Cryptoquotes are puzzles with letters. One letter substitutes for another so it looks like mish mosh and you have to decipher it to see the famous quote.
For example, AQ IMJFQA XF KQZJ PJXMAG VSQ GMCWAGF KQZJ FXOMABM, QJ GMAXMF KQZJ JXTSU UQ TJQV. – WOXBM VWODMJ
When it is resolved it is: No person is your friend who demands your silence, or denies your right to grow. – Alice Walker
This is the sort of puzzle that makes words out of letters and patterns. I have collected years of these. Many times I will start my blog with a quote and then just riff. This brings me great pleasure. Both the solving and the sharing and the writing about it.
“Our deepest fears are like dragons, guarding our deepest treasures.” – Rainer Maria Rilke
I love Rumi, Emily Dickinson and Longfellow. Who can turn away from anything written by Kipling or Dickens? Who hasn’t read Poe, Shakespeare or Whitman? We had to in school and I wasn’t a fan. I never understood it.
Whereas, now, I am profoundly moved by poetry. In my very recent youth, I found it too esoteric. However, I have found there is a beauty to the cadence, symbolism and energy of scant words used in abstract and metaphorical ways that intrigues me these days. I believe this has to do with the freedom plus the wisdom having lived this long bestows me. Moreover, I find poetry attracts and calls to me even more than story occasionally when melancholy or frustration hits.
Perhaps it’s the depth and the power of poetry. Or the rhythm and sound of it. Maybe it’s the way words are used so differently and put together in seemingly haphazard ways that all of a sudden make sense to me.
Who can dispute Rumi’s love of love and life? Do not feel lonely, the entire universe is inside you or when describing his being smitten with, no one knew who was the lover and who the beloved.
Alone in her room, failing time and again to publish her poems Emily Dickinson writes, I dwell in possibility and to live is so startling it leaves little time for anything else.
If you haven’t read Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, you are missing out. He wrote outstanding epic tales in lyrical form like The Song of Hiawatha and Evangeline.
I would recommend re-visiting these poets and more if you have never enjoyed them before. I believe there was and is a certain maturity and level of introspection that all this chaos of the last few years (not to mention the verbal and physical violence and brutality that is all around us as if it was normal) have helped us seek if even a little, self-reflection and awareness. Poetry will make sense of it all for the exact reason that innocence denies the dark and poetry transforms it for us.
I am offering this advice to you. Always starve your fear or face it head on. Don’t feed the negative, scary thoughts. Instead, nurture the love in your heart. Find the love, tolerance, compassion, forgiveness and acceptance inside of you. Perhaps even visualize it.
When I am upset with the global situation, I douse the fiery, pot stirring by glowing with light from within. Of course, when I remember and sometimes after a good venting session.
This light I speak of comes directly from the Source of whatever created or inspired us.
In practical terms, spread your smile, hug someone in pain or just because they are also in this world and connect with others.
Take care of yourself with radical self-love and extreme self-care.
Join forces with a higher vibration with intent and often. Reach for your highest thought, words and action.
This is my advice to you and myself, when I remember.
Mt friend, don’t go off somewhere else. Come back to your feet. Come back to the ground you stand on.
As a traveler that goes within her soul and battles her mind, I beseech you to always come back to center. Come back to the heart and release the mind. Allow the heart to enter the spirit, extract the energy and transmit the magic of THIS moment, so you can witness the miracle, again and again.
I speak for the nymphs and faeries and elementals underneath your feet that you can’t see while you walk past. Invisible beings around you. Visible when your soul is burning bright and the flow of water mixes with blood to become the moon marveling at night, the snow capped mountain during the day.
I speak for the little people that have always been hiding from you among the plants close to your feet.
I speak for the gnomes and mushroom capped miniature, magical men and women who have no patience for your adult cynicism and skeptical minds.
They whisper to those that believe, in our dreams of verdant forests, dense woods, tropical jungles and under the cover of soft blankets.
I speak for them so you don’t frighten them away. I keep their sweet secret existence safe with me.
There is power in bringing women together with intention. It fulfills your own purpose as well as each participant.To gather in a circle is healing. To sit in unison specifically to connect with our source is a bit witchy, a bit yoga, a bit creative expression, a bit of presence and a bit of a nod to all cultures. Rounded up together we gain resilience to get through tough outside world situations no matter our own belief systems or upbringing.
As a group of women in a modern mandala we are an empty vessel. We fill it with a topic to explore. The philosophy and the way of the circle clears the cobwebs of the consciousness. With active participation, we reach down and into ourselves.
I fully accept myself today, yesterday and tomorrow for I am all of those versions of myself, all in one. My spirit lifts and I watch it soar. With enthusiasm, I realize my aim is to help others achieve that knowing serenity as well.
I imagine my writing as a doorway. I want to enter from the exterior front door. It is a shiny ebony on a swath of white facade. Coming up one fifth up the hard stucco walls is grey stone. Slate and iron ore brick is my foundation. Greens and a carpet of muted colors live outside of me. Here and there an accent.
Meanwhile, blue voices sing in the sky.
There’s a window etched in an elaborate manner. It is held together with hope. This is the iris of my eye in the center of my door. The prism glass flashes light through a spectrum and rays bounce inside. A remembered line of thought passes through and is caught with a jerk and a wince. More often, the moment cuts across the dimensions sans recognition or pause.
With time and usage, my brass handle is muted and worn. Stained and distressed by years of intermittent polishing far and few between.
The black door opens and I enter my scattered mind. Nevertheless, palpitating beneath, I find a loyal and humorous heart.
Finally, I am here. I can regroup. I can write from prompts. Nothing intended. Just free form. Coherent only to me. Momentary insanity with a flowing rhythm of words that take on a life of their own and create themselves into a thought or a vision or a message.
Taken aback. In the zone. This is bliss. This is power. This is my mission.
Writing is a form of listening.
synchronicity – just read…
“I’ve seen women insist on cleaning everything in the house before they could sit down to write… and you know it’s a funny thing about housecleaning… it never comes to an end. Perfect way to stop a woman. A woman must be careful to not allow over-responsibility (or over-respectabilty) to steal her necessary creative rests, riffs, and raptures. She simply must put her foot down and say no to half of what she believes she “should” be doing. Art is not meant to be created in stolen moments only.”― Clarissa Pinkola Estés, author of Women who run with the wolves.
Our precious 17 year old gorgeous cat Capu has passed into the great big pet heaven in the sky. I imagine our previous felines are waiting for her over the rainbow,
Her kidneys were failing and she was walking wobbly due to loss of muscle. Plus, she wasn’t eating and hiding in the closet which along with the vet visit confirmed she was declining fast and probably in pain. Cats may not vocalize physical distress and instead as middle predator will hide and seek a place away from danger and want to be alone.
We had a traveling hospice vet come to our house and our family had the opportunity to say goodbye and see her off. It was an absolutely horrible choice to make but supposedly the most compassionate.
Although everyone says it’s the kindest way to go It still doesn’t feel good or even right. I imagine with the grief and sadness we will have lovely memories as well as guilt (we could have done more). Making this sort of final decision for a suffering animal is complicated and incomprehensible.
RIP Capuchina 2006-2023
She’s feeling better!!!
Your spirit team wants you to know you are love and you are loved and supported!
Stay present in your presence of all that you are and YOU are divine!
Writing is a great tool to help you heal especially combined with meditation.
You are perfect as you are and yet improving on and growing into your authentic soul self is a noble and wonderful inner journey worth exploring.