  I could fly to the top... 

I love the rain of the south.  It is a different rain from the northern rain.  And when it's all done, and the rain stops, it always leaves behind this enchantment of a supple and green and renewed earth, where the ghosts of Nature are allow to materialize and come up from the ground to meet us in our own sacred space... to share dreams, lost wishes, longing for something beyond the self, and always about love.

These are long slow days. Rain swells the hours, making them sing, and cling to the walls of our little white cottage.  I write nothing but dreams and words full of raindrops and misty days.  I try to make the hours go slower; lengthen those special moments at breakfast when sitting at our large, square table overlooking the gardens outside, but I cannot retain the hours, or the moments.  They slip through my fingers, like water.   I am a creature of words and dreams and stars, and for some inexplicable reason, sometimes I know I'm that bird under a riff of rain that flies in the clouds...    

Thursday, October 15, 2015

FOUR o' clock. The bright, slanted light that shrouds the October world outside, comes in through the glass sunroom, imbuing the house with magical light, and a sense of well-being and purity and feelings of joy. This light must had been blessed by God since the beginning of all beginnings.

October light must possess some magical qualities to it... it brings new thoughts to our minds, and it brings into our lives a new way of thinking, new points of view and ways to approach life. It is a healing kind of a light. One that pulls me outside time after time, compelling me to set aside whatever it is I'm doing and just let myself be embraced by it, by its captivating, joyful glow.

I am enamored. Autumn has come into my life, filling it up with little pieces of joy like sparkles of glitter. I love how the world appears under this autumnal light, how the birds seem to fly swathed in joyfulness, as they congregate by the birdfeeders carrying new songs under their wings. How lovely. How marvelous these days are at any time of day.

How lovely the towers of trees paneling both sides of the freeway as we road towards a neighboring town this morning. Trees are subtly changing colors. Every leaf speaks to me. Hovers on them some pain, some beauty. I recognize my old soul tattooed on them. But I can still find beauty in them.

Does people notice these things when driving on these crowded freeways? Do they pay attention to their surrounding, as much as they pay attention to themselves, their texting and to whatever others have to say or think about them?

Friday, January 2, 2015

Rain has accompanied us throughout the end of the year, and even now at the beginning of the New Year the skies wear the color of my heart— intense and leaden with fears of the unknown.  I am the ghost behind the window; the child looking out, gathering up stars in ragged skirts before the last light goes off… running against time, and if I could, imprisoning time too, that I may prolong that sparkle which started it all; retain it forever, retain those I hold so dear to my heart beyond the tremors of tomorrow.  Oh Father that I may see your footprints stamped on eternity—a breath of hope.  Do you not see them walking along that unstoppable, frightening road, oh Lord?  The road of life.  Do you not see my heart?  Would you not read within its fragile lines?  In the safety of Thy hand I leave them that I may see them again when my eyes see them no more, over the inevitable horizon when my heart will feel lonesome and my body weak with sorrow.  I am frightened.  I am the child abandoned to her own qualms.  The window of life.  I am standing behind it.  I see it—see them see the road ahead.  And I am frightened by what I see.

Monday, August 18, 2014

August 18, 2014

Soothing, refreshing, enchanting sound… rain.  We woke up to that—to the sinuous and magical heaviness hanging gently from musky skies; the smell of wetness, all-embracing and wonderful renewing wetness, and marigold scents wafting from the earth as the music of rain entered the soul, calming it, sweeping away any dullness left by the darkness of night.      

Kitty hasn’t discovered his way to me yet… I’m still trying.

And inside—that extraordinary coziness and sense of comfort only true to rainy days… little lights twinkling here, drawing magical forms on walls over there…. always lifting up the spirit; scattering away any despondencies left untamed… like glimmering imps dancing in the ghostly light of morning…

I go around the house listening to the sound of rain.  “Tú eres la luz que alumbró las tinieblas”—sings the voice in my CD placer.  And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not” John 1:5.  I am but a speck of dust drifting in the storms of this world.  No.  I am a raindrop resonating in the silent, like little bells of hope and tiny lights, and faith…

Sunday, August 10, 2014

August 10, 2014

Finally home from another of our trips.  And on our way back all the fountains of the great deep burst forth and the windows of the heavens were opened... and all day and all night Saturday the white arc of our vehicle was cast deep into the shadowy curtains of thundery rain, and drifted away in the flooded southern roads.

Did it rain so here at home?  I have to wonder.  The earth is so dry I can almost hear the cracking of bones underground.  Without taking my eyes from off the floors I walk the garden almost feeling sorry for myself… for how the wild southern landscape laughs at me, at all my efforts as it throws upon my face all its waste—how can one prevent the growing of weeds in such undisciplined and untamed expanse? Nature is prevailing.

The wildflower seeds I planted in the shade garden at the beginning of spring have expanded and grown into a rowdy, messy beauty—a manner of beauty which tires the eye and fails to differentiate the real meaning of magnificence.  I had finally taken them all out.
I’ve seen Kitty wandering around here almost every day, but as much as I beg he won’t come to me.  Was he a dweller of the Privet before I even came to be here, or has he only been entranced by my newly established gardens?  Either way, like the dead, he lives here, yet never really here…

The recliner where my legs live at the end of the day, and sometimes during the middle of the day too, whilst I write a page or two, has just snapped broken again.  No body is fixing it this time. 

I talked to Ilva this morning, and coincidentally also talked to Nelida—both of them my friend, both of them past 70 and an example of unquestionable optimism and faith and hopefulness; regardless their age and their circumstances.  They're vivid examples of what I'd like to see in my own life.   And perhaps that is why I undoubtedly prefer the company of the old to the often emptied company of the younger?

I am multiplied… a very old woman and a young child cohabit in my soul…

This morning there was a moment when my husband and I looked deep into each other’s eyes—forgetting, remembering, discovering… perhaps seeing a new heaven to us reflected there?  In his eyes.  In our eyes.  And only late this evening, we remembered that today was a very special day—so many years together, such deep sentiments, a sacred union made of blood binding us for life… and what does forgetting our anniversary means?  Does that make an enormous difference on a summer day stretched wide and open before such deep love?

We’re home… rain or sun day or night… this is our story—written on each other.

Friday, July 4, 2014

Finitude of finitudes. And where do we find Thou face in such darkness?  Abide in the globule of light residing in the heart our of race—since the beginning of beginning, and let us lie this weariness we carried in our bosom in your infinite love.  Day and night we walk towards extinction; our bones brittle with fear.  My throat weak from calling Thy name.  Why won’t you hear us and lift us from our prison, oh Lord of lords?  For I’m stumbling in the frightening night like a big, round, lonesome weed.

Wednesday, June 18, 2014

Emptiness. Loneliness. And the days are precious jewels, and my life is full and completed in the palm of Thy hands. You have blessed me beyond my wildest dreams. Emptiness. Loneliness of days hidden in silence. Apathy. I am the lost creature in quest of the rainbow and the lonely magpie around the birdfeeder--the peculiar standby that doesn’t belong. And if I lift up my eyes above my insignificances, I know how wrong I am; yet I cannot see it in your eyes... see me as you see me… I am, sanctified and hallowed in thy hands. This ungrateful child—a frightened child of the ferry night. Lord that your eyes take no notice of that which it is seen, and look only through my soul.

