MJS Creative Landing

I am but a bow in the hand of my maker crossing the strings of this violin but played by the hands of our maker. Both bow and violin lay ready and exposed. As vulnerable as every blade of grass and every fowl and ocean reef as every child and mountain peak, our needs are echoes of our maker as we are fed and led replete. I speak of subtle majesty. I speak as one with deep belief. No snare or trap shall snatch me free from all that God has promised me. Use me. Use me. Let trumpets play. Let drums beat forth. Let lyrics flee. Let voices rise. Let nothing cease. To avail each self to the maker's plea.

Realism, pragmatism, fatalism, nihilism, optimism, any-ism, other-ism, feminism, color-ism, imagism, nepotism, all the isms framed in time and space.  Because? Smidgens, dashes, smatterings, itsys, tinys, teenies, oopies, bitsies, whoopsies, littles and barely's show their faces in the most auspicious cases.  And? Almost, nearly, so-close, really, dang it, oh dear, roughly, practically, round-a-bout, nigh, all gather to witness perfection has died. So? Vanished, gone, disappeared, dissolved, swallowed up, burned out, defunct, extinct, lost, terminated, faded, evaporated, dead can all find the middle part of journey false. Why?

Strung over a vast cavern and tethered by the grip of tall oaks I trust I can step out onto it but can I have that same energy when a third way through ten meters or at the half way mark? In whom do I trust at those moments? Surely the winds are not at my control. They do not answer to me. Surely those whom the air was meant for fleet of wing and abled flight I do not rule over those who rule the air. The thunder clouds or scorching heat the elements whose dominion far exceeds the lives of men or beast Is it I who dares to think that I move about with a greater trust a strong belief or unmerited vestige where choice and feat meet? Destiny is gentle, slow, and faster than an arrow but it comes. Is this the day? For sure everyday. It is everyday.

Put my butt in the seat and get to writing feeling like piano playing sometimes when I'm typing The beat and the rhythm sometimes has to be ran back but when it's actually flowin' it is tat to da tat tat And I am cool with that Promised I'd write everyday well maybe not a promise but a commitment anyway so this day I was reluctant wanted to cop out wanted an excuse perhaps the weather or the nip in the air the reasons the reason are always never much at all they never manifest reasons are never real with flesh and bone with lines or designs with feels and flows with riffs and rhymes Naked but unseen See I put those reasons in their place and now there are these words written for anyone to see if they so choose see that?!! It only took  a minute or two

Almost over! Yes, this storm faces the light at the end of the tunnel.  Literal light. Sun light.  High light. Weather day highs and clear weather nights.  As bleak as it is the days to come will be brighter.  The days to come will bring budding tress, blooming flowers, and growing green blades of St. Augustine. The slow slush of ice and melting snow makes way for increased speeds. Cars will once again elbow one another jockeying for position for the two block stretch between green lights too soon turning yellow flights. Once again noises can careen from the event center across the street. Those echoed voices from the block will be less amplified for the deaden void is alive. Where problems rose to evident themselves returns absentminded dithering and mindless progress unfocused on the threat just ahead. No one will think as much as they thought the week before. No one will be so presently cognizant. But somehow they and we will be alright. It's gone be alright.

Comforted is the one with fond memories with thoughts of family cherished thoughts of close friends comforted is the one who has waded through the hugs and hand shakes and kisses of a multitude Warm is the heart of those who gathered long hours in love for one another to mourn together to rejoin together as one Glad is the one who cherishes  and gives thanks in all and bares witness the one who knows how fleeting how fleeting the time is the one who holds that gain is loss and loss is gain and everything is everything

Good morning! who are you, now? Oh misery! Well, welcome. Come on in. I can't stay with you here long. I have to get moving. Well, it was nice for you to stop by and remind me that you exist. Please know that it is nothing personal, I will take a bit of time with you, but I can't stay here with you for long. Well, good-bye. Hope your visit with me gave you a chance at acknowledgement, recognition, and acceptance. I will no longer attempt to ignore you. That only sets me back and fills you up. and on that note, I'm off to go hang out with "moving forward." His real name is hope, but I like to call her hopeful.

Looking but rarely seeing hearing but rarely listening Touching but rarely feeling Smelling but rarely sniffing Eating my fruit but rarely truly tasting Living but rarely celebrating Dying but rarely mourned Born again but rarely truly born Standing centuries but rarely asked about my past Rooted deeply spreading through the grass shedding bark and limb and branch and yet continuing to climb always available always giving always groaning to be free

Out of nowhere the ten year old was moved and shaken everything that could be shaken was shaken in his life he discovered that there were moods and sadness and tears that were in need of consciousness once unaware now overwhelmed make it stop he cries he thinks the pain is trying to tell him it's time to learn to let go begin to  let go

Hum of Speakers and tweets of red breasted robins slow revs of engines and rustling debris gentle nudges of encouragement write everyday promise made promise kept

Each Rain drop found a place to gently land in the puddle from the sky each let loose their parachute and glided through the early morning light the little splash would find its way to nearby blades of grass the grass would sway and feel refreshed as the sun gave rise the last drop fell and the trees gave a shake as the winds danced through the air refreshed are roses, refreshed are pansies, refreshed are lilies and shrubs and grubs, and little birds and squirrels and back to the earth the rain must return and back to the sky from above in the distance, the clouds make way to gather the day and spill forth the rains again but today the sun bathes the creatures below as if they never knew rain before

In this land a warmth so envelops one that one dare not look straight on to see By contrast in this land there is no need to see or hear or feel or be

Desire tells no lies truth burns deeper and longer than any acid the day surely folds into night there should be no surprise autumn leaves tense and taunt once pliable and once held fiercely by the branch must make circumstance confirm to truth though every year leaves spring anew yet not the same one we once knew is this the fate of even every man a command to bring forth growth and shed what once was for what must come 1.5.18