Never Argue Your Point, Simply BE Your Point

 

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I was almost drawn into an argument

And it was pointless

Narrow mindedness and tunnel vision

Steal from others the light

That is, if it is allowed that chance

 

The best warfare

Walk away and leave them yelling 

No one can win where ears are hard as stones

No one wins when brains are in-prisoned 

 

Leave and get far away

Trust the Spirit of Truth is always working

Even on yourself

 

There are some battles that belong to timing

Some of those battles belong to the right voice

Lessons learned take lifetimes

 

And we are not God

So ~

Walk away

 

Inspiration of the Weird Kind

 

Inspiring places…

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Some people must go to a cabin in the woods to be inspired to write

There are some who like mountain tops or large, loud, bustling cities

Places where the foods are exotic inspire Andrew Zimmern

But oddly, the best way to inspire me is to make me clean grout.

 

It’s called. “Let Me Escape! This floor is cold, dirty, filthy, disgusting and I’m sitting on it! 

 

Escapism 🙂 by writing … Stories are a terrible thing to waste.

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The Dragon in The Tree

There is a dragon in my tree

I found it just today

It’s been lingering there for generations

Subliminally, controlling my life, I’d say. 

~

img_3553~

It danced within my dreams

And haunted my ancestors of old

It created some battlefields

Thriving when we were brazenly bold

~

It dined on our fruits of discord

It devoured the meat off the bone

It smoked an elegant cigarette

 While sitting on my father’s thrown

~

The dragon stole our family love

It burned away bonding ties

Gulping down any charity

Our humanity left in lies

~

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~

The dragon wears a mask

Pretending to be a friend

Dressed in a cloak of disguise

Smirking behind all chagrin

~

The day you discover the dragon

because it’s already found you

A sword you will need to don

All fondness dies when it’s slew

~

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~

There’s a dragon over your bed

It came while innocent slept

It played in your fairy tales

It departs when you’ve finally met

~

Bravely casting the beast down

Tis’ the hardest task to do

But, playing with wild demon dragons

Costs, perhaps, the bonnie, likes of you 

Supernatural Journey (a short story)

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While dreaming in the midst of a stormy night, booming lights from the electrical bolts slashed dashing across the walls of my bedroom. I hid my eyes from the frightening waring images made from the shadows.
Miserably, I disdained my life and I, thankfully, welcomed sleep. I hated everything that God gave me and the thunderstorm came to punish me. I was certain that His wrath deliberately chastised me. Surely the grim reaper stood close to my bed. I felt his ominousness cold breath. The rumbling thunder and magnetic energy surrounding my lying body, ushered me into a sleeping journey back into time..

When sound asleep, suddenly, I heard in the distance ~ “the sounds of war?” Bombs and the shaking of the tin shelter where I hid crammed with others, whom I didn’t know. Oddly, they knew me, and there we hid tightly pressed together.
“I must have travelled back in time?” I thought.

They spoke in a foreign language. It was Polish. Everything was gray there, including their battle worn faces. The wrinkles bore sad lines of desperation. Their bodies were almost skeletons. And, I wanted to run, but when I started to leap, they held me.
Then, screaming, “no! Let go of me! Please!” I escaped only to see armed men coming my way! I caught my breath. There, in the dark of the night I saw a sign which hung swaying in the freezing rain and blustering wind. The metal sign creaked “Warszawa, 1943.” I knew where I was… The horrors of death were everywhere. Bleakness and freezing weather, trapped innocent victims.
The enemy soldiers started to grab me, but ~
I prayed that God takes me somewhere else other than WWII, Poland.

So, He granted my wish.

Rolling in the dirt, in fear of The Nazi’s, I was thence transported somewhere else in times past. Here the air was humid and the smell of death and blood permeated everywhere. Flies, fleas and moans came from dying men were everywhere.

I heard, “help me. Please, won’t you help?”
A man lay there in the brush. He was in gray and I was in blue. By his side a rebel flag was standing next to his bloody broken body.

