| To My Friends - page 2 |
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| May your heart always be warmed by the fire of love Chrystine |
| Other writings by Chrystine Thoughts, Reflections and Musings |
| My lesson for today: (and every day) Love is eternal, ever present, not limited by body and form; the universe is one love. As we live and are present in it, we are in love, are loved, are made and supported by love. No person changes, adds or detracts from that love. They simply open our eyes to see it and open our hearts to feel it. If we live with an open heart, we live in love. Each day is a love embrace, a love emergence and love immersion. Today I will live in love. |
| Update 1/21/06 |
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| This is not a panic but I must be frank. It will soon affect the community. This is personal, please keep it confidential. I know it is because of you that one of these outrageous things is growing on my face. It is a very contagious smile you have. I hope you are never careful about spreading it. I'll bless you each time it happens. Bless you! |
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| Some relatives you just have to excuse. Love is rude. It knows no manners. Even with an appointment, it is late or comes too soon. I have no time to prepare. It is not fair. It enters as if it owns this home, just barges in. It goes to my private room. It lounges on my bed and demands to be fed. I need to sleep but it fills me with wine, then dances all night. It calls my friends and invites them to party. They sing loud songs and leave a mess. I cannot rest and I may never get this nest in order. I leave for work. It tags along, uninvited. It says things at inappropriate times. And it will not put away that silly grin. It embarrasses me. I blush. I am sorry if it bothers you. I apologize for this love. It is just uncivilized. |
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| Passion is persistently pressing to close off the day. The moon calls as I pray. There is no respect for my diligence. My beloved comes in many forms. Tonight she is a seductress demanding surrender. I require no provocation. She is swelled to fullness, prepared even before I enter her presence. Her touch awakens the scent of readiness. It is the aroma of a night blooming garden. The air fills with delicious desire. I sway to breath's rhythm. Then we dance to the beat of my heart. Waves of warmth wash me as she pulls close and whispers. The burning boils my blood and scalds my soul. She directs me to mount dreams and ride the pulsing of her light. The seduction surrounds and sequesters my senses. I cuddle closer, exploring the secrets hidden in her form until she explodes in liquid brilliance. Then I rest in love. |
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| A pearl melts in a glass of wine. So my heart drops into love and disappears, a drink served at the table of the divine. There is no distinction between the beauty and the fluid. I am one with all that is. |
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| This morning begins with a song of love. A hymn of gentleness invites me to come out and play. My beloved sent the birds to sing it to me. Come; please come into this day. Adventure into this field of blossoming adoration. Leave the visions of the sleepy world for another time. Today's dream is awake and waiting. |
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| A friend dropped off a box of treasures. My instructions are to go through it, take out what I want and then pass it on. It is an odd assortment of jewels, jingles, clothing, toys and tools. Some of the things seem to have come from you. There is a laugh and an eye's twinkle. I am certain I have seen you wearing them. I guess you have new ones. Still, these things you let go after a single use are precious to me. I hold them close and feel your warmth. If you ever want them back just let me know. I'll be happy to replace them. I love to rummage through the things you leave in my life. |
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| My dream is to see the world from the precipice perspective. I climb beyond trees and befriend clouds but have further to ascend. The wind's wish is to blow me from this place but I refuse to loosen my grip. Yet desire is to be defied. I cry. A crevice opens in the side of shadow mountain. Without choice, I am drug through the chasm of doubt. I ride a flood of white water tears. Echoing through the gorge, reality evaporates into the roar. Sentries of my suffering, the ancient rocks are not worn by the torrent. They dare me to pass. They laugh. It is experience that keeps me from being dashed. I know this trip all too well. And with each bump, turn and tumble I learn again. Each tour moves more quickly than the last. Even the grandest of canyons can not hold me forever. I am coughed from the mouth. I find shore and stretch in a meadow ornamented with blossoms and padded in grass. Aching from the struggle, I nap. Rested, I start a new ascent. |
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| At once I am earth, flower and sun. Made low, I am dirt; the damp blackened soil of decomposing matter mixed with sand and clay. I am warmed by the sun and dampened by tears. I lay quietly and wait. Beneath my surface the seed of love sprouts. I feel the piercing and probing. Roots are crumbling my stony parts. The stem reaches daylight and pumps light and air into my dark essence. I allow desire to deteriorate and fertilize growth. I nourish the tint and scent that are love's display. I have no need but to be a plot where love blossoms and offers beauty to the world. The flower plays seductress and says come-hither. Be dazzled by the display and intoxicated by the scent. Dance with the colors. Move deeper until you are lost. Come, please come, my opulence is lost without your observance. Take me as your own. Know my passion, my soul. I am your gift. My only purpose is to draw you into an embrace of universal tenderness and affection. I am glad to be given; plucked for your pleasure in the hopes you will discover the essence of divine devotion. I step along the preset path. Night scurries away just ahead while following me closely. I am never alone in this caravan. I rise in a blazing fullness and settle beyond a horizon. No day is like another. I ride the cycle of change. My eyes are fixed on the road just ahead. All I see is beauty. Earth, flower and sun, all things become one in love. |