Monday, June 9, 2014

June 9, 2014

Working with the soil early in the morning in a background of wings and the lavishness in which the color green encompasses the earth… I cannot be any happier; any grateful for God’s mercies and compassions never fail. He is good to those whose hope is in Him… to the one who seeks Him….

As I worked the soil and my soul soared the morning breezes in unfathomed joys, I was thinking of my life of a year ago and of what would I be doing that very moment hadn’t been for God’s providence in guiding us in such unexpected ways. I panicked just thinking about my life in that office; the imprisonment of my spirit and mutilated wings; drowning as I was in the crushing hands of the twisted. How lucky I am to be free of all that, free of all of them and faraway from all those yesterdays.

And now living my life as I please, doing what I love and living my dreams. As I perspired and pulled out the green tresses of the earth-sod-rocks-soil-perspiration, I looked up to the skies; feeling whole and pure and melted and fluffed into treetops and clouds. 

I am that black shadow in the heart of the universe, wiped clean with hyssop, and whiter than snow. I desired freedom in the innermost being, and in the hidden part You have make me know peace. Make me to hear joy and gladness. Each day a new article of faith.

Oh. I believe.

Wednesday, April 16, 2014


Who can decipher Love,
or how can one tell how Love is weaved in another’s soul
or how it thinks, and feels and suffers?
I am the silence in which a river hides itself at times
At the bend of its course
In the womb of the earth
And I am the cry without a voice
inviting Love to come in
I cannot force it
I cannot dictate how or when or where Love
should express itself…
but if love does not return to me
as generous and spontaneous as it
comes forth from my own well, 
I shall not faint...
I would still invite it with open arms
again and again...
Through the humble offering of service
In the silent grace that accepts it all
while the heart awaits.

“Just because somebody doesn't love you the way you want them to doesn't mean they don't love you with everything they got”

Saturday, March 8, 2014

March 8, 2014

Been here and there traveling with my husband these last few couple of weeks; enjoying the freedom of one's self, and the warmth and goodness of this new place and home and the solitude and time spent with God—blessings and dreams surely come true.

I am in awe and in total humbleness and thankfulness to my Heavenly Father. Hard to believe where I was with my life merely a year ago; working under the wrath of a passive-aggressive boss who wickedly plotted against me after 13 years of exemplary work and dedication… and always daydreaming my day away in order to survive, wishing I had all that which I have today.  Freedom from bondage of the wicked and freedom from a job that made me terribly miserable for so long. 
Who would have thought it then? Yes, dreams do come true. And also something else sires: “But if you do what is wrong, you will be paid back for the wrong you have done” (Colossians 3:25). Oh yes, I have a mighty Avenger indeed. But you didn’t know that then, did you?  Certainly, what goes around comes around, so excuse me, your life is waiting.  I can't say how long it will take, but wait and see.   I’d already seen you weeping.

Our Universe is a very sensitive energy field and whenever we make a choice to think, feel, speak or act in a certain way, we are emitting energy into this field that must return to us in comparable form…

May the principle of cause and effect serves as your own personal 'boomerang'… for whatever we put out there for others will assuredly return to us.

Monday, January 27, 2014

January 27, 2014

There's an ocean of a deaf vastness separating me from Thee oh Lord. From where I stand in the distant, I can still see you in the small boat where you await, further onto the sea. Your eyes fixed on the meager of a figure on the shore, which is I... reminding me, perhaps, that it is You who orchestrate the events of my life?...

And the high tide rests in the deeps, and there's an old gentleness to the waves which caresses the sands... I should embrace the challenges in front of me, eager to gain all the blessings you have hidden in your eternal silence—the knife which wounds the soul of man... but my feet cannot move...

The dark, cold deep sea contains weird alien animals. I am frightened. I cannot go to you. My eyes have seen you, I have ran and fell on my knees in front of you. I have shouted at the top of my voice... there's not a doubt in my heart that You are taking care of me. I am blessed beyond all expectations... but why is it Lord, that I cannot hear you calling my name so that I can run to you?

I am feeling weighed down by this plethora of waters. Teach me oh Lord to behold your face so that I can rise above the waters and rest with you in heavenly realms...

Wednesday, November 27, 2013

November 27, 2013

I miss the familiar, and charming, and heterogeneous city of trees. I miss the Saturday Market, and coffee at Dawson's. I miss my winter garden with the frozen roses and the winter birds and visitors who inhabited it.

I don't miss the cold, and I have changed snow for rain. So I should be happy.

I miss Barnes and Nobles, miss my frequent escapades there and the memorable cafeteria with the music of Andrea Bocelli on the background; a cup of coffee; a cinnamon scone and the Selina Lake books I used to adored and leaf through, page after page, until each photograph was well memorized through my fingers.... a dozen books and magazines to take with me inside my bubble... because, I live in a bubble... a rare and wonderful bubble of comfort and luxury and invention and a thousand rare stories.

I want to sit down and be able to write again like I used to write when, regardless the amount of people I was surrounded by I was still able to concentrate and be inspired and be fruitful inside that precious peaceful bubble.

I haven't talked to the moon in a while. And I haven't got a wing under my heart for days and days. I cannot fly. And I miss my girls terribly and I often find myself crying when, really, there's no need for it. And if you ask me why I'm here I would not be able to really answer. But life is good. It is 'life' after all, and I'm still in it.

And thus, I still finding immense joy in the little things in life. I love my chunky white dishes and love that sparkle of pink wintery light in the bird's tree.

I finally got my scrubs today with the hospital logo in it... royal blue, and big and uninteresting. I am fortunate to have what I have. And yet, right after I got my uniform I went to that law office across the court house. A huge amount of files everywhere; a fat Angola cat; rabbit-like fluffy; mocha in color walked all over the files. He meowed at me when I pet him... I don't think I really want to work there.

I went to Wal-Mart and brought home a truck load of food for our Thanksgiving day dinner.

I am blessed. I am frightened. I am that child of long ago shrouded in night. I want to wake up and regain my usual self, but the dampness of frogs keep me awake during the day; a rainy song in my navel. I am blessed. I walk in total dependence.

Bethel Music - Walk in the Promise

Our souls wait in silence, in rest and in quiet for You, Spirit
In trust and dependence we walk in the promise of You, coming
With hope and healing in Your wings, with fire and with wind
You fall on us again

Our souls wait in silence, in rest and in quiet for You, Spirit
In trust and dependence we walk in the promise of You, coming
With hope and healing in Your wings, with fire and with wind
You fall on us again

Here we are waiting for this house to be shaken
For the boldness to carry Your name to the nations
Your signs and Your wonders to go now before us
For the weight of Your glory to rest as we lift You up...

Monday, October 21, 2013

October 21, 2013

I cannot wish for better days, or lovelier weather; so exquisite with chilly mornings and soft sunshine throughout the day; with nippy nights closing up as early as 5:30pm. By four, sunshine starts turning into a misty fairydust of a light; like a feathered vision of some sorts, the atmosphere gets imbued with itty bitty creatures that seems to glow and dance in the mellow afternoon light. It's the magical light of autumn.