“Where are we?” I asked.
“You don’t know?” He puzzled at my daze. “Mississippi.” He looked at me as if I was mad and he had disdain on his face, even though he was dying.
So, I reached out to lift him away from the fighting as all good men do. It was then, that I noticed my skin was dark. I was a large Negro man. I, aghast, thought, I’m in trouble now. Here I am, “a colored man,” centered on a battlefield in The Civil War. They will kill me. I will die. Now, more panicked than ever, I surrendered to my fear. How then, my old life seemed kind and benign in comparison to Warsaw and Mississippi.

I petitioned God’s help. “Grant me my own life, once again.” Sobbing from the deepest part of my being, concluded that he did not grant my request.

Then He transported me, again. I found myself sitting on a piano bar singing loudly. There was a sign hanging across the wall of the smoke filled bar. It swayed back and forth as the room seemed to move erratically. The sign said, “Welcome Molly Brown.” The crowd applauded and I smiled, warningly. The spotlights were in my eyes. A second passed. I noticed the calendar displayed on the wall said, “4.15.1912.” Gasping. “I’m on the Titanic.The night it sinks.” I whispered with dread. I knew, soon these lives and Molly Browns would be recorded in history. They were unaware and I was petrified. The iceberg floats before us. It will sink this ship and most of the applauders will soon die. Mortified of knowing the fate, I froze.

If I could change the course of history in Warsaw, the battlefield in The South, and on The Titanic, I would. If there wasn’t any goodness within me, then my travels changed me. All three places taught lessons: thankfulness, empathy and compassion. “God, I know, I understand. I’ve been selfish and unappreciative of the mundane circumstances in my “pathetic” life. I’ve been blessed all along and so ignorant.

With the final confession, I awakened in my own skin. It was my room and correct time…
My worldly travels were enlightening and my lesson? i will not murmur, grumble nor whine ever again.

Photo on 1-28-14 at 4.26 PM #3

Fairy Joe’s Seduction

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Joe’s Seduction

.

Innocently spoken

lips of faerie red.

Failure to answer

deliberately unsaid

~

“Come On!

You want to play!

I see in your eyes

And OH,

By the way”

“At the end of the day

You’ve nothing to say?

We’ll see.

Yea?”

~

“Come now

Sing and dance with me.

By the time night comes

We’ll use the key.”

~

“The window thought closed

We’ll not use tonight

For as the sun sets

The door will shine bright.”

~

“And, just as before

When the Moon was full

You danced by the light of the fire.

And your life…not dull.”

~

“So come on Old Foe

I challenge you today

to come to the Forest

But, don’t forget to pray.”

~

Now Joe’s eyes

faerie green-blue

Her hair of red waves fell

Her waist little too.

~

Charming alluring daring

Joe seduced the weakening victim

O so sweet her voice

before Joe actually kicked-em.

~

“I can’t, I won’t !

Now, GO JOE!

far from me!

Out! You Elphin mischief-maker!

There! The window!

Now, LET Me BE !”

~

Pouty lips and bats of faerie lashes

A wink of Joe’s eyes

She extends her hand

“Come now, come nigh,

And do not say, good-bye.”

“My human friend

Please don’t cry.”

~

Joe’s fingers crossed

After her word

“You know you want to come.”

Joe’s clever tenderness heard.

~

Then their eyes met

Joes soul stronger by far

It reached out to point the way

To the forest

By declare.

~

Weeping, sobbing and uttering,

“NO!,

For with you faerie

I SHALL NOT GO!.”

“You LIE, you CHEAT, You’ve NEVER TOLD the truth!

Away from me little demon!

For I a clever sleuth !”

“I found out your tricks

All slippery twists and turns.

You’ll not lead me to the forest

The fires there

Will not burn!”

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Blink blink. Smile smile.

Joe’s gestures summoned otherwise

Lies, cheats, twists and turns?

“You know how you loved it?

O, compromise!”

“Hey, for now,

Why don’t we play?

Remember the time

Remember the day?”

“You chased me,

And I chased you

Around and about

And away we flew.”

“And, I gave you wings

So you could fly.

You wore them one day

And flew sky-high.”

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Up and away

or top of the trees!

O, how you flew.

Then, crashed down on your knees.

You cried a little

Afraid to smash

But, I caught you.

Do you remember that?

~

By day we flew

through tops of trees.

At night we danced,

Howled while burned the fire

With the breeze.

