Churn...Churn... Churn

Questions or Questioning is part of any person's reflection. You stand in front of the mirror and ask sometimes the most trivial questions like "Why is there so much acne on my face?" or maybe something deep like "Am I the same person I was when I was ?" The question I ask myself more than once in any given time frame is "Am I Just Ordinary?" because sometimes the things that I do or people I meet or situations I am in or choices I have to make me see things as if they were normal or sometimes they're so extraordinarily hard that I want to feel regular. But what is ordinary or normal or regular. They're all marginalized based on a set of expectations and more and more I realize, I have no need to conform to them unless... I choose to. But questioning, tool, process, whatever one may want to call it is inevitable, rational and necessary. But on the other side there's still this incredible surge of powerful sensations that are in flux within me and these poems depict that.

Bitter-Sweet Melody
-February 17, 2011

Her tears flow quietly,

She knows not how 

Things will unfold.

This fear that grips her

When her intuition knows best

Makes her heart beat outside her chest.

She lifts her eyes

Up unto the heavens.

Her help does come from Above

The dark clouds part 

Even at night

Letting through light.

The peace slowly fills her

She leans against her Rock.

The Earth, The Wind, The Water

The Fire and The Spirit

Engulf her aura,

Giving her wings shining abright.

Soon her soul soars,

Higher than the highest moutain.

Her feet takes root

Deeper than the deepest gorge.

Her inner voice set free,

Sings always a bitter-sweet melody.

Just Ordinary?
- February 27, 2011

Stopped dead in her tracks;

The thoughts hit her like an axe

"Am I Just Ordinary?

Or quite the contrary?"

"But... but...?

These flashes in my mind,

Expressed in colour

Isn't it what I find,

Deep inside?"

Days of clarity,

Nights with fog,

Sweet slumber 

Amidst the autum mist;

All hidden within her tiny fist.

Like the two sides of a coin 

It seems 

The double edge of a sword

Gleams, 

That which makes her more than 

Just Ordinary.

Is it enough?

For her to know,

That even in the calmest of calm

She is still the pebble,

Smooth, rough, transparent and opaque

All at once, 

Rippling a storm on the placid lake.

Awakened!

From the folds of her soul,

The yearning for that which

Departs from the old.

New Patterns to hold,

All that is far from Just Ordinary.