My husband is coming 'home' to the house in the roses this Thursday. I'm excited. My heart is overflowing with mixed emotion, as we're finally getting closer to a definite move. One more week, and we'll be parting away from our home of 28 years; leaving behind some very dear people. I am shocking out of emotion as I write this. If I could I would shut my mind and my heart for a little while... if by doing so I could quieted my sadness away. What can I say? I truly want to believe with all my heart that we're following the path that God has called us to walk. May quietness and trust enhance my awareness of His presence.

Saturday, October 19, 2013

October 19, 2013

I love this time of the year. The autumn season makes my little heart burst with wonder, and admiration and enchantment and everything there is in life that's good and honest. It is so wonderfully quiet here in my precious garden; so lovely and glorious it looks all wrapped up in garments the colors of fairytales, that my soul shivers and words falter in finding the right words to express the earnest and humblest feelings of the heart.

A mellow and peaceful place to be—the garden under the autumnal sun. And so full of hope it is, that it is almost like having climbed some magical stairs all the way up to heaven. And I am now standing in the middle of this sanctuary where angels and invisible beings walk, and talk among themselves and watch in wonder.

Standing in the middle of this cathedral, I should say, where life and death congregate and dance in unison as autumn marks the transition from summer into winter, fills me to the core with awe and veneration. I walk on holy ground. I'm sure.

And what a treasure it has been... to be able to yet partake of another season near my garden; and be able to take with me all those precious moments spent here down this unmarked and unwalked journey ahead of us, as we prepare to part and engage in new beginnings; to nurture me, and help me grow in goodness and kindness.

Ad then there was also spring, and summer too. Here... here of all places, free to run and go as I'd pleased for most of the 24 hours of my days... no creature to disturb me, or tell me what to do. How blessed I have been. And how blessed I am to have a heart that understand its own blessedness...

Wednesday, October 9, 2013

October 9, 2013

Things replicate themselves in front of your eyes... sky and earth harmonize; they hold hands and dance to the magical tune of the morning... twirly twirly, birds sing, as they cross the opened space between sky and water. And you can't really tell them apart, or tell whether you are looking up or down, or if perhaps the sky has fallen down to earth and has melted atop the waters, or if maybe, is the water, that had decided to climb up the sky; persuading the clouds away into sleeping a little longer in the hollow of their liquid arms... Lake and sky are the same. They are one.

"Praise him, skies above! Praise him, vapors high above the clouds! Praise him, you highest heavens, and you waters above the heavens!" Psalm 148:4

Monday, October 7, 2013

October 07, 2013

"For thus says the Lord: Behold, I will extend peace to her like a river..." (Isaiah 66:12).

My eyes rest upon the glories of the land; skies a sapphire jewel above. A furtive mist reposes atop tranquil jade waters, satisfying it with peacefulness and myrrh and bird songs—as if perhaps some divine veil of sacredness and goodness had been purposely sent from heaven to wrap us all in undisturbed cheeriness, and shield light and intimate repose.

My heart sings to Thee oh Lord. And I marvel, and wonder, at how my tired feet of yesterday have found a softer ground today, and at how my wounded heart of exactly a year ago today, had been renovated by your Grace; given a new beginning, an unimaginable and wonderful beginning of freedom from fear and the wickedness of man.

And how far I am from them all today, Lord. And how close to You. Make sweet melody oh heart, sing many songs oh you my soul!

Something stirs the waters on the lake below, straight down under my balcony—perhaps the breezes who own the lake? Or maybe, is the angel who moved the waters of the pool at Bethesda in Jerusalem, or some mysterious and inexplicable waft of air sent all the way from the lost Paradise? I don't know. But it is like hearing God speak. His voice travels the space above the waters, and it moves up the waters and go deep into the wooded area surrounding it. Then, this same voice stirs the waters again. The sound of thousand tiny bells. A flapping of wings. And it goes up; straight up to my balcony, and into my room where I am sitting pondering upon these things and, entering right through my ears go straight into my heart.

What is it? Is it really You, God? God trying to tell me something; making known His desire of revealing His glory to those who knows how to listen and, wants to listen. For that's how I see it. And it brings me to my knees—this quiet, almost sacred murmur of shells over the water, healing the spirit by erasing loneliness, embarrassment and rejection.

Yesterday's trials must be forgotten. Must be put shut under the voice which moves the waters and make it sing. Perhaps, this is what God seeks to tell me?

"See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands; your walls are ever before me" (Isaiah 49:16).

This knowledge is too deep and to high to even begin to grasp it. But I make it mine with an open heart and the trust of a child. I am deeply touched. I am your servant.

Wednesday, October 2, 2013

October 2, 2013

Sunny, delightful days surrounded by such a wonderful milieu... wonderful and enchanting to all my senses—a scenery so unusual and extraordinary everywhere you look, and walk and breath and all under a most wonderful and magical canopy of greens and birds of blues and reds. And there are also those remarkable morning songs and curious night whispers too... songs, or hymns of Nature, made by Nature... of small animals and unrecognizable birds... melodies which I had never heard before. I am enchanted. I am sheltered by the magic of the Appalachian Mountains. And everything there is feels so different and so unique and so wonderful... different and special in its own way—always so green and alive with sunshine and life and Nature.  

I cannot ask for anything better or a better place to be or better people to be surrounded by as a matter of fact... people ever so cordial and warm and so given to this fascinating thing called "Southern hospitality". Can I love this place any more? Ah I am in the right place. My soul is at home and it knows it too. I shiver and amaze at the thought of it all... at how my Heavenly Father, who knows my little heart so well and so deep, had us brought here from all places... a place never thought of, or dream of, or imagined the possibility of ever living here... Looking back at it now it all makes sense... I am dumfounded, and it is almost miraculously, really... miraculous, and inexplicably the way this transition took place... but God is an all knowing God, and He had planned and staged it all so well for us... in a strange and marvelous way.

I can't deny that I miss my girls terribly, and I harbor in my heart this rare blend of nostalgic and absorbing yearn for those wintry autumnal days of burgundy giant oaks and chilly breezes of the North. And I confess that very deep in my heart I hold this secret longing for a garden I once knew and loved; crimson colors of wine-red and maroon carving its floors with quietness and peacefulness. But I am at peace.

My little heart feels warm and happy. And I am forever thankful.

Tuesday, September 24, 2013

September 24, 2013

The lonesomeness to it... this kind of sheltered seclusion and quietness which, to my eye, is revealed in all its nakedness, like a sad melody... I can taste the strangeness which shrouds it. I can feel the melancholy which dresses it and gifts the acrid September air with sacred chants and sad low key songs... like an ancient European cemetery...

That's how the garden comes to me this morning; blanketed, as it is, by an endless gray sky, heavy with the prediction of rain... achromatic shades stretching out between white, and black and this sorts of low colorfulness which, in its own magnificent way, impels in me despondency and makes my heart sing low, and with the same intensity.

What I see around me humbles me and exalts me too. Transition. Fade. A final burst of green and growth. The falling away of the leaves and roses, the sleepy garden standing resolute and quiet, knowing its limits and times. It’s beautiful and tragic, as life and death always are.