~

The snow fell

white branches below

cold air on our faces

you didn’t say, no.

~

Confessing your fears,

Don’t make me fly!

Saying, Damn you fairies!

But, we took you so high.

But, once on top of forest trees,

cold air blew

threw majestic hair.

Then, smiles over took you.

You’d no more cares.

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Remember Foe

The human flew

Above The Earth,

And, safely returned

To the fires hue.

Tasting faerie brew

Though freezing; made warm.

Tasting our food,

image

Now, whats the harm?”

~

So, come now,

God of the sky.

Let us dance, cheer and sing

And, please, don’t lie.

~

For flying, your game fare

The faerie sort

A dare!

~

So, stay if you must…

But, winter is coming

and near the first frost.

Kindling our fires

Don’t get lost.

~

The invite is yours.

Extends the Faerie hand

In Spring depart

From kindred land.

~

Think it over,

I’ll return once.

To ask you to play

to ask you to dance.

~

Well,

Quiet are you

Not so sure?

Your soul inside

Embarrassingly pure.

~

Judge others,

And they judge you.

But, in Faerie land

All tiny feet

Wear the same tiny shoe.

~

“So, I’ll leave you this morning

To think for yourself.

I’ll return ONCE more.

~~~

When The Moon shall wane

Then, you should thin,

Follow the elf.

~

But, one more time

I ask you to follow

Before The Moon’s full light is gone.

Then, don’t dilly-dallow.

~

Joe moves to the window

Her faerie finger points up.

Then, her faerie wings take to flight.

But, before leaving from captives sight

~

Joe turns to wink

And salutes goodbye.

This poem was written with old friend JR in mind as he represents Faerie Jo

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©2009 Bonnie Jennings All Rights Reserved

Images from Pinterest, A Poets Haven and Google free images…

A Cold Day In Summer 2011

The Coldest Day In SummerThe Day My Mother Died
The Day My Mother Died 

 

She had wisdom; yet, I am wise.

sometimes the witches clashed

not to our surprise

~

Mother, daughter, lives and the time

We believed a mishap

Reality knew all that’s sublime

~

Lessons learned and some not

All underneath us

Lost, not forgot

~

Mother and daughter

Time gone

Springs cleansed the white water

~

It will take us both home.

~

My mother always said, “It is not money that is the root of all evil. No, it is the lack of money that is the evil.”

I believe her now. 

 

 

On The Tarmac

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IT was summer of 1976, The Bicentennial year of America (USA) that I walked the tarmac at Walker’s Key Bahamas with Janie’s Crazy Salt in my back pocket. Growing from the grass that lined the tarmac were wild tomatoes. Plucking a few and salting them, we gobbled the delightful little mattoe’s up. Oh, those were warm kind and innocent days, so it seems now.

Nothing But White Lies

It all flowed together so smoothly. Like a perfect image, of a handsome desirable home, with a white picket fence surrounding this quaint cottage. Framed with beautiful flowers everywhere ~ so are many stories similar to this one.

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This story, is of smoothing things over.
This story speaks of little white lies. Often spoken in humorous tones of voice, one hastily jests ~
Oh, well ~ we all do it. No, big deal.

Then, we mock phrases that aren’t truths either.Hell, it never hurts anyone.

Or, does it?

Yet, the lies presented in a palette of vagueness are simply, tall tales. Non-truths created to cover the picket fence in more, and more white wash.

Layer after layer, white after white, one stroke, each time so delicately brushed, that was, in the beginning. At first, it was   whispered. Spoken in deliberate calculated lies as his  smile expressed his own pleasure. She didn’t notice his cold blue eyes, his narrow lips that slightly turned up in the corners. if she had seen him, as he truly is, then, she would see his pride. The story of hunting her soul, and the fact, he lived in the home with the blooming flowers, until the colors of their bouquets lost their beauty.

He chased away the bees in his mad jealousy. When the bees disappeared, then he too, only dreamed of the next garden’s odors. The next place to lay his head on a down pillow, and only the best, for it’s season of glory, will also wilt from the rays of the hot summer sun. For fall will come, and coldness of winter is on the horizon.

So, innocent was the white fence in her vain glory she portrayed, to all. The observers watched the paint covering her. She was unaware of truth, throughout  the years. They knew her  innocent naiveté would one day turn, the unsuspecting, from white into dark grey.

