Conversing With Self

Hurry! Go.  My soul whispered.

I rushed to where the fire danced and popped. It seemed unreal. Mesmerized, I squatted. In my mind, I stepped into the cozy hot coals. The bitter winter cold vanished even though the ruby-red flames contrasted against the grand gray snowy mountains around me.

Sounds from people, family and friend diminished. Mesmerized by the fluorescent red coals, I existed alone. While the fire burned, I listened within myself.

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Self: “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Me: Yes, like a ruby melting and reforming. If only I could stay here and write.

Self: “What would you write about?”

Me: “I’m not sure, for I haven’t been able to continue writing my stories. Silent, they hang on the tips of the roof of my mind like ice-cycles. I’m afraid they will melt and vanish one day. I will be left with the knowledge that I once had unfinished stories.”

Self: “Why do you suppose, they are no longer speaking to you?”

Me: “Not sure. Many times, I’ve quiet myself and sat in front of my lap top and nothing, not one peep. The only sound I hear is of an unseen ocean with my beating heart out there drifting on a boat.”

Self: “Why have you distance your heart from your stories? What are you afraid of?”

Me: “I’ve not distant my heart, wait, do you think I did this? No, I didn’t place my heart out in the ocean.”

Self: “Lidia, be real. Be truthful. See, your heart. You are the only one who can place your heart out in the ocean. Look out there for the boat. Don’t look away. Your fear could be telling you truth. You are afraid of truth. That’s why you allowed your heart to drift from your stories.”

Me: “Fear lies.”

Self: “Not all fear lies. This fear of yours is true. You’re not a good writer. Yet you are a good story-teller. Focus on the story, Lidia, just like your friends tell you.”

Me: “I’m tired of not writing well. I want to have a well written story, but my enthusiasm dies too soon after I get started.”

Self: “You have to learn to keep writing when the energy of the idea runs out. Don’t allow your story to become foreign to your own heart. Keep it close to you, pluck scenarios, story lines, details, thoughts and feelings of the character even if they may never make into the story. You have to keep the story alive. That’s your job. It’s your baby. If you don’t feed it, it will vanish. Now, start the fire and allow your story ice-cycles to melt and flow again. You have been given a gift to tell stories like no one else. Write and let someone else correct your errors. You will not create a perfect story. No one can, not alone. But you can crank on your generator.”

Me: “But, my fingers won’t move.”

Self: “Yes, your finger and thoughts will be stiff because of the cold of not being perfect. But, in no time the heat will get going and your thoughts will flow the story will breath and pump red blood again. Once it thaws out, details will drop into your mind as the ice-cycle melts. Get the page ready to catch the ideas. Remember, as you keep telling stories, your writing will become stronger.”

Me: “Thank you, for the talk.”

Self: “Don’t worry, I will remind you again, when I see that you’ve removed your heart for your stories. You are not just writing for others, but for me, self.”

Footsteps crunched the snow behind me. I came back to my surroundings. I heard my husband distant voice, “Are you coming and sledding or are you staying.”

With a smile, I answered, “I’m coming.”

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I started this blog back in December, and it wasn’t until today that I was able to finish it. It’s a major accomplishment for me. I’ve struggled with my writing for over a year. There are at least twelve unfinished stories on my files and I can’t seem to finish any one of them. From this self-reflection, I’ve learned that it wasn’t fear that kept me from my stories, instead it was truth.

Writing my blog posts, have been a great exercise to build my confidence and improve my writing skills. With short entries, I have less misspell words, less grammar errors and less wrong word usage. I still get wordy, but my skills are improving alongside my belief in my abilities to give what’s in my heart a voice.

To write a book, it’s much more challenging and difficult than a blog. But, if I can treat each couple of pages as a blog post, I might get myself going again and finish my next book. Now which of the twelve stories should I start constructing again?

Maybe, I will blog about my journey as I write my next book.

To be continued . . .

 

 

 

 

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A Christmas Story ~ Time For Peace

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F: Son!

S: Yes Father.

It’s time.

S: One more star burst and I’ll be there.

In a blink the son appeared before the father, took his place and smiled.

What do you find amusing son?

S: The children.

Oh, yes, the children. What gave you delight this time?

S: Their eyes sparked with curiosity, like the birth of a new star.

Why do you suppose that is?

S: That’s how they began to fall in love.

In love? With what?

S: With Christmas and out of love from us.

Then why do you want to watch my children celebrate your birth? We sat here only a galaxy ago. I know it’s not because the angles gather and rejoice your earthly existence. For that is an ongoing exaltation.

S: Because of people like him and her and them.

What about those souls?

S: Do you see, how Charles laughs when his stubborn heart hurts?

I do. Tell me more.