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| The world asks For an appointment I'd love to make one But I am indisposed I have a previous engagement That I can't escape Although it was not planned Answering an invitation Gleaned from a glance I fell through open eyes And emerge in a trance. I stood among moving things Snaking ropes and strings The tie that binds Entwined my soul Just a finger's touch I was wrapped in an Embarrassing encasement Turned and pulled tight This is knot love There is no reason, ransom, or request Still I am hostage to The pleasure of presence I am bound to find love in my life |
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| Sandy passed through a channel near my life and then sailed on. Navigating through the office waters, a safe place was assured at spotting the buoys of joy she deployed. Even in the wind and storms I knew I'd find a smile on the bow. The passing ships would hail and meet. She'd then leave treasures on a sandy shore. She made me aware of where to find safe harbors. She carried cargo of beauty to many ports, always leaving more than she took on board. First the tides pulled her out and tossed her on rough waves, then the current chose a different course. I'll miss the presence of friendship, but I know she will fare well. Her ship is not sunk. It simply sails another sea. Farewell, sail on in calmer waters dear friend. You are missed. |
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|| || || Don't give me that kind of look My tears are just love slurping through a straw. I am drawn up from the bottom of my glass. The rude noises are in fact the sound effects of love. I am almost emptied. Sometimes, to get it all, love just sucks and sucks, and then fills me up again. |
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| Love left, Leaving longing To linger alone. The body survives But Spirit dies In holy demise. The caesarian cessation of life, Supernatural natal, Constructive destruction, Where it ends It mends And begins again. |
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| If you look for the center of the universe, begin at the door marked heart. But beware of the guard called self. Her ego edge sword would rather behead you than let you in. Romance may get you by. Try feeding her until she belches and then removes herself to recline. You might attempt lulling her to doze. Better yet, wear her down. Invite her to dance. Let her get lost in the whirling trance. As she staggers in dizziness, sneak in. |
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| I start my day dancing for rain. The sun illuminates the thunderhead. There is an eighty-percent chance of love today. I see the mass of moist passion as tall, thick and broad. It fills the horizon with charged affection. The hairs on my neck snap to attention. In my bones and observations there is no contingency. Lightning and boomers are coming. It may rain for days. I will leave the umbrella at home. My heart needs a good soaking. |
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| Dance into today Entwine in the motion Let thoughts tangle between remembering Tomorrow and discovering yesterday. Intellect is misleading in ecstasy's maze. Devotion emotions smother the mind. Prancing through a birth canal Let reason gasp as passion cries The first breath of life. |
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| I yell, " All-ee all-ee out be, everyone out come in free!" but the twilight stays still and vacant. When I was small I discovered a way to win at hide and seek. If it is played at dusk you don't need a large tree, or piles of leaves. Simply run to the deepest shadows and lay still. It works well. I have children hiding there, even after all these years. So I pick up a flashlight energized by dura-love to begin exposing the the spots of nighttime shade Mostly I find insects and arachnids with a few rodents that scurry from the beam. Don't worry if you see them running out. While I'm here, I might as well clean house. I keep seeking because there is a special place where big brown eyes open and sparkle against the light. Then I can stretch out my grownup hand as I whisper that playtime is done, and that supper is ready, so is a bath, story and bed. Each is warm and waiting. It is time to come in. She climbs into my arms and is asleep before we reach the house. Once the game is finished, the dreams begin. I feel that there are others still hiding. Tomorrow I'll seek again. |
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| The follicles stand straight at the nape of my neck. We align soul to soul eye to eye, hearts open expanse to expanse. Sparks fly from electric ecstatic love. I look. No I gaze. No I fall into space, and emerge riding past stars on electric ecstatic love. Riding lightning moves fast but disappears in a flash leaving charged ash to be cast across the vast void No echo for the crackle of electric ecstatic love. Energized my beloved takes body to show me the power place and passion of electric ecstatic love. |
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| Come! We are waiting Bring your laughter Join our dance The song is never complete Without the music Your heart makes Dance! Remember the moves Your body knows So does your soul Surrender to movement Love in motion Invoke, evoke and emote Love! There is no forgetting No dementia to diminish Performance of passion Remember the rapture Your first lover Your first breath Breathe! Simple breathing Empty chest Unburden heart Push it out and In flows the fresh Fill, release and repeat Flow! The universe moves Swirling around And moving beyond Let it take you Bring you To this place Come! |