Because ~ after a while, after a time the painter, the creator of the tall tale, wearies. The sociopath is no longer amused by their adrenalin bursts.  Their white lies aroused them like a drug, which no longer excites them. So, they become sloppy with their painting of fences.  And, soon, their palette, once beautiful, appears, not so pristine, after all.

The passer-by’s notice the cracks left without white-wash and the inconsistency of the painter’s strokes. But, for some reason, they pass by the fence, they keep to their own business, and let the white picket fence, fade to a grey frail border that surrounded a charming cottage. It once bloomed an array of colors with aromatic flowers. Perhaps, they pass, by because their white picket fence rotted, as well, and their flowers had, too, disappeared.  The fragrance of the blooms and the honey bees moved to pollinate a new-found quest, a new adventure.

And so, she asks, to whom does the vague ambiguities hurt? The answer is found when examining the fences. But, there hidden in the weeds, see, growing over the top of sour grass seen behind the grey fence is  a strong red rose.

 

Painting by Bojenn

 

Visions and The Surreal

This was my only “vision,” not a dream, I had ~ 3 years ago. Please, keep in mind I’m sixty-one, and having said this, I’m a big dreamer;

 

 

However, I’ve had onlyImage

one real vision and this is it.

Right before bedtime, everything is as usual. I climb into bed and before my head hit’s the pillow, suddenly my bedroom is in a deep forest. It is winter and I’m alone. It isn’t cold or hot. The temperature is perfect. The odor was clean and pure. There are no leaves on the trees and everything is grey. The branches seem to have ice crystals dusting the limbs, but I can’t be sure as It is pitch dark and no light from the moon. There is a lights glow. It is unusual. It was not in front of me, but seemed to be over me as I stood. Then suddenly. I was moved forward. I didn’t walk but was moved further into the forest on a disc which I couldn’t see, I assume it was a disc. Still alone. No noise. I listened for a short while, then was moved again deeper into the woods. I heard a water. There was a voice that told me to go look. I walked to a ledge that overlooked a river and a waterfall was in the distance. There was another ridge across from me on two sides. The voice said, “dive into the water.” I said, “no, I can’t, I’m too frightened.” It said, “you must.” It said, “you must trust.” I didn’t do anything, but way away across to the other mountain ledge, I saw a huge city in flames. Then, I saw a monument burn and fall down the side of the slope of the mountain. Next thing I know I was back in my bed. I had not closed my eyes. I was never asleep.

My Dream

The dream:

The path that I followed in the desert dissipated under my feet. Then, three old friends joined my side. Their names:

Faith, Hope and Love. 
They said, “we will escort you. Do not fear. God is with you in the forest deep and dark. Every man must go alone. You must trust.”

An entity named Trust,  took the lead. I began the journey, following it.

The forest was dark and deep and the trees, like all forests, have dead trees that are equally as important which was shown to me. Vastness and the growth gathered together become one place called The Forest. Some trees are young, green and full with several shades of green and some are old and rotten. They serve as homes for the rabbits and raccoons. However, together the enormous group of all types of trees are synergistic and without the totality of the different types: old and young, light green and dark and thick and thin, the forest would not be complete. It seemed they all have a role. None are common, even though, some appear handsome, some grand and some quite irrelevant, all make for what I defined, as Eden. Despite their outward appearance, in totality, they represent the whole called the forest. In The Forest are life lessons.

~

This is when, I decide to wander into the jungle of trees, so dense. The trees and the thickets called me by name. They knew me. Whispering wisdoms and truths, I can’t resist their call nor the hypnotic beauty they have. I must wander inside. To some who live in the desert, the forest seems mysteriously evil and frightening. But I find it breathtaking, alluring and magnetic. I belong here inside this lushness and greenery. This has always been my home, my roots, my beginning. Again, I am a child that has returned to my origins. Simply, there is no other choice. The heat of the years in the desert caused me to wilt. The forest of lush green life will restore my soul.