And thus, I am strolling my sanctuary in slow motion; perhaps strolling it for a last time, or at least for a long while... I am leaving tomorrow to meet my husband at our new place. I may come back in the middle of October. I may not. And the garden knows this very well, and as a way of saying goodbye, it's been gifting me, out of its own free will, with unexpected little jewels: a single rose in sleepy bushes, a new growth amidst the dying... new bright colors under this strange, yet alluring peacefulness, so inherent of ancient cemeteries—roses, and petals posing as poignant collections of graves covered with seashells.

It’s beautiful and sad to watch, to witness, to walk and pray here one more time, and listen to the garden, as it relates its understory under the cold mornings of the end of another September.

Sunday, September 8, 2013

September 8, 2013

Delicious sultry days of pre-autumn in the Northern Hemisphere, serene and imperturbable. And how quiet the garden looks... and feels. Where have all those feathered friends and cheery chirps and twittering gone? And why isn't the garden no longer filled with musical sounds?  Ah these lovely late summer afternoons... they must have something to do with it!  One can't help but being quiet and feeling dreamy and wistful... and then... then there's this sense of wonder, and magic lingering in the cool afternoon breezes that inspires you to close your eyes and linger a littler longer under the sun; lift up your soul to the sky and dream and wish upon a cloud...  And hide too... hide away from the world. 
That's exactly how I'm feeling these days—sorts of like the wives of yesteryears; unbound by time and fashion... living my little life in my little world at my own tempo and only mindful of the important... of the rhythm of Nature, and the song she sings...

And how wonderful it has been—all through this spring and summer and now going into those astonishing magical days of autumn, free of the duties of the office, free in the spirit, free of undeserving unimportant people and all the confrontations and condemnations brought by binding obligations into our lives, while all the while there's so much beauty and goodness to live by out here...

Being free in the spirit, free in your soul to follow whatever dreams are dreamed; riding invisible waves, walking over colorful rainbows, of faith and hope and trust, growing in age as I grow in godliness.  To be free! And how marvelous and full my days are, and how very thankful I am... How satisfied my heart with gratitude and thanksgivings....

Saturday, August 31, 2013

August 31, 2013

It is such a lovely morning... brilliant, and colorful under a translucent bird-filled sky. My heart feels light, and bathed in a deep blue color; the color of faith and trust and total surrender. I am constantly learning to lean on my Creator rather than on my own abilities for everything in my life. It is such a wonderful feeling to throw wide open my window in the morning and be received by such lovely day, lift up my hands to the sky and let my soul be filled; be satiated; be calmed down.  

Saturday, August 3, 2013

August 3, 2013

A wispy hummingbird flew passed by me this morning while I was in the garden praying. Behind it, followed yet another—minuscule and as brightly colored as the first.  They hovered around me like a fleeting melody.  Swoon—they swam the air imitating a vessel mastering invisible waves. I watched. I marveled. My heart yearned for God.

All of a sudden, a divine assurance trickled through my mind and into my heart and soul—One day in Paradise; a hummingbird's tremor on the palm of my hand; music off the top of my head as two of these small hovering birds played with my hair. I saw me; my face turned up to the sky; laughing; joy crowing my head.

With a heart filled with gratitude and wonder, I sat by the patio table and opened my Bible randomly. I read: "Those the LORD has rescued will return. They will enter Zion with singing; everlasting joy will crown their heads" (Isaiah 51:11).

Wednesday, July 31, 2013

July 31, 2013

Lovely cool morning. Strange happenings. The swirl of events going on around me feel overwhelming. We cannot move the clock back. We must move forward. And thus, spending my days here, in the garden, I seek for signs while trying to store the magic witnessed in all the quiet spots of my person, that I may conjure them forth when needed it be. 

My soul yearns to be filled with the Holy Spirit; to hear God's voice in the deepest of my being, but sometimes I am deaf. I am the lonely leaf being carried away by howling winds.

Sunday, July 28, 2013

July 28, 2013

THE garden looks glorious resting comfortably in the palm of summer; sinuous and lovelier than ever. I am entranced by this green lushness and beauty; the amount of life buzzing, and bustling and growing in it; spellbound I am, rapt in light and deep thoughts as I see, and hear and feel—the hand which sustains it all; this hand which moves the skies and pours out the rains, creating, nourishing, caring for every organism in our beautiful world and beyond it. I am but a speck of dust in the hands of my Creator—waiting, as with all living thing under the sun to be feed and filled with His wonderful peace and light and every goodness there is. "For every beast of the forest is Mine, the cattle on a thousand hills. I know every bird of the mountains, and everything that moves in the field is Mine" (Psalms 50).

I'm tiptoeing over my dream to retain it; be able to keep flowing, keep dreaming... and perhaps, keep the strangers away? For how would I ever forget and forgive myself for throwing away my dream—this Paradise-garden of mine? Would it be cared for when I leave... would it be neglected, ignored? Would it be loved? And if so, how well will it be loved? Would it be enough?

I'm taking it with me—taking my garden with me tucked in my heart in the way of memories... a wedding, a dear little fairy, a baby singing, bright nights, rose petals, a sleepy kitty amidst the hostas, the music of a saxophone beyond the garden gates, birds singing, the miracle of a hummingbird, the song of the cicadas, the gathering of four generations, a dog the color of the sunset, memories tucked away in my heart and mind to store them away so I can later carefully look at them with perspective that only time can provide.

Thursday, July 25, 2013

July 25, 2013

I'm starting to really enjoying the thought of moving South; the thoughts of a new home, the view of the wide opened country and fields and fields of peaches and lovely country houses adorned with yellow jasmine... of offering a final farewell to Father Winter and not even feeling a bit sorry for this... to fly along fireflies at the kiss of nightfall—like that first time, a few weeks ago when we visited what is to be our new hometown... and how these fascinating creatures came out that evening just to greet me; to welcomed me to their home with twinkling lanterns on wispy wings.
I don't know when it is most beautiful down there,—when it rains and the heat raises up and lies along the fields in delicate mists, or in the morning when you hear the most enchanting song you have ever heard and you look over the tall cypresses and white hickories and see the red cardinal shimmering in the light of the morning as though it were some miraculous flame. And them there are those lovely evenings of the South; soft and warm, growing dimmer and dimmer beyond sight, swooning away through tender gradations of greens and gold. I seem to be seeing it all now for the first time again, with new eyes... what a lovely, lovely place that is. And although my truest heart is still here, and part of it will always be, I am now embracing the expectation of a new beginning. I am ready for it. I am excited.

Sunday, July 14, 2013

July 14, 2013

And thus, we started with the cleaning process today... over 20 big garbage bags of clothes, linens and the sorts were given away... we also started sorting through the 100-million boxes we have kept in our garage for years and years, bringing them with us from one house to the next... till today. We laughed and wept softy... and cried hard over looking at some very dear and very valuable things—old photographs from when we were dating back in high school days, our love letters—hundreds of them, yellowish and brittle with years and the zeal of youth and love... old toys, kids' school cards and crafts, and a funny tender letter from a seven years old darling, which made me cry like a mad woman because this is the same darling I am now leaving behind... and well, we did a lot... a lot. And this is just the start. Someone is coming by tomorrow to help me clean the house and I'm calling someone else later during the week to help me paint an old bed white, and some of my thrift stored furniture in the reading room, which are going to go in one of the guest rooms in whatever new house we'll find... I bought market flowers for my daughter today and along with the lovely bouquet, I added an old photograph of us both, of when she was around 9 or 10. Soft evening light was shining in our smiling faces and we looked so young and happy.... I cried some more and then thank God for every blessing He has given us through all our lives. I then made a nice dinner for everyone... we had a lovely evening.