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| You look hot. Your eyes glow and burn my soul. I am surprised by the sacred sensuality that sizzles as it produces the brand of profound peace. It is surreal serendipity and serenity I shiver with tingles from your visual touch. As you wear your heart for glasses I see much clearer. I find focus in my day. I envision God. It seems she sees you as I do She told me to tell you, that you look good today. |
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| Love can be such a strange thing when you let it become a kite that flies with out string. You can't predict where it will go. Sometimes it flies away, and at other times it falls at your feet. My best hope is to follow where it leads. Perhaps over a fence or in a different yard it will fly to me. |
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| Milk of human kindness with lactose intolerance: lack of social tolerance stinks. It may be hard to accept and digest, but don't blame them for your internal rumbling. There are those that dine and delight on difference. If you can't stomach it it is not their problem until you release loud rudeness in response to their natural nature. Please don't do it here. People will look at you with twisted faces and turn away their noses because it smells atrocious and they all know who did it. |
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| On a moonless night, driving far into the country where no city lights diminish the vision of heaven, her life is only physics and general relativity. Previously gravity pulled her toward brightness. She settled into an orbit about another heavenly body until the last flare was withdrawn. With a sun too close her eyes are blinded in brightness. Now she understands that it is on the dark nights that the stars become diamonds scattered on velvet. Only from the unlit space does she see the jewels. She stares into the voluminous voided of space as longing tugs and tares tears from her heart. The drops have no meaning in themselves. It is just the gravity of the situation and lack of physical sensation. Using the points of reflected twinkles in the pool of overly emotional eye drops she plots the course to her destiny. She launches a dream toward another stellar love. |
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| A soul mate left her with no skills but these. She is desperate to discover a means to support and care for her own needs This passion is a perfected talent. She surrenders to selling her body of work if that's what it takes to survive. Without reservation or expectation but weighted with anticipation she descends to a bohemian basement brothel of sensual verse. Perhaps this is a place she could work. Pushing up cleavage to cover her heart she marches to the mistress and with delicate detail makes a proposition pronouncing proficiency at compositional copulation. Fulfilling fancy fantasies as a whore bejeweled in words, she thrives. |
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| Do we watch the news with the sound turned down? A tree falls and there is no noise. Is it because none is there to hear or because we chose to watch it on the screen and not listen to the screams of war? Many have fallen in clear cut cities. Did we hear that? Does the heart need a hearing aid? A child, mother, father, sister or brother dies and there is no sound of cries unless the relatives are ours and they all are relative. The rockets red glare bombs bursting to bare our souls. Each ghost must be a banshee. When we can no longer stand the shattering shriek perhaps then we will stand and roar "NO MORE!" |
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| Love is fluid. It moves and shapes to its container. It is an ocean in a bottle. Waves move from one end to the other as it floats in the sea. Then the God of all things liquid; the ruler of life, love emotion and joy, tosses it on a rock. The shattering noise is unheard in the breaker's roar. Love is lost as it is absorbed into something more. Shards of glass glistens on the outcrop as a reminder of the former confinement. Such kindness of the divine takes time to understand. |
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| I think that unbuttoning is a metaphor of love's wishes in many ways, the imagination, the heart, the senses and fears can all be opened. Clothing was invented to remind us where we are going with all this, don't you think… Nancy Krieg Nice dinner, the night is dressed to the nines. Here happiness is served with fine silver and smiles. Until she catches a glimpse of the gap in her shirt. She'd checked it when she dressed, but she can't seem to keep that damn button, the one over her heart, sewn on. There was no noise or notice when it popped off. Though it is no surprise as it happened as it has before. Especially sitting eye to eye with a person like this. Was it the look she got or the one she gave that caused her chest to swell with a breath too big? If her feelings must be exposed, so it goes. It is a night of social embarrassment. "Oh God, don't let it be in the soup again." she said beneath her breath. The difference is she decides to leave it amiss. There will be no pulling, pinning or covering up. She'll pretend it is what she intended. An observer might think her emotions are inattentively attired, but the one with her now enjoys the peek at her delicate cameo-soul. It is the first step toward naked openness. Tonight is more than a marvelous meal. It is a meeting and merging of love. When moved to uncover her inner self dinner is fine, but breakfast is divine. |
