dawn's rising

there is something
infinitely beautiful
wonderfully expansive
about the moment
seconds before
the sun has fully risen

the quiet
the peace
beholden by the world
within the moment
as the rays
grace the trees
a golden light
crisp and clear
of anything and nothing
within the silence
of a morning's dawn

literary confessions

On my ride into work this morning I was thinking about my vampire story. Wondering why the hell I can’t seem to write anything more for it. It’s been over a year since I gave a friend a complete draft, and when I say it was a draft, well, it was not finished, it still had lots and lots of wholes in it, along with more than a few inconsistencies, but it had a beginning and it had an end, and for the first time ever I put the scenes into chronological order, which at the time appeared to be the most logical order in which to place them all. Thus, I had a draft that could be shared and once the pages were printed and the 3-ring binder left my hands my mind began to take a vacation from it all, but the sad truth is that since I gave it to her last October I haven’t been writing much for it. A scene would appear in workshop, or a two sentence stint there for the tiniest of connections, but nothing like what I had had happening before the draft was printed.
For a while I kept telling myself that I needed a break, that the characters were becoming too much a part of my life, that everything and anything in my life was channeled back into the story, there were even pieces of real life in there! An accident I had seen, words and phrases said by co-workers or friends, snippets of songs I heard on the radio, all would inspire me to grab the closest pen and paper and jot down something for the story. But there was nothing after the draft was printed.
Sometime during this lapse I came to the realization that my main character was similar to myself, the way she held nothing back was how I would act if no barriers existed, and as soon as my mind made that conscious leap I found that I wanted to back-peddle as fast as my conscious mind would allow. I wanted to steer my mind and my body as clear away from that possibility as fast as I possibly could!
The problem with this is that I made a vow to finish the draft in 2012.
How the hell am I going to do that if I can’t even bring myself to write anything for it? It’s not like it’s going to miraculously piece itself together, mending broken images with the slick tape of proper tense and accurate syntax of words that allow the vision inside my head to be placed perfectly on the page for all who read it to know exactly what I was thinking.
So, one of my desires for this month was to get back to it, push myself passed the hesitation and get back to writing! But how do you go back to something that you have tried to ignore for so long? How do you go back to something that you purposely made yourself forget its existence? How do I go back without losing myself again?

karmic equations

How does one measure karma?

Is it a known figure, such as the measurement of how many feet in a yard? Or is it more ethereal, more ephemeral to the thought process behind the actions? Does it change from day to day? Or is it a cumulative result that can only be quantified at the end of one’s life? Is there a circle chart, or a line graph, that will allow us to know what the base line is? And who possess that chart/graph and am I allowed to see it before I die? For to know the results of one’s trajectory would be beneficial to influencing the outcome don’t you think? Or perhaps the objective is not the end result but the path that one takes to get to the end of the lesson? Is it possible to learn from your mistakes if you have no base line to compare them too? And what happens when the events that take place around you are so far out of your control that influencing the outcome is no longer an option?

How does one measure karma?

mourning heart

the moon’s heart is made of silver

lined with the etchings of the sun bridled dawn

relinquishing the waters of tomorrow’s sorrows

she hears all cries below her

she watches over them all

wandering over the next rise into yesterday’s mourning

stoning hearts

a heart of stone can be worn and weary

the birth of another can turn one’s heart cold

the edges of yesterday’s tears

run down the face

to bare witness to the unknown

what will tomorrow bring?

will we remember this day in years to come?

a heart of stone feels nothing

but the press of the outside world closing in

tomorrow is another day

and one may pray

to have the answers to these questions and more

but be warned

as you have learned before

that the fates

or powers that be

or gods and goddesses

whatever, whoever you need to call them

have a mission all their own

one cannot know the future

by the events that take place today

one can only roll with the punches

hope not to let the world

see the bruises

that lie beneath the layers

of the masks held over you

for sanity is within the eye of the beholder