"Let love and faithfulness never leave me... I'll bind them around my neck, write them on the tablet of my heart..." 

Wednesday, July 3, 2013

July 3, 2013

Changes... so many changes happening in my life. Time to ponder and time to wonder and ask questions that perhaps, can only be answered in another lifetime? And then... then there's that delusion—that treasured dream from so long ago, now turned reality. A most awkward genuineness to me; for who would have thought the magnitude of disconcert? What to do? What voice to hear what heart to follow?
And there's that green... green place of my dreams calling us now. Green is the color in which that little town wraps itself with; idyllic and bucolic; always kissed by soft evening rain, and pastoral silence. Steam fog comes on bird feet. It sits upon the land looking over low slopes and river areas on silent haunches and travels upon invisible wings and moves on to give way to the minuscule stars that would soon follow; disseminating upon the land—one by one and have no other name than "fireflies". First one, then two... first just a few of them and before the night would have time to fully descend, it is magically lighten by minuscule dots of brightness so sweet; a glow so wispy and wonderful.... the ground is kissed by deer footprints too, and the shadows of tall laurel oaks and sycamore and words just falter, and I cannot fully express how lovely all is... Yet, I find myself unable to freely accept such changes; for I am leaving behind some very dear people... and the place I have known as our home for almost 30 years. And how will I miss my garden... this little garden of my soul... so pure, so teeny, so enormous... so apt to give and give and give... Oh dears, my little smiling heart is breaking...

Tuesday, June 25, 2013

June 25, 2013

It's been raining around here for the last couple of days... the sky's been low; leaden with torrential clouds and the garden is looking supple, and dense with the myriads of petals gifted by yielding roses; resembling the wet dark English garden of old books... I can hear the mystifying sound of raindrops hitting hard on the pebbles on the left side of the garden. It made me want to go outside and be drenched in whatever magic possesses the rain; dress in bluntness and truthfulness so vital. I am loving it. Looking, outside the window at how comfortable doves and birds seem to be with this kind of weather; never fearing, as I am too, so at ease with this estrange sinuosity in which the garden has wrapped itself with, and the gloominess that transpires and fills our earth with a charming sense of stillness and haziness and mystery...

From my window—the world is at peace. I am at peace. I am humbly grateful.

Sunday, June 23, 2013

June 23, 2013


Wonderful, breathtaking brilliant days... and the garden is a gentle and generous benefactor... always always gifting gifting. The red-winged blackbird have brought the rains in—I'm sure. With such probing songs—Conk-a-reeeee, conk-a-reeeee. Intriguing as their onyx flight is. My life is so full these days, it is strange... full, and meaningful and bursting with life's sweet scent, like the flowers out in the little garden that hang like a fringe of jewels in their beds; wide awake under the gentle sun; serene, confident in life. I cannot be more thankful. Oh Lord how my heart loves this habitation of your house; this humble place where your glory dwells.

Thursday, June 20, 2013

June 20, 2013

It rained all day yesterday. Rain and thunder. And finally, towards the end of the day, a strong rushing blast of wind galloped through the garden with a loud laughter; lifting a column of pink tassels winding into the sky—myriads of rose petals. It swirled, and hissed, spitting vestiges of leafy remains all over it's floors. I don't like wind. Wind strings around my heart a shadow of fear. Its voices I hear—daunting charms in the mid-day air; snarled fingers in the labyrinth of my hair. But then, by early morning it had left us. And again, the garden turned into the peaceful oasis that it usually is. The silence was astonishing. There were hardly anything moving. There were no birds, and the leaves of trees and bushes simulated the calmness and sootiness of a pleasant dream... just this immense and comforting silence, and this sun-flooded garden of mine.

The whole sight jog my memory; inexorably reminding me of what has been happening with my life this year. It reminded me of those dark stormy early days of January and February. And how dark, and utterly angry they were. Frightening darkness washed over me. How could I had faced another month living under such desperate darkness and distrust of life? And how far has my lovely Father taken me... ushering me to walk with Him along paths designed uniquely for me... and how different things are now. How absolutely wonderful the days are. Oh I want to capture them in the palm of my hands, make them eternal; make them last, I want to swallow up my days whole, dress up in daylight and make night disappear, so that I can prolong this joy; this strange and unfamiliar bliss... oh, I am... I want to be wholesome inside! Blessedly revived from yesterday's gloom, sunshiny; instead of all dark, and stuffed up with black memories.

I am a resplendent swallowtail butterfly; a flittering wisp of eternal joy—what I shall be. I am a butterfly beseeching to land on the open hand of my dear Friend; sticking to Him as with the cobalt Velcro of tiny thorny feet; a butterfly bonking into God repeatedly as my wings whirl and dance time and again by the shout of His love.

I am in total awe. THANK YOU. THANK YOU.

Wednesday, June 19, 2013

June 19, 2013

Oh Father... you've been creating something new in me; all along those dark days of January and February when I had eyes that falter to see your glory, You were secretly preparing my joy. You were planning these moments for me, and this bubbling spring of joy that's spilling over into other's lives. I am baffled by this, and ever so thankful. I don't take credit in any way for none of my blessings.  Instead, I let my heart lean on You, and watch in delight your work in me.

You have anointed me with your Holly Spirit. My soul is in repose and I thank you for drawing me out of darkness into your precious light.

Monday, June 17, 2013

June 17, 2013

Mid-June. I see and feel spring ripening; reaching and stretching for the pinnacle of full blossom... as I pass; as I run and the world speaks to my heart in a thousand voices. The green is still unsullied and new, rich with the force of life. The trees don’t speak, but I know what they are saying, up there, up high, when they celebrate the morning and clap their leafy hands and chime their praises under moon and sun. My heart soars and my soul applaud in total recognition and gratitude to the Creator—oh, good, all-powerful, almighty friend. I praise Thee.

Saturday, June 1, 2013

June 1st, 2013

June... this is the month of June. Month of enchantment... Of little flowers-like wisps of fairy wings... and turquoise gemstones-like sapphire blue eggs and baby Robins hatching...

I love the month of June. Love its brightness and gentleness, love the miracle of life; brought forth with such power from apparent death by God's inexplicable and almighty creative force. My lips lack words; thoughts cannot stretch enough beyond logic and comprehension... for this amazing power is beyond all comprehension. So I'll just sit back and accept it. Accept all the colors and scents and rose petals beauty and trails of honey-dew perfume, and dust and iridescent wings and every itty bitty wisps of creatures with hoof-like feet and the such that the month of June brings.

It is magic. It is magical!

Thursday, May 30, 2013

May 30, 2013

"Keep me as the apple of your eye; hide me in the shadow of your wings" (Psalm 17:8)

Sunshine, quietude, brightness, contentment—like magical drops falling from heaven; showering my soul with many blessings. And this extraordinarily awesome brightness surrounding everything; enfolding me; pleasing the earth with joy and peacefulness and harmony.