The temperature dropped as the shade of the canopy of trees welcomed me back. The coolness of shadows and the humidity embraced my body. Comfortable now, as the parched desert took a toll on my skin. My face shown, in the cool spring water in which I peered, as leather. The sun did what it was suppose to do and cooked the human quest from me. The heat was the “refining fire” that The Bible, explains. Frailty and a withered reflection reflects from the gentle waving cool waters of the spring. I look at myself, in it’s mirror. 

THEN ~

The tropical birds flew by my head!  “Oh my!”
I forgot about them and their array of colors. Greens to match the forest, oranges to show god’s revelations and blues to give inspiration. Smiling at the gift of colors, I moved forward through the limbs and undergrowth.

I came upon ~

The monkeys who did not trust me. So, they watched everything I did; my movements, my glances, my pausing and my nodding of hello to them. They, suspicious of my intentions, good or bad, would find out my purpose. This fact, I knew as they were the guardians of food and accommodation  I greeted them honestly with a nod, “hello, I mean no harm.”
They let me pass, for now. However, they did not offer me food. They ate the fruit which their many bodies protected. “Food will come later, maybe,” so, I hoped. I was hungry.

The flying creatures of the forest flitted contently from flower to flower, from creek to the water falls splash. Amazed, I stood watching. Delighting, in the beauty and coolness, which those in the desert, so feared. Bending down by the water’s edge, I cupped my hands and drank the fresh cool water. To my surprise, I drank with another animal. It shared. This was the rule of the forest. The rules were not written or displayed. But, the rules were understood within the heart of everything that lived. And, if the rules were not abided by, then, the creature was expelled to the desert with  “the humans.

The humans, I dare say with trembling fear, captured, enslaved, ate and killed them for sport. The humans were considered, the “demons.” The humans are to be feared. And I, a human, in their forest, recognized the fact, I am an intruder. But, they will allow me passage, for a while. I will have to prove my integrity as a creature of God’s. I knew this truth. 

Then ~

Needing a rest, I sat at the edge of a tree’s roots. Before falling soundly into a coma of sleep, I noticed the multi-colored green moss. It was damp, cold and sprung to new life. Small and delicate, the tiny leaves of multi greens invited me to observe it’s world. I looked harder, further, and magnified the mosses world in my imaginations. I saw another place, another home for strange odd life which was microscopic to human vision, but in the forest, I could see the tiny world as alive as my own. “Fascinating.” Much different than my own, but also, dynamic, I saw and watched their world. They moved in a simple method, But it was their own way. There doings was purposeful. They seemed happy, as far as I could tell… After all… I’m not the judge or giver of life.

Submerging then into a deep sleep ~ 

I’m aware though tired and almost comatosed, a man stands by my side as I sleep. He is familiar. He is a quiet male entity or being. Next to my lying body, he stands with dowsing sticks. I awaken and watch. His sticks circled around and around, then, rested pointing west. With a look to the west, his eyes said, “get up child,” then he pointed and said,. “this way is best.”

This time, I chose not to rebel. The last time I said, “No,” I was his teenage daughter. This time, I will listen. Though he a man of few words, he will show me the right direction. We will not make the same mistake. See, I learned that lesson. I take my nap sack and head west. The father image pointed to the direction that was best for my journey. He said, “you will be safe if you sojourn that way.

Then, my next snore occurs. ~

There are several dimensions in the forest.
This is only two; shown me.
The ability to sleep and travel at the same time is possible. In the forest the hidden mysteries are revealed. Truths are given if asked. But, truths are experienced by walking through the forest. To know: is to journey here and face fear and beauty as a warrior princess. He says, “you can do it. Faith is with you. You must follow, Trust and Belief. They will accompany you, even if you return to the desert.”

My understanding that my father image reaffirms, which I already know in my heart,
This is what I know:

It is also known that I may return to the desert at any time. The choice is mine. Not, any another’s.
No one, makes another do anything. 
There is no one to blame, there is no control, that I don’t allow.
Choices for good are granted  with heavenly abodes.
Choices for destruction are exiled to the desert.
Some wander more than forty years.
Forty years is the averaged time to learn life’s hardest lessons.
There are familiar lessons passed down for generations.
Those lessons last many years. They are the difficult ones.
