Metamorphosis

The old is coming to an end.
The old with its tight grip,
as if nothing else matters.

As the grip of the old tightens,
the new can sense the waning hour of its power.
The old knows, as soon as it let goes,
it has to give its final blessing,
that bit we call farewell.

The bull,
majestic bull is standing on the plateau,
faced towards the rising sun,
rising out of the horizon.

The first few rays are spilling into the ocean,
just before the sun is up, above the edge.
That breathless moment,
when it all appears to be standing still.

The old and the new.
Mystery as old as time.
What have I to learn from all that is passing by?

Decay, death, birth, a new start.  

I give my gratitude to all that is fading away.
Burning out, giving its final emanating surge of power,
until it’s time to give it up.

It’s time to give it up.
Your time, your rule, your reign is over.

So many valuable lessons,
so much generosity,
so many good deeds,
all of it going towards new, fresh seeds.
It’s time to let go, graciously.

Out of the old roots grow the new shoots.
Come spring, watch the glory unfold in its full swing.  

Roaring fireplace, a few soft cushions,
the sound of crackling fire wood,
a copper flask of water and myself,
gazing towards the blazing fire,
as it eats the wood away,
sending heat my may.

And me, holding my favorite pen, etching and scratching
the final few pages of my 5th thick notebook of this year.

When the New Year starts,
I will pull out a fresh, new, sky blue one!

May the New Year be blessed,
full of inspiration, joy, strength,
as we navigate through all sorts of times.
Joyful, challenging, struggling, healing, messy, exiting, sad, hungry, happy.  
May we learn, may we grow and become wiser, suppler, more caring, and stronger,
as we bravely sail on.

Out of the gracious Old comes the radiant New.

Over Horizon

Girls sitting under a tree by a lake, watching the sunrise

Far away, yet so close is the horizon.

Freedom is a state of mind,
feeling free a state of being.

There is a place under the sky,
under the stars,
under the shining sun,
where you will find me lying on the sand,
beside the flowing water,
nearby many trees,
the place where I come to be,
to feel more free.

I watch the birds stretching across the sky,
gliding towards the horizon.

Far away, yet so close is that horizon.

I often run away,
simply, on my own,
to a place where I can stare at the horizon,
feel the gentle breeze,
hear the flowing water,
smell the singing grass,
a place that helps me set my mind free.

My heart begins to open,
beat by beat it starts to swell and I begin to smile.
I remember those kind, loving eyes,
unlike any other living eyes under the sky.

Far away, yet so close is the horizon.

We live,
we love,
we learn,
and we continue living.

Life goes on,
until it’s time to cross that horizon.

I do not want to go back home,
not quite yet.
Sometimes, running is the way to be,
the way I learned to spread my wings,
to fly, to be more free.

Ahhh, you foolish girl,
how long can you dwell beside the shore,
watching the horizon,
before the body starts complaining,
shivering from cold,
ushering you to a place that you call home.

As long as I can.
I whisper to myself.
As long as I possibly can.

Far away, yet so close is the horizon.