The earth... it is like a heavenly cathedral overflowing with the presence of God. Every single warm, beautiful, generously giving light on our fair planet is reposing on my shoulders; brightening my eyes as it cleanses and purifies my soul and showers me with serenity and freedom, as it reconciles my soul with a broken self.

I open up my mouth so as to let that astounding light pour itself down my throat, and like some divine elixir it settles somewhere inside my ribcage. Now my heart beats with alpenglow and I know I’m not forsaken. I am loved.

An impression suddenly inhabits me. And the strange, yet marvelous notion that I am the apple of God's eyes settles, too, just like the light, in the deepest domain of my consciousness. I laugh. Like Sarah had once laughed. Such notion is too great of a notion to make it mine; make it personal, for what am I if not but a speck of dust before my Lord? Yet, I take it all in, I take that God's love goes deeper than the human mind can go, or understand and whoever touches me touches the apple of His eye—I am the pleasure of His heart; I am His little girl... I am I am!

This is my refuge.  Under the shelter of the Most High I hide.

Monday, May 20, 2013

May 20, 2013

I am drinking in my mornings in the cup of my soul. I am reaching out and grabbing it by its wing. I am flying with it, dancing with it as I've never done before or had felt in an enduring time... my soul—the thing that has had such wounds, that it was so hurt and had grown so dim and bent, that I was left in such darkness; blinded from the smallest light, and all that is good in me. And now, as I jog in the early morning, slowly, as though in an exquisite dream, how amazing, and how wonderful this new feeling running through my veins feels, and is... all my senses have been awaken to the magic of life, and I'm astounded and amazed at the splendor and beauty which surrounds me. Have all of it been here before? To see the morning, to see it as it is... to feel it. For it is more than just seeing it. You have to inhabit it, live it; feel the warm morning breezes rake its fingers through your hair and let the symphony of birdsongs guide you; guide your steps into this newness of life; to the edge of green peeking under cobalt skies. My sight feeling like thunder, brought forth on a crackle of light. The air is silk and gold vapor, a shimmering yawn; the moan of a door hinge opening to new possibilities, new hopes, a brand new beginning of a day—reverence and resurrection. I am utterly astounded by it all, swooning with love for all I see. This is the "drinking in". This is the "feeling it" I'm speaking of. This is the "letting that warm curative liquidness of love and hope heal you"—heal my soul, so that my eyes can see again and my soul, unchained from its slavery, could sing again... this bundle of bones that I am; these days turned to songs—I can touch them. Touch "la esperanza"—hope. My hands are prayers that worship God.

Tuesday, May 14, 2013

May 14, 2013

Morning—I am the owner of my mornings, as the world lays before me; new and wholesome, when I jog, slowly, as in a dream. With each step, and each breath I take, as my lungs expand, my soul sings a quiet song of thankfulness and recognition of God's mercies, and goodness, and everything that's good and worth of praise. And there, in the freshness of the new day lays so much possibilities, so much beauty, and kindness and righteousness... I can hardly believe how much things have change in my life after the hurricane of predicaments with which I began my year. And how can I lift up my eyes to the heavens, if it is not to give thanks with an open heart, and a gratified spirit? For I have been given stillness of mind, and the antidote to fight fear, and I have been giving a renewed hope and the endowment of dreams, and a clean heart. Perhaps this is the water that brings life to the soul flowing through me, water siphoned through steady bedrock, filtered with promises of hope and eternal life; a cool, melodic laugh rising up as I trip my way down the path where my feet want to take me. Perhaps out of my belly shall flow rivers of living water.

As I turn on the path onto the last lapse of my trajectory, alas... creation sings in the voices which fill the morning air. They seem to shout: "Glory be to Thee" Glory be to Thee, O Lord my God! And for what reason did my Father filled the air with birds and birds songs on the third day of His Creation, if it wasn't because my very name was fixed on His godly mind? I am the apple of His eye, I am the pleasure of His heart.

And thus, birds swim the air and I am one with them. If not in body, in thoughts, for I am certain I have grown wings in the beauty that surrounds me, as I jog and my soul focuses on this symposium of hope and faith between Creator and creature; this Presence ostensibly infusing new energy into my footsteps, making me whole with each stride. A God bigger than my wildest dreams; bigger than creation itself. And oh, I can see Him... in the morning air which rouses verdant young leafs on trees that smile as I go by.

The spirit of the Lord moves in the atmosphere; a sweet breeze upon my mornings. "I am the only Lord; I still reign upon the throne"—I jog and I hear His voice. Certainly, our world has not been abandoned to fate. God is in complete control. As in heaven, so on earth.

Wednesday, May 8, 2013

May 8, 2013

I want to dance now. I want to join David and dance before my Lord, for he has kept me safe in his dwelling, and He has hided me in the shelter of his sacred tent when my days were dark and all the gloominess of fear and despair kept me quiet and, like a child, sobbed my heart. 
And now, here I am, so full of happy life. Who could have imagined back on those dark days of February that the sun was going to shine for me so bright, and so gentle. How poor, how stripped of all I was then. But it doesn't matter now. I work and live in my own Paradise. And that's what matters. I live my life on my own terms and dictate how my hours are going to be. And all day long my soul drinks from the spring that never ceases, and I work the soil which yields my joy. I share creation and depend on the Creator in total acceptance and humble trust for my daily portion of joy and wellbeing.

Every hour spent in the garden is an hour of continuous nearness and friendship. But it is more than that... for the rapport is absolutely more profound, and purer and ampler in the sense and substance of the word 'friendship'. It is a Father-daughter relationship. It is the creature-Creator alliance, while the sky above my head bears the color of the delphiniums on a summer's day, and how blue it is, and how lovely, and yet, I see it does not convey the true nature of the color blue, for there is also this purple light in it; so deeply and radiantly beautiful.
I cannot help glancing at my watch from time to time while so much happiness is transpiring; pondering on where I was, and what was I doing only a few months ago at that precise time. And how fortunate, and blessed I then feel when at 1:00, at 2:00, and then again at 3:00 or 4:00 I am still here, where there is no one to belittle me or make me feel unworthy, and there is nothing but a dear sun-flooded garden and the glory of God.
Sometimes, a tired old pain would resurface. It comes in waves; hopping towards me like mad rabbits at the bend of the path. But it would be for just a little while; nothing as it used to be, when memories were a disagreeable, daunting thing, and a painful past still much part of my present. With the strength of wellness rising up in me I'm finally re-rooting in all that's good. My heart is full of thanksgivings.
Oh how my soul desires the simple. How I want to live in a simple world... with simple people around me. A world where I don't have to feel pressured to accomplish big things... give me the meadow flowers, and give me waking up to the first flock of Robins in the garden... give me the little things that bestow joy, and peace.
"I will be fully satisfied as with the riches of foods; with singing lips my mouth will praise you" (Psalms 63:5)

Wednesday, April 24, 2013

April 24, 2013

Then, in the garden... a taste of magic in the air; a shadow here, an angel there...

It's spring time... it's magic! The earth has been awaken by golden sunshine, tree branches are filling up with joyful buds, tulips are embellishing the earth; which in turn, is dressing up in supple greens, and velvety splendor... like a joyful magic carpet...

I have so much to say, so much I'd like to share, but words escape me... only feelings, the consciousness of beauty and the power that is around me... and thoughts--thoughts and beliefs that hover from my heart, like magical butterflies are possible these days...