They end when the last student acknowledges the familiar lesson and what was learned by mistakes made.
Apologize humbly for all wrong choices.
Be a peacemaker.  
He or she leads the familiar lineage back into Eden. 
This is our mission if we choose.

Before, I leave Eden, a monkey comes with fruit in it’s hand and offers this to me. He says, mind to mind, telepathically, “here you will need this for your pilgrimage. Eden will be here when you want to return.”

I frantically reply, “Oh, I don’t want to go anywhere else. I want to stay here. Please. Father, Daddy, I am frightened to return to the parched land and dessert. Please, let me stay.

My father image and the monkey stand together and with kind humility and honesty point the way  to my right path. They say, "no, it’s not time. There is more knowledge to gain, more lessons for greater appreciation, more spiritual insight to achieve, You will return one day  Until then, we are with you where ever you choose. “

They faded into the morning’s light peeking into my bedroom window. The sun’s light greeted me with, “hello..

 

   

 

Author Notes
Just another very real dream. Please, understand, this dream was symbolic and humans are not “demons.” This is not to be read literally. It is written from the animal kingdom. 
There are parts of my dream that become relevant and clearer as I write and meditate on the symbolic meaning.  

Thank you for reading. 

Thank you Deloralock at fanart review for your picture which shows the precious animals in the forest.

Alien Encounters (short story contest 700 words)

Darkness covered the room. Midnight, the chimes from the grandfather clock “dongs.”
The bass dong’s don’t awaken her, but she’s awake expecting them.”It’s’s their time to come.”
Under the covers, she hides.
“Maybe, they won’t notice I’m awake.”
Her eyes are huge and the beats of her heart will surely tell the black cloaked monks, “she’s faking sleep.”

“They come out from the closet. Three of them. Extremely tall. They’re working at something. The covers, their cloaks and the darkness hide their doings.They will peer over my body, looking to see me sleeping. They don’t know everything. But, if I look at them, their red eyes stare. I can’t see a face. They tell me to, ‘shut up.’ Meaness. That’s all I can say. They’re not good.”

*Note from the experienced participate.
“Now I’m 60 years past their visits. However my daughter who’s 32 now, also saw them when she was young and when we visited the home I grew up in, the house my father built.. We drew matching pictures. They were easy to draw as there were no faces, just red glaring mean threatening eyes. My daughter saw more of them as they showed her a horrifying vision of the future. The future looked bleak for the person in the vision. The name of the person is withheld. They threatened her. She had to look. I was too afraid and for many nights when they came, somehow, I climbed from my bed and crawled down the hall to my sister’s room. There I slept in the doorway on the floor. I felt safe.”

“We discussed this matter and drew like scetches, 2 years ago and not a day before.”

Posted from WordPress for Android @copyright 2013 Bonnie Jennings

Posted from WordPress for Android
@copyright 2013 Bonnie Jennings

My Dream. August 16, 2013

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The path that I followed in the desert dissipated under my feet. Then, three old friends joined my side. Their names:

Faith, Hope and Love. They said, “we will escort you. Do not fear. God is with you in the forest deep and dark. Every man must go alone. You must trust.”

Trust, another entity, took the lead. I began the journey.

The forest is dark and deep and the trees, which some are dead, vastly grow. Some trees young and some old and some rotten share the space. However, together the enormous group of all types become one. It seemed they all have a role. None are common, even though, some appear handsome, some grand and some quite irrelevant, all are a piece of the puzzle. Despite their outward appearance, in totality, they represent the whole of this forest. Each are profound.

This is when, I decide to wander deeper into the green forest mystical fog. It seems the woods call me by name and they whisper wisdom and truths. I can’t resist the call nor the hypnotic beauty they pocess. To some in the desert, the forest seems mysteriously evil and frightening. But I, find it breathtaking, alluring and magnetic. I know I belong inside. This is/was my home but, knowing too, I was/am a mere babe, returning to my origins.  Simply, there was/is no other choice. The heat of the years cause me to wilt.

And~ (switch to past tense)