S: Did you noticed what he did when he left the room and saw the nativity?

No, I didn’t, but I felt his words.

S: Yes, he called for you.

He did and the answer is being sent.

S: And Marissa, look how her heart is bursting. She too smiles as her soul drowns.

Oh, my son, I keep my eye on her.

S: Darkness is consuming her mind. It’s trying to enter her soul. Yet, she knelt and cuddled the shining star that fell on the floor from the Christmas tree.

I did see her face. And an angel will meet with her before she rests her head.

S: Now, look at the gathering of the souls. They sing with broken and malnourished spirit as they put on a show at what they call church. If only they would take me out of the manger, I will show them the spark that stole their first love. I want them to understand how it’s robbing them from joy, love and hope. Maybe, they will allow me to remove it from their heart. It’s keeping them from feeling the love we gave them and have for them. It’s the only way their spirit will be fully restored.

My son, you still love humanity as much as when you went to earth and took their form.

S: I do Father. Yet, I love them even more. I see how they are holding on to faith, sacrificing their life and suffering to keep my memory alive, all with a starving soul. Father, I’m ready. You gave them love, hope and joy. But, they’re depleting. They lack peace.

Go my son, give them your heart. You gave them your life and you left your spirit with them. It’s time to bring them home.

S: Bless me Father before I go and do war.

Letting Go Made Room For Insecurities

Fiction: Short Story Thursday

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Slowly, his fingers slide between mine. My body melted in his embrace. Unwilling, my lips left his. My boyfriend held my face and whispered, “I must go.” He neared, nibbled my ear, then said, “I’ll call you.” He pulled away.

Speechless, I stare into his brown eyes.

He took a step back, blew me a kiss and got in his car.

My lips trembled. My heart raced. I couldn’t speak. Don’t go.

With his Volkswagen packed, he drove away.

His promise, “I’ll call you” splashed on my soul like an ice-cold shower, awakening insecurities. What if he doesn’t call? What if he never return? What if he meets another girl in grad school? Why didn’t I say, I love you?  Tears draped my eyes, I tightened my fists. His hands no longer in mind. I grasped the hope that he will come back and I will not be abandoned.  Continue reading Letting Go Made Room For Insecurities

Alaska’s Solstice Sunrise

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Morning unveiled an elegant cold fire gown across the Alaskan Sky.

In no time, Day began and Sky placed its winter, silvery-gray cloud coat back on.

Night rushed on the scene, stole Sky’s coat, exposing  Sky’s naked dar-blue depth.

Stars twinkled announcing, Tomorrow brings a new gown and all Alaskans will witness the glow of the Alaskan Sky again.

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When The Sky Fell

The Sky Fell – (Fictional Story)

 

The front screen door slammed. Stella-Nena, a five-year-old said, “I like that sound, don’t you Meme?” It tells me, no flies will enter my home.”20171006_011958.jpg

 

Her grandmother didn’t respond or looked her way, only stared at the unplanted field as she sat on her rocking chair.

 

Without a care, Stella-Nena climbed on a rickety rocking chair next to her grandmother and flipped her sandals off. One flew off the porch. “Oh, well,” she commented as she scooted back and folded her legs like a pretzel.

 

About to take a bit of the cookie in her hands, she stopped and said, “I almost forgot. I got one for you.” She leaned towards her grandmother and placed a cookie in her opened hand.

 

With her eyes fixed in the same direction as her grandmother, Stella-Nena began to talk. “Meme, the sky fell on me this morning and it knocked me down on my rump. I’m glad God works fast. He already placed it back where it belongs.” She nibbled on her cookie and rocked.

 

Her grandmother picked a chocolate chip off her cookie, placed it in her mouth, then asked, “The sky fell? How?”

 

With her light brown eyes, Stella-Nena looked at her grandmother and said, “I stood on the counter. I reached for the cookie jar on top of the refrigerator and-” she lifted her two small arms up in the air. “-the sky just fell. I don’t know how. But, stars swam all around me as I sat on the floor.”

 

“You fell?” Her grandmother faced saddened.

 

“Stella-Nena, where are you? And why are all the PTA cookies scattered all over my kitchen floor?” The five-year-old’s mother hollered.

 

With her other little hand, Stella-Nena patted her Grandmother’s wrinkly hand and said, “Meme remember, the sky fell on me. You must get the story straight. Okay? I want to become a legend like you. I’m not ready to die.”

 

Her grandmother smiled and said, “Yes, my little angel.”20171010_004316.jpg

 

 

Gorged Yet Starving

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Late as always and gorged with an attitude, she stomped into the classroom sinking the chatter of the six-grade class.

While everyone stared, she straightened her lopsided, messy ponytail and strolled to the back carrying her lunch in a crumbled, brown, paper sack.