A light is shinning upon the garden. It's a different light. It leads me to my Creator every day. And there I am, to the world, apparently alone; yet I'm surrounded by the Light, my eyes may not see the spiritual realities that surround me, but I know I am not alone.

"O world invisible, we view thee,

O world intangible, we touch thee,

O world unknowable, we know thee,

Inapprehensible, we clutch thee!"

Tuesday, April 23, 2013

April 23, 2013

For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Jeremiah 29:11

Exactly around this time of year, last year, I was going through some personal tribulations in my life which inspired me to write this little poem here:

Daylight is an old man sitting outside the jagged shack...
Hand on cane chin on hand.
And his old soul is a butterfly sitting in the brink of time.
A moment decisive. And me too--tested has been the day.
Empty handed I befall lips sealed windswept
I am the old man.

Then I wrote: "Have you ever felt this way before?... And I was struck all at once how life was out there going through its regular courses, and I was caught in its whirlpool; suspended, waiting, caught in a cell within a cell; between living my life and not living it the way I want to live it... I know... there will be better days... "

I'm astound and thankful and incredibly humbled reading this now a year later. At how much it has happened in my life since then, and how God had had to work in me through tribulations and anguish so that I could finally have a chance to live my dream.

I knew back then, that the life I was living was not what I wished or wanted it to be, but I was unable to break free from the circumstances that were hurting me. I was bent and broken; yet I discovered I have an amazing ability to adapt. I can get used to anything, however uncomfortable, unhealthy or unwanted. I recognized the pain; I knew that I wanted something better, yet, fear of change paralyzed me and stopped me from taking action to achieve a fulfilling life. God needed to intervene.

Getting out of a bad situation it is incredibly difficult. Change is scary, even if you know that changing will put you in a better place. Nevertheless, I still waited upon the Lord; waited for Him to work in me that what I wasn't able to do for me. Faith kept me wishing. And I knew. Somehow I knew that there were better days ahead in my future.
And that future of then is now my "today". I am living yesterday's dream; and it is just exactly as I had dreamed it. This doesn't mean, however, that the transition that took place in my life was easy, or what I had expected it to be. Before the freedom and before the light, there was a lapse of terrifying darkness and fear which created a great deal of suffering in me. I could not see how God was guiding me through this awful period in my life. I could not understand how God's plans for my life was going to evolve. There are times when the Lord will lead you in directions you never imagined. He can come up with plans for our lives that are very distinct. Yet, He always has the best plan.
Perhaps I am not bound to win, but I am bound to be happy. I may not be bound to succeed among the powerful, but I am bound to live by the light that I have and bound to a full recovery from the past and from old pain and a fractured sense of self.

Give Him time and, as surely as dawn follows night, there will break upon the heart a sense of certainty that cannot be shaken. --Amy Carmichael

Saturday, April 20, 2013

April 20, 2013

It has been cold and windy for days and weeks. Wind has its own song to sing and it would not depart until the last note has been sung. Hence, I've been patiently waiting. Waiting for the thrill and wonder of silence, and the stillness which follows the departure of gusty winds and blustery weather. Nonetheless, I've been working in the garden incessantly; which to me it simply is the essence of bliss and a joyful life, and total wellbeing.

And what delight it brings to my soul the stanza sung by the sun... the earth has been awaken by golden sunshine, tree branches are heavy with joyful buds, tulips are embellishing the earth; which in turn, it has been dressing itself in supple greens, and velvety splendor... like a joyful magical carpet.

I am free; free in spirit. This is the deep, abiding peace between my heart and my Creator, and it cannot be taken away.

I've dug up a new flower bed, and planted a Climbing Orchid Masterpiece rose there. I've also bought an Iceberg floribunda rose and planted it in the Golden Unicorn garden, or the rotunda where roses are queens, along with the delphiniums and peonies.

I have discovered two new peony bushes growing in the rotunda this year... like magic, they have risen up and swelled. I'm learning that as a garden matures plants will reseed themselves. When the seeds ripen the seed pod explodes, sending its seed in all directions. Many plants are sown by seed which has been eaten and excreted by birds. Trees can grow unexpectedly where squirrels have buried nuts and forgotten them.  But there are yet other times when plants would simply arise from the grown in a supernatural way; plants and flowers that you had not planted or otherwise would have never grown, if it wasn't because they're simply gifts; flowers and jewels of the earth gifted to you by the Creator of every life. 

And what does it matter if this "gifts" emerge where they were not suppose to, or grow where you hadn't anticipated it if they're always in the right place? Always little blessings like stars scattered all over the land.

I like to call these flowers "heavenly surprises"—little gifts from my Heavenly Father... I'm always so thankful for such precious gifts.

Saturday, March 23, 2013

March 23, 2013

March is such an unpredictable month... my sun loving heart is much against the impetuous March; the deceiver March—a teaser who seeks to keep you under its spell by promising flowers and sunshine and warmth and balmy breezes too soon. March lets you believe that the long winter days are over. But then, its wheels turn; unexpectedly and harsh, and you wake up to frost clumps growing on my eyelashes and eyebrows; breath billowing white again... and it is frozen creeks again, and freezing cold river waters, and the garden a sea of mist, poked by the tips of trees and bushes turned archipelagos of fog.

But the worse of it all it is always the wind; freezing howling winds—the holy language of March. The March winds: As much as I try, my soul would not befriend them.

This evening, from further down the garden as dark approached, all that could be seen was the tall roofs of the neighboring houses, and above and beyond the insipid night fog. There are times when March reminds me of my own life—the faith's wheel hesitate, it gets stuck in a rut in the road, the eager early blooming flowers of all that is good and edifying to the soul are surprised by late frosts. I can only see ice-edged daffodils hanging their heads in sheepish dismay. The bursts of my energy for work and inspirations get blocked too in the juddering teasing mood of March, and wilted like frost-bitten petals, bloomed-too-soon.

I think of the fake March and think of those who delight themselves in putting on appearances up an appearance of love for their own conveniences, or gain.

also of the truthfulness of Jesus. I am in awe, and my heart rests in knowing that . Thank you, Jesus, for not putting up with an appearance of love. You are the real thing, you are the Defender of your children.

Friday, March 22, 2013

March 22, 2013

Fog last evening... and then, from further down the garden as dark approached, all that could be seen was the tall roofs of the neighboring houses, and above and beyond the insipid night miasma.

Then this morning—snow. We woke up to a fine powering sugar dust of a snowy garden... Ah, it must have been the angels again! They think my garden is a bundt cake, and often delight themselves in dusting it! It must look terrific from above with a thin glaze of frost dripped over it or just a powdered sugar sprinkle of light snow.

I'm afraid of winter... it goes on forever collecting in the garden; so it seems. There are times when March reminds me of my own life—the faith's wheel hesitate, it gets stuck in a rut in the road, the eager early blooming flowers of all that is good and edifying to the soul are surprised by late frosts. I can only see ice-edged daffodils hanging their heads in sheepish dismay. The bursts of my energy for work and inspirations get blocked too in the juddering teasing mood of March, and wilted like frost-bitten petals, bloomed-too-soon.