The temperature dropped as the shade of the canopy of trees welcomed me back. The coolness of shadows and the humidity embraced my body. Comfortable now, as the parched desert took a toll on my skin. It looked like a saddle and the sun did what it was suppose to do and cooked the frailness of human existence from me. The heat was the “refining fire” that The Bible, explains.

The tropical birds flew by my head! Oh my! I forgot about them and their array of colors. Greens to match the forest, oranges to show god’s royalty and blues to give me inspiration and my own palette of designs. Smiling at the gifts, I pressed forward.

The monkeys did not trust me. So, they watched my movements. Suspicious of my intentions, good or bad, they would find out my purpose. I greeted them honestly with a nod, “hello, I mean no harm.” They let me pass for now. They did not offer me food. They ate the fruit which their many bodies protected. “Food will come later, maybe.”

The flying creatures of the forest flitted contently from flower to flower, from creek to the water falls splash. Amazed, I stood watching. Delighting in that which others in the desert so feared. Bending down by the water’s edge, I cupped my hands and drank the fresh cool water.  To my surprise, I drank with another animal. It shared. This was the rule of the forest. The rules were not written or displayed. But, the rules were understood within the heart of everything that lived. And, if the rules were not abided by, then, the creature was expelled to the desert with “the humans.”

The humans, I dare say, captured, enslaved, ate and killed them for sport. The humans were considered, the demons. “The humans are to be feared.” And I, a human in their forest, recognized the fact, I am an intruder. But, they will trust me for a while. I will have to prove my integrity as a creature of God’s.

Needing a rest, I sat at the edge of a tree’s roots. Before falling soundly into a coma of sleep, I noticed the multi-colored green moss. It was damp, cold and sprung to new life. Small and delicate, the tiny leaves of multi greens invited me to observe it’s world. I looked harder, further, and magnified the mosses world in my imaginations. I saw another place, another home for strange odd life. Much different than my own, but also, dynamic, I saw. Then, fast asleep, I submerged.

wpid-20130711_184411.jpg While sleeping, a man stood by my side. He is familiar. Quiet and male by energy, he stood with dowsing sticks. The sticks circled around and around, then, rested pointing west. With a look to the west, his eyes pointed. “This way is best.” This time, I chose not to rebel. The last time I said, “No,” I was his teenage daughter. This time, I will listen. Though he a man of few words, he will show me the right direction. We will not make the same mistake. See, I learned that lesson. I take my nap sack and head west. Then, my next snore occurs.

There are several dimensions here. This is only two; shown me. The ability to sleep and travel at the same time. Here in The forest, I know this is true and possible. In the forest the hidden mysteries are revealed.

It is also made known, I may return to the desert at any time. The choice mine. No one makes another. There is no one to blame there is no control, by another. Choices for good are here. Choices for destruction are in the desert.

The Mermaid of 1952

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“And Ruth was a lady. And ladies know when to leave.”
Fried Green Tomatoes

I am like Ruth
From a six year old’s eyes the pool was humongous. The fountain was the center and maybe I could reach it, I would have to swim like the mermaid my mother bragged, to all the pretentious competition. Life was like the caste system though no one dared accept this truth. Southern living and social structures in the 1950’s wasn’t far in comparison to India except the clothing, hairstyles and color of skin were an ocean apart.

Neville Pool was breath taking. An architectural ingenuity that marveled this child. It was heaven. Babe’s teenage playground, and Uncle Tim’s and Uncle Bill’s feed. It lured and provoked demure subtle seduction in teenagers. Even in the late 1930’s, it was sultry and hot and the Southern Wisteria vines draped the back drop. The aroma of Magnolias and Jasmine permiated Louisiana.

The fountain still spewed cool fresh water. Cleaning of sins with mouths wide open filling souls with fresh spring water ritualized the gardens youthful women of sixteen or more.  There in the golden age, seen through an amber lens and pressed into a dust filled scrapbook life comes alive for the viewers. Neville Pool’s ghosts are displaying their stories and trying to hold onto life as it played out, then. It’s surrealistic whispers beg the audience to listen, to hear, and to tell the story. Step into my brown aged pages. Look back into time. There you will find romance and mermaids, the ponies at the track and men wearing white suits. Life is someones dreams and memories. So, it is the same here at Neville Pool in Monroe, Louisiana.