I, the teacher, passed out test results and said, “Students, get ready for the day and please begin today’s task.” I then handed the girl her exam.

With her paper in hand, she gave me a smile, wiped a leftover tear, and tuck the achievement in her stained, old school bag.

Her lip slant told me she accepted her healthy grade, but the dark ring under her eyes and missing sock revealed a starving ten-year-old fragile soul.

A Lady

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🍂A LADY🍂

The tree’s unique shape caused me stop, look up and capture the flow of its branches.

It was then when I felt someone looking down at me.
Focused on the top of the tree trunk a shape began to form.

A branch with it numerous fingers reached down and touched me.

There, in that moment a spark caused me to see her and feel the love she had for those who passed by.

Without words, I understood, she was happy where she had been planted as she stood tall with pride.

Eagerly, she cleaned the air for all to breath, even though many will never thank her for they don’t see her, as a lady.
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🍂🍂🍂🍂🍂🍂🍂🍂🍂🍂🍂🍂🍂🍂🍂🍂🍂🍂🍂🍂

Take A Walk With Me

 

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Hello.

How are you? How’s life? What’s new, old or the same? Can you take a break and mentally walk with me?

While we’re together, let’s talk from one heart to another. What troubles you today? Can you see beyond the sunset? Are you able to lift your eyes and see the clouds depart? Will you stay with me and read till the end?

*

I hear silence.

*

I felt the wind of your sigh.

I know, it’s the middle of week, and things are beginning to weigh us down. Yet, we must finish well. Totally understand, for I find myself there, in the same spot. And from there is where I write.

Let me tell you about an ant that moves her house from place to place.  Her days are heavy and her nights are short. When the stars cover the sky, she places the house down and crawls inside and rest. Before the sun cast shadows of work undone, she’s up with her list in mind.

Feeling depleted, one day she dropped the house before she arrived to her destination. She hollered at the sky and took God out for a walk. Alone in nature, she waisted no time to tell Him a chunk of her thoughts. They had nothing to do about the heaviness of the house, its issues, challenges or her responsibility, for she already had stretches God’s ear with her solo conversations.

Yet, there was one thing, she kept hidden away, her heart. Slowly and without her being aware she developed a false belief of herself, that she had no purpose only duties.

On this day, the belief bloomed without warning.

She told God, “You see the house I carry. You see me as I go on my way. And, you watch me as I rest. But, have you taken noticed of my heart? No! It faints. It shrikes smaller and smaller each time I lift this house.”

She raised her two front legs to her side and sigh, then said, “I don’t think you see my insignificant heart for it resides in this tiny body of mine. And, this house, it swallows me up.

Do you care to see my heart? It’s loosing faith in you and in me. I don’t even know where my purpose has gone to hide. Please help me find the reason why I should try to survive.” She waited without going anywhere as her antennas felt for God. But no sound or wind came her way.

Without a word she returned to the house, lifted back onto her back and her rear legs wiggled for they’ve grown weary. She straighten her antennas, held them steady and pushed her rear end up.

A smile formed on her tiny face, for the weight of the home was gone. The sun came out, she noticed a shadow and how the house floated above her without a care. As she moved along she saw her own shadow on the narrow path, with the sun behind her she became bigger than the house.

It was then, that her heart reminded her, your gifted with perseverance and endurance, keep going. On your way tell your friends of the Good News.

They too can take God for a walk, but they don’t have to wait until their heart grows small.

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Be blessed on this Wednesday and end well this week my friends. and don’t forget to take God out for a walk. Don’t wait for your heart to grow weary.

May the Holy Spirit help you fan your flame. Use the gift of God in you to bless those you serve and those who serve you.

“6 For this reason I remind you to fan into flame the gift of God, which is in you through the laying on of my hands. For the Spirit God gave us does not make us timid, but gives us power, love and self-discipline. So do not be ashamed of the testimony about our Lord or of me his prisoner. Rather, join with me in suffering for the gospel, by the power of God.” 2 Timothy 1:6-8

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As If She Didn’t Belong

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A leaf standing among the grass. Red parts have turned black as it looks like a flame.

🍁STANDING TALL🍁
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Full of color among a sea of grassy green, her curved form stood out for anyone to see.

Poised herself tall with black and vibriant reds, as if her body was on fire or at some point had bleed.

If I had touched her, she would have crumbled, for she looked very very tired and deeply sad.
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🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁

Shine With Me

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A section of a wet, red-orange fallen leaf with hints of yellow and black specks on its edge

Rain drizzled

Onto your skin

By the Light-post

Your color shimmered

Bewitched I soaked

While I fell in love

(note: I try to describe the image on my photo for a blind follower who writes fabulous poetry.)