wash shin ton talk

That keeps me away from painful blood love

It's the people that build the place and the place is empty without the building that the love people create

It's the people that are the place

Places are empty without the ones that fill in the memories with shared laughter, tears, and love.

And the love in the people that draws the prodigal back to dusty dirty, cramped highways

and the love that pains in loss of love in the blood bound people

and the fear of seeing the blood bound faces in goodbyes

wraps around this not being home

and preference is a choice in a big open space

but love is a coagulating agent in the get-out-of-Dodge highway calling

and my eyes may open to the space to improve that thick dreary heat blanket

that thick black out curtain hung up to keep out

and

And your black out curtains are me screening my calls

and your heat aversion is my blocking out social media

and your desire for mild weather is me sweating out the heat

and getting lost in wondering what is out there is forgetting that the place is nothing without the people

and the people put meaning into the place and all of the exploring is meaningless without the quality of life breathed into it among the acceptance of those that are in the inner circle

because what is an adventure worth if the wisdom and experience gained from it is never shared at all?

Just don't leave out the coagulating love.
that nuisance of a thing holding onto in the blooming of the bluebonnets and the thick humid heat blanket

thump say speak. I speak, says the one. mini-mex muse revealing tex-mex itty bitty one.

making the change
breaking away
friend, my fear
so near
push away all hope of smiles
all the promise of the not yet known
and what we don't know
don't know what the repercussions will be
just we'll wait and see
and the yelling and they get so mad
wonder where they get that from
and the love that's so deep they weep and weep
their joy overflows into crinkled eyes
the joy of the ice cream man's jingle
the mad rush for the money hard earned
just a vacation
just a vacation
for the rest of their childhood


dear friend eclipsed by sweet smiling eyes



never going back to the semi-cultish house of worship contained in the sacrifice of the few for themselves
-careful not to offend the little
but their thing is offensive to me
offensive to that thick book I still thickly read
and all of those platitudes
those commandments we all sometimes dread
and read
and read
and read
magic thick book spoke life once upon a time
spoke direction in the truth it yelled at me
the message it taught to me
then the shifting of the meaning and the shadow of the one man's vision and his calling
and breaking away
though years have past
is still thickly stuck to the small hairs
is still twisted captor seeking to please that one man's vision
vision
singing be thou my vision
and raising ebenezer
and the last of the last and the fallen in the past
and then there is all of the sentimentality of the teenage youth group hanging on to me and pulling me deeper into the man's vision and the truth wrapped up in the warped and the managing of all of the hurt and the pain and the hurt and the fighting with the mom-child and the wanting to be better
to be better at the thick book reading
the thick book studying
and the long simple prayers admired-er
off to the oasis in the desert to sit and reflect and dig deeper and deeper
and there was refuge there
and there was calm there
and there was camaraderie there
and mission there
and understanding there

but past the busted hopes of being a part of magical all-is-virtuous-of-this-vision-most-magical
flat topper wasn't key to living out thick book
thick book
and churchy organism took
and took
and took

and readjusted sad smiles fell swiftly through the cracks
and meetings turned to meaning
and holding onto sacred life
when talking and listening was of the utmost importance
and though it always felt like the faith was out of reach, same struggled smiles held my smallness close in
and it grew
and it grew
and the laughter healed the misunderstood mismanaged healing mexi-mini me
and they held me up and I helped them up
then I left
I left
to alone and aloof and the pretty blooming trees
to box house living and just the one red friend

and I thrived
and thrived
and guiltily thrived
what of when questions breed more questions
and searching into that mini-mex proves unending
and the secular bad'man institution was a refuge to breathe
sanity in smiling faces
normalcy to pour into semi-cultish slash wounds
and of the three little ones who are thriving
and smiling
and smiling
and smiling
and of the tiny one born in the away place
the alone place
the lone red hand to hold in forceful agony
that victorious calm
to see tiny face held in swollen arms
mexi-tiny strength displayed
that questions unanswered and pains inexplicable
could maybe
not be the keeping to be tiny
the odd fitting could possibly be that perfect fitting smallish one to smile crinkle eyes alight
and tapping keys on cheap keyboard could be key to tapping small tex-mex perspective
that perplexive
long time in coming
tapped out voice
in conclusion of
those years in mom-child's care
those years in semi-cultish incompatibility
those years with the lone red sounding board
confusing one sided long thought out perspective
voiced perspective

old friend fear of rejection
push the publish
push the publish

quiet palpitating beat of the heart

quiet

for to listen to the rejection and the criticism of those thoughts and the things that they will question when to me they seem so plain and the talk of the past and the pressure that it breeds
that the satisfaction of this fallen one will be clean
and clean
and clean
and clean

because you were always mean
because you were always different
you were always just a little bit off
but that little one
that quiet face
you don't have a quiet voice, now do you

share the thing
share the thing

still your self
settle in
and the open
and the vulnerable
begets being heard
that in fear

that those impressions that wrecked small frame could soothe those stinging
in a smallish way

share and no

scared for the sympathy
sad empathy

so I hung all the diapers and there are minutes to kill

banana bread filled stuffing
matronly tight now puffing
tactical matrix debating debacle
tackle this hustle
to bustle
to bust
get fixed on the things above
where hope and calm and faith commonly shove
perfect love
perfect love
perfect love
from above
above love
above love
above´s love

fixed gaze to praise
most highest of deities
most highest of purities
the duty to stay
stay fixed on this highest of callings
this following of this calling
to the place
the place next
where there will be trials I bet
trials to fix those weary eyes on above
above´s love
and the calling to be in all that there is in the perfect simplicity of the beauty of above
above´s love
push to shove
and shove
and shove

Small talk Good Friday gone bad

People talking a lot is exhausting.
Pressure to listen.
Pressure to react.
So stupid.
So stupid to talk nonstop.
My brain can't even move.
Simple dinner sapped my life force.
Get.
Me.
Out.
Of.
Here.
I have no idea what the edification point was.
Your history?
I'm at a loss.
Function me to shower and bed.
That is all.

2 states away

I just had one of those juicy burps that leaves your throat burning and mouth tasting like bile. Nasty. My house is very quiet. The kids are in bed. No pets to wander the house. Just me. Me and Quiet. I love my Me and Quiet time. Me and Quiet time refreshes me. It gives me processing time. Six months ago most of my processing time was spent at my best friends' house talking out all the strange thoughts of my mind and goings on in my life. I confided in her for redirection when irrational fears kept me in dark hiding places, frozen in place. My dark hiding places aren't so hard to find now. I have them now not by choice, but here they are nonetheless. Irrational fears are here too. Have they kept me home these 10 adult years, or has that been the will of a Sovereign Deity? Was it a brave and courageous thing to move two states away, or am I a stronger version of my frail little girl self? Frail little girl self. Fourth child carrying little scared child. Is it everyone that freezes when faced with their frailty? Is it easier for others to realize their redeemed selves in the power of the cross? Does mercy flow easily from the mouths of others? Is my negativity a pariah? Is it conquerable? Is there a purpose other than 'I'm here' that eludes me? The reconciliation that was brought to humanity via the rugged, barbaric cross, that salvation and reconciliation, is it easier for others to wear as their armor? What hasn't He fixed in order to stare so long? Is my faith what's lacking? Perhaps I should be able to conjure up the mighty faith of Abraham to walk into the unknown unafraid. Weak little Christian girl. Christ's redeemed pearl of great price.