And, the pointed cups of their swimming bras were simply and innocently virginal. And, every man had one or two etched on the men’s bathroom wall. Well, this was understood and on Saturday night’s the men branded notches in their belts sharing stories of their conquests. Maybe true. Mostly, not. But, it didn’t matter, after all, it was just a tale similar to the largest fish in the pond tale. The sad part was the young male listener’s believed the fabrications. And on occasion acted out on those wild tales and try to recreate them as their own. Many of the young dames at Neville Pool fell prey to lies of the ego and some yeilded to physical man handling. Thus,  forcibly giving up their tails of mermaids and unicorns. Southern gents sometimes take the childhood imaginations from little girls.

It was Christmas again and this time Uncle Tim and Uncle Bill invited these beautiful women to our Christmas Evening meal. several of us gathered around, young and old. I remember they wore a lot of red velvet and their hair was very blonde. They had large breasts that seemed to squeeze out from tight corsets. They were way too small for their bosoms. But, I found delight in all their colorful ways. Big Mother served dinner on fine Christmas China, silver, and handmade table linens and nothing was out of place or sordid. She always found presents even for the women in red. And, Babe was most curious like a child at the circus.

Mom thought for a moment of running away just to live the life of a gypsy. She always amazed me. Babe was much more free spirited than her mermaid child.
“Hmm… I can’t explain this to a four year old. One day you might know why. Gypsies always have music. They dance every night under the stars and they travel everywhere.
So, that’s why.””Oh.” I didn’t understand why she didn’t turn the phonograph on and go outside and dance. That made perfect sense to me. The traveling? Well, I just wanted her to stay home and raise her little mermaid. But, Babe had the wandering star guiding her. She couldn’t be content with anything mundane. It wasn’t in her. She wasn’t milk toast. This record she would set straight. Life was meant to live loudly.

Awe~ the summer memories of Neville Pool~I’m not certain if Babe was a debutante of Neville Pools. I don’t think she was and it doesn’t matter. She never snubbed her nose at Neville’s female sacrifices. No, when Babe became a sacrifice it would be private. No one’s tale but hers and the tongue that lashed vein glories would be cut out deep at night. One swoop while he slept and he would speak no more. Babe wouldn’t tolerate anything but cool operators. No one who had to shine their egos publicly would accompany Babe anywhere. This was a fact. They might as well slither off like a snake than meet the likes of her. Babe could beat the tar off Tar Baby any given day and boys knew this. Only real men dare entered the green eyed beauties turf.

At Christmas Eve Dinner again~
Her breasts poured out and bountifully from the crimson red velvet dress. Little mermaid just looked at her beauty.
Uncle Bill comment, “little fish, what are you looking at? Haven’t you ever seen a woman before? Well …. Quit staring its impolite!”
The ladies of the night, giggled.
“Uncle Bill, she’s wearing the most beautiful Christmas dress I’ve ever seen. She looks like Marilyn Monroe.”
In Uncle Bill’s deep polite southern drawl he says, “yes, yes~ she is beautiful like Marilyn. ” Devilishly, he chuckled and pinched her red velvet dress where little mermaid shouldn’t have seen.

After all, this Christmas she was eight.”Mother, may I have a red velvet dress like theirs’ ?” Mermaid politely whispered to Babe.Babe said, “yes, I’ll make you one. You’ll look like a Christmas angel for certain!”

That Christmas Big Mother gave the mermaid a box filled with fabric. Red velvet material. Babe cut the pattern and made a fairy dress. No longer mermaid, but now, “Fairy Princess.” she even made wings and a halo.One

Halloween, years before Babe made mermaid a Medusa head piece. Mermaid loved the stories of mythological beings. Babe loved to read the fables to her little fairy princess and then make elaborate costumes to match. Sometimes mermaid wore them to school. Even though, the school children laughed at her.

Babe taught mermaid how to think magically. It was easy for Babe to think of mermaids. After all, gypsies, Medusa and mermaids were featuring characters in my mother’s many bedtime stories. Even women of the night were giggled at when Babe told the legends of Neville Pool.

*Although this story is a work of fiction, the medusa headdress was not, thanks to my creative mother… RIP, Babe