I wish I could be like those people who always see the positive side of life... my soul struggles sometimes as it desperate looks for the smallest light... the tiny flame of my sacred heart. Life is beautiful; yet terrifying.

Sunday, March 17, 2013

March 17, 2013

“Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also” (John 14:1-3).

I'm exhausted. My feet are sore and there's not a bone or muscle in my entire body which does not ache. But it is a good tiredness. And it is a good weariness and a body fulfilled by the goodness of nature and a labor of love—the readiness of the garden, the cleaning and pruning and the collecting of dead leaves; the painting of weathered furniture and things, the sowing of seeds; planting and replanting of the spring garden.

And thus, I am living out here again; mainly during the warmest hours of the day, which start at midday and end around four in the afternoon. Mornings and evenings are still mostly cold, but the nippiness hanging from trees and still bare branches foretells a distinctive story... a story of sunny days and delicious warmth, and balmy evenings and starry nights.

I'm always thinking of another garden while in my garden. A garden faraway from my garden. A future garden outside this earth. Jesus said: "I go to prepare a place for you."  In my Father's house are many dwelling places... My people will live in peaceful dwelling places, in secure homes, in undisturbed places of rest.

And thus, I choose a garden for my future dwelling place. On warm afternoons, where the sun hits full and warms the boundary of the florid paths, the smallest single wing turquoise birds will congregate in flittering jamborees, sip their nectar with straw shape tongues and start the winds whirling with their placid quivering... I catch them fluttering and flapping in the sunshine, and stand there with them; arms out wide; face lifted to the light while waiting with sheer anticipation for them to land on my finger tips. My little heart laughs with joy. Somewhere in the distance angels watch and laugh too.

Oh, the beauty of the promise! My heart of heaven loving hearts yearns for a thaw, hoping for a ribbon of warmth to sneak its way into this sin infected world and wrap every good thing in it with a turquoise bow of eternal life.

Perhaps... perhaps this garden-mansion of mine it's being built as I write; it is coming together beautifully; planted and designed to my own heart's desires by the Master Designer—the Living One. Or maybe... maybe it has already been fashioned and it is now ready to be inhabited; until finally it can be taken possession of... I don't doubt this. I know it with total certainty. It's a promise sealed by blood.

"The LORD will surely comfort Zion and will look with compassion on all her ruins; he will make her deserts like Eden, her wastelands like the garden of the LORD. Joy and gladness will be found in her, thanksgiving and the sound of singing" (Isaiah 51:3).
Oh, we haven't been forsaken. My heart sings one pure, long note; it beats with heavenly glow.

Saturday, March 16, 2013

March 16, 2013

"Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave. It burns like blazing fire, like a mighty flame" (Song of Solomon 8:6).

Pristine sapphire skies, sunshine on my face; dancing in a circle of sunbeams—I stand in the middle of the earth... is it easy to fly to fly without moving? Ah, it must be you, Spring, knocking on my soul's inner doors.

Love... my little heart is bursting with love. Love is in the air; it dances above the fields, it flutters about the garden; it dashes in and out...

Love; every single warm, beautiful, generously giving light on our fair planet shining directly in my face. You can taste it, drink it; soothing—like some mysterious and miraculous substance... love, love is everywhere...!

Tulips are wearing elaborate creations of gowns in glorious colors for the upcoming ceremony of flowers... you can see their crowned heads waking up from their slumber; out of their hiding places, as they are summoned out by warm light and bird songs...

I've been working in the garden for hours every day now; working with the earth, freely from the heart, breathing the air from my own Paradise's peak. I’ve been wild with joy in my yet somewhat sleepy garden; stirring slowly under the ground; slowly waking up. And I... completed and embalmed in a sacred sisterhood with the earth; sharing this awesome world with all the voices of the Universe.

Life. Life is as strong as death. And I can feel it and see it stirring beneath my feet. Life cannot be contained or restrained. It is a magical thing. Mysterious and magical, as everything that cometh from the hands of God is. It is miraculous. And the garden is its receptacle. It is the vessel where life and death become a resurrection and a promise; an act of conception, beginning, impetus, genesis. A miracle performed in the name of love in the most grand sense of the word.

I am speechless.  I can only stand before Thee in total humbleness and devotion.

Thursday, March 7, 2013

March 7, 2013

I started working in the garden again. My sleeping rose garden looks more like fields stripped down to their essence than a garden; in its washed muted hues of drab taupe and brutal with winter.  But today, a strong bright sun is pouring down, making me squint in its brightness, as it washes me clean and fills my soul with gladness and forgiveness.

And thus, I cleaned, and worked the soil, and pruned and cut dead stems and old stalks down to the ground, making way for the new shoots that are already emerging from the crown—the columbine, candytuft, pearly-everlasting and the lilies.

The Mourning Doves are starting to engage in their courtship rituals, filling the air with mystery and bonding sacraments; wing flaps, head dips and the intricacy of a song that's more to me the spirit of a lament than anything else.

I want to capture this feathery weeping in the palm of my hands, but it runs rampant in the hands of the wind instead. It flickers—that song. And it mutates; it scurry on the ground like the pearls of a shattered necklace, as the sun, too, shimmers and twinkle through naked branches in cobalt hues stolen from the skies.

The skies.... I lift my face to it and reach my arms out wide. I too, like the birds, have grown wings on my back. "Are you up there... are you?" In my heart. In my soul. In my very being You are.

I wish to be filled with overflowing peace, to have my very self wiped clean, refreshed, revived with the pure joy of the Spirit. I pray for the wounds of my heart to be healed and for those who had hurt me... forget forget; move on... but it's not easy.

The Mourning Dove's flapping/gladding flight brings me back from my reveries just in time to realize that it is 1:30 pm, and I am exactly where I wish to be, doing that what I love to do.

I am blessed.

Sunday, March 3, 2013

March 3, 2013

The colors of the garden is that of a staunch and burly chromatic nonsense. It is the same spectral color of the skies; which this morning are low and heavy with early rain. I imagine that from the garden floors leap this invisible joy; wet and supple, which stretches and swells and spread throughout the entire garden. This is only perceive by the natural world, and perhaps, also by those with heart opened to the infinite love and thoughtfulness of a powerful and sympathetic God; the God of creation, who while fashioning each tree and shrub and flower had us on his mind.

And thus, I see it too—this happiness with which each plant and each tree shrouds themselves with on rainy days. And I see they're playing dressing up too. As in readiness to step into some regal ballroom. Because, well, they're dressed up in itty bitty sparkling stars made out of water, and they're wearing necklaces adorned in jewels of perfect spherical rain drops and globular trinkets and charms so pure and dazzling, my heart leaps with joy.

Isn't this delightfulness; this pleasure flourishing in the soul, precisely what I had wished for years and years? To be able to stay home; having not the need to go out into the world to make my living in an office cubicle, wishing throughout my days I could be free. Free to be here, just where I am today?

And why is my heart anxious then? Why am I distress by the external? And how ungrateful the heart is; how deaf our ears to the voice of our heavenly Father when He speaks to us in the hour of need.

"Look at the birds"—He says. Have they not fear of what tomorrow have reserved for them? If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe me, or feed me?

I have so many things I wish to write; so many things to say, but the words come on as ghosts, fragments, intangible wisps. I am patient.