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| Without coronation she was crowned Queen of the glorious growing bouquet. For a time she was potentate of passion but even kind kingdoms are taken down by internal struggle and soul's ugly strife. Falling then failing in love becomes an ended reign over wilted roses. Realization is raised in reality. Her mind molds to a mob mentality Her thoughts take up revolution. Ragged emotions rally to toss her out She is dumped tussled and tormented. This view of beauty is plainly painful. Dethroned she is thrown on the thorns. Yet aroused by remembering the rose's scent and sweet sentiments she rises in humility to till the garden ground while whispering wishes watered by tears and tended with tender attention, the petals of one petite blossom in bloom will place her on the throne again. |
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| Love, she held it back and let it pool into a lake until it stagnated. The alkaloid content built and then killed anything that dared grow in the water. Most mapped their journey around the stench. Then came one, a person of purpose. The mischievous missionary attacked the foundation of her protection. Blow after blow of a jackhammer's drum roll pounded till it opened a tiny hole and started the trickle. Each drop eroded a piece of the well poured wall of artificial stone. Suddenly the whole dam thing crumbled. It released a flood of destruction through the valley that ran on and was absorbed in the ocean. The mud dried. A new life emerged. She smiles at the flowers and allows all that will stop to stay awhile and drink from the water. She offers a prayer of thankfulness to the powerful and persistent dam destroyer that moved on to another reservoir. |
| To make a war on terror, to me, is filling fire extinguishers with gasoline. I interchange two letters. Small changes make a big difference. I replace the n in on with f and find my greatest fear. We've lost the wars on poverty, drugs and many others. Still they are declared to be chariots of salvation and protection. They do not mend but rather extend and then append to sorrow. A piece of peace is body bagged in each battle. Our feelings grow cold until they freeze-dry our freedom. Then that cracks and crumbles with the slightest touch. There is no reconstituted brew for us to enjoy and left unchecked no constitution left to protect us. I'd prefer declaring a peace on war. Peace and love are pillows that suffocate hate. There is no I in war, and no winning either. |
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| She stands in the doorway as if an earthquake is destined to shake her paradigm and make her uncertainty certain. By choice every piece is complete and separate. Her days are night and evenings are dawns. Her twilight never passes beyond this tween space. She lives in the shaman's shadow world, in between the past and future. It is a slot that is neither real nor unreal. She is in the threshold that connects life to death, past to present and reason to insanity. Each is equally her domain. She is all and none at once. The loneliness of the universe occupies the entire space of fulfillment. With only one step she'd be in a room, not her own or her home. So she retreats to this refuge. To be something or nothing as an act of will is still her most prized skill and preferred position. |
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| This wind never whispers, it howls and growls its challenge. Would you dare dance? All that is real is rustling with the passing. It presses close to feel the fleshy firmness of your form and without permission penetrates your private places Would you dare dance? It is self-important, impatient, impolite but pointedly passionate. If you are uneasy or become queasy being spun, if you detest a mess or will not be unkempt dare not dance this dance. Crawl into a hole until the wind of love has passed. |
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| She set up a meeting for the estranged twins. It was a momentous and much anticipated event. She begins, "Loving meet Longing. Longing this is Loving." There is instantaneous recognition and reconciliation. Briefly the siblings join hands and just meander about in joint musing. Even though they have been apart for years, they need no speech. They are two bodies sharing the karma of one soul. |
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| In their destinies most of the days are meant to be spent alone. Their paths again bifurcate and make a blunt end of the reunion. It is difficult deciding which one to follow so she cries as they part. She lives vicariously as the mother of sisters that cannot get along. She can't understand why twins tend to think they are so different. Although they are grown, she still has trouble telling them apart. |
| Early morning is when you wake her. It is not quite night and still not light. The dense stillness wraps and warms her soul like thickness of a plush terry robe. She sips coffee as you rub her neck, She relaxes in touches of love. You start holy pleasure in darkness then welcome the dawn with ecstasy. Passion is her prayer and offering. |
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| It was good to have a couple of days all to myself and to fill them with beauty. Fire inspired colors hung on trees, large rocks, lava fields, deep shadows, deeper canyons, contented cattle grazing, water running, falling, singing and pooled into lakes. Physically and metaphorically, it was high above the ordinary world and below it as well. It would be cruel to litter it with my troubles, so I left them in a canister somewhere along the way. In those places I am content to be a recipient of simple gifts. It was an unfair poetry competition for which I was ill prepared. The mountain, river or desert do not appreciate my poetry. Although they do hope I like theirs. It is shared whether or not I care. I became a sacred cow in a divine ranch roundup. I was culled from the heard, roped and tied by vision and then branded by love that pierces through my eyes. Images burned their mark on my soul and mind. I am released back to my field knowing to whom I belong. At once I am small on the landscape of grandeur and huge as I merge to be one with it all. Perhaps that is how we are with God. |
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