finding home at nautilus teachings

 

 

The table is white linen canvas
Crisp
Impenetrable
Spacious
Unending
Silky
As a babies bottom
As I extend my palm upon my table
Minuscule bumps
Tickle my consciousness
Ebbing me
To an earlier stage
Of awareness
Compassion
Imagination
When heart
Response
Passage
And soul
Were unrestricted
Brushes, paints, journals are unburdened
Unstained
Unclothed
Agreeable to
Affirm
Stories
Craving
Saturation
Of it’s limitless
Expanse
To
Be encompassed
In
Color
Expression
Energy


A little girl sits in a dotted swiss carnation pink tutu
Her face is sweeping
With wonder
Her smile innocent
Her song luminous
Her hair is braided Indian style
She has tiny ribbons at the base of each braid
Her feet swing back and forth
Her eyes dance
Beyond the canvas table
She chooses a brush
Dips it in cobalt blue paint
In one animated stroke
Splatters the cool gloss
Encircling a generous section
She belly giggles
And says,
“It’s time to play”
A peaceful young woman saunters in drawing up a bench
Each segment of her seat
Is painted in an individual hue
An unrelated pattern
She is dallying with a strand of her golden hair
Her eyes inquisitive
Her gestures flowing
She contemplates
The elements of the table
Chooses
An untouched journal
Delicately picks up a tube of
Cerulean blue
Squeezes it upon her palm and
Tenderly strokes the empty pages
Which will house her life story
Eyes cast upward, humming,
draped in soft white cotton
with a ring of daisies upon her head like a crown
She quietly sits
In a memory held
Rocking chair
Swaying back and forth
In melodic sweeps
She glances
At the other two spirits
Sharing her space
Smiles
Begins to sing
“As the light is dancing
Upon the shadowed wall
It is into life
That I choose to fall
Upon my empty canvas
I sing my stories true
Paint every emotion
In a different shade of blue”
Soon all three
Are flowing in rhythm
Song,
Hands
And
Brush
Hands trembling,
eyes entrenched,
silent she lands upon a wooden resting perch
Words begin to gush
Rapidly
Spreading her essence
Recklessly
Wanting to shift
The assault
To her soul
She crinkles up the paper
She wrote upon
Begins to draw a lazy river
Lined with lily of the valley
And yellow daffodils
Unbalanced
She knows she cannot stay here long
For now
Her words
Have carried her
To a scene
When sketched
Lightens
The
Tremble
The rawness
Of
Adventures
Craving to be
Released
Strolling ever closer a small aged woman,
hands held out,
holds within each,
a memory
Wrapped in a silken blanket
A child stirs
The woman’s hand
Wraps the infant in shelter
Breathes into her deep faith
And circles her
In everlasting love

Held within the other hand
Is strength
Honor
Respect
He dances to her song
He listens to her stories
He laughs at her silliness
He loves her
To the core
Sun kissed, confident, adorned in paint splattered clothing, she gracefully stands at the white, linen canvased table
All eyes upon her
She unfurls her scarred wings
Extends her arms outward
And embraces
Each puzzle piece
Of her
Living soul
Trusting
She is a
Patchwork quilt
Of assorted colors
She draws her hands
Towards her heart
She is complete
She’s unbroken
The authentication
That
She
Is
Home