What We Leave Behind

Tranquility

I used to think that it was important to leave something behind in life as a legacy for others to acknowledge my existence. For most of my life I kept journals, poetry books, albums and all sorts of pasted memory books documenting my journey here. Several years ago I stopped. I was losing myself in trying to leave a life behind while not being presently available now. I was tired of leaving a token of my existence for others to find. I decided I was going to touch more, love harder, and be present with those in my life.

What better legacy but time?

We are always trying to leave footprints behind for others to find. Sometime ago during a visit from one of my sons we were sitting around discussing legacies. He asked me what I would like to leave behind as a remembrance of my life.

I said, “My laughter. I want people to think of me and think that I was fun. I want to believe that I touched someone through my sense of humor.”

His eyes watered with that simple answer. He was expecting me to say something of greatness or about love. But, I believe that joy is the catalyst to other emotions. Joy and laughter open up love, empathy, compassion, and kindness.

What carries on after death?

The lessons, mistakes, triumphs, and achievements are not so much of importance in the past as they will be in the future. We take for granted what must be learned rather than learn what we take for granted because of worrying about the future. It is the present moment that emphasis must be placed upon in order to correct anything else in our path.

Legacies are moments. Moments consist of time.

Death is a state of consciousness. It is one of the many stages through the infinite. I witnessed this first hand in January of 2014 when I had a near death experience. At that moment of leaving the physical body I was not a bit concerned with my legacy. I didn’t think about the things I should have done. I didn’t ponder or cry about the things I didn’t get to do. My only thought was, “Where will this light take me? There’s nothing like this. There never was.”

We are here passing through: learning, accumulating, and exercising the greatness of our existence. There is no real secret to life. Perhaps…. That’s perhaps the secret! We all want to know that we’ve mattered. We have. I have. You have. We are here in this melting pot together making our way home. Every day I am gifted favorable circumstances. I get opportunities of love (giving and receiving), forgiveness (for mistakes and misunderstandings), learning (beyond my means), dreaming (manifesting all my desires), kindness, and compassion (without them I am not human) so that my spiritual, physical and emotional bodies can evolve into greatness.

This greatness is called life. Make each moment count with joy, surrendering abandonment for the past, miracles for the future, and appreciation for being present at all times. Laugh at the silliness, forgive the hurt, love those who you never thought you could. Allow these opportunities to map out the journey. You got this! No one else can do it for you. Create the greatest story of YOU!  That’s your legacy.

“Inside of all of us there is the need and the desire to be heard, to have our innermost thoughts, feelings and desires expressed for others to hear, to see and to understand. We all want to matter to someone, to leave a mark. Writers just take those thoughts, feelings and desires and express them in such a way that the reader not only reads them but feels them as well.” ~ Vicktor Alexander

Your Story

Tell me something I don’t know…

the charisma that

defines and expresses

the things you leave behind

that no one else has known.

Share your story right now:

the joys,

the sadness,

the in-between,

which molded you

into this spectacular current chapter

of your memoir

that now includes me.

Let me touch each syllable

in your words

as I trace your lips to find their truth.

Shower me with your adjectives

and enrich me in the beauty

that you have witnessed.

Grab me with your verbs

making me delirious with excitement

for the things that have

taken you here and there.

Carry me with your nouns

to all those places I’ve never visited

and let me see them through your eyes.

Let me enter

into you

to finally become us

in this grand experience,

this guided journey,

full of interconnected stories

with sentences and paragraphs;

questions, exclamations, and periods;

indentations, spaces, and pauses.

Allow our humanness

to unfold,

discover,

marvel, and share

without ever having to worry

that you are alone in this exposition.

Let this composition end

with the knowing

that the Divine has been

the narrator of your saga

and all that you are

has been a plan to teach you

that love is all we need to

gather in this adventure of life.

Love Letter

In the midst of all turmoil
I find love folding over us
like a love letter
sealed with a kiss
and fragrance with
the sweetest smell of lust.

I find your words wrapped
around my skin
in continuous poetic phrases
savoring my very essence.

I find your tongue licking
my paragraphs and whispering
sweet and dirty nothings
before signing your name
on my back
and folding me in tiny pieces
to carry in your pocket.

The Connection

Words are uttered onto a page

like waves gently sliding into shore –

this is my terrain

allowing the flow of emotions without hesitation.

Injunction, introduction, information and imitation

of all that lies within

through cautiousness and clarity

while consenting to the beauty of each sound

and sketching it neatly

on the script.

Sleek and slender symmetry of lines

crossing in and out

while a cursor leads the way

confessing a truth to who I am.

With each character drawn onto the page

syllables flow into a conjunction of rhythm

parading into adjectives, nouns, verbs and such.

And, then magic happens as a connection

between the word and the reader

become one

through eloquence of language

manipulated with effortless control

while letters dance around to create

one sentence,

another,

and then…an end

to a story that now engages

you

and me

for just a little while.

Create for Your Sanity

writing

Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.”- Carl Sandburg

One of my closest friend who’s a phenomenal writer, asked me a question the other night, “What is the purpose of poetry?  Why do it?”  I gave her a short answer but throughout the last few weeks I have thought long and hard on this.  And now as I prepare the compilation of love poems I have a better sense of what poetry means to me.

Poetry is my favorite type of writing.  I have thousands upon thousands of poems.  I have no clue how many since a lot of them get thrown away.  I write one or more a day.  Do the math!  I’ve been writing since I was a little girl.  I write poetry because it tells a story in minimal words. It shows through simple phrases how or why, when and what…etc.  It requires the holding back and manipulation of allowing another (you the reader) to enter through lines of voyeurism. Fiction, narration of long stories, well, they tell you how to feel.  Poetry places it so you inhale each line and make it your own.  I don’t care about form, style, punctuation, vocabulary, or anything else that marks a poem as a literary work of art.  I want to know how it feels inside of you and you translate it into words.  Poetry, to me, is the simplicity of adjectives through emotions.

I look back at times at old pieces from years ago and the anger, frustration and sadness fall line upon line.  Yuck!  I can’t even go there but I recognize that it was a part of my life.  I held poetry imprisoned with lack of emotions.  It was forced without flow.  Some of these poems were held in shackles, bonded to some kind of structure, forcing out what I thought was good writing.  It wasn’t.  I am by no means an expert in literature.  I often times don’t manipulate English well enough to be coherent since it is my second language.  But, something is said about finally allowing poetry to write itself without control.  When a line wakes you up in the middle of the night nagging with persistence to birth it on paper, well, that’s a poem from the soul!  Poetry is Divinity in all its glorious and grace.  It is a direct connection to a higher source.

Words fall out quickly when we allow the emotions to unload onto a page.  I believe poetry is a song from the heart.  Worrying about rhyming, structure, and other important literary elements stops the flow of what is really inside.  Yes, these parts that make a poem should come way later after the words are out and about.  Let the spirit of your truth say what it needs to share.  Don’t hold back.  Allow each word to come out without restrains, handcuffs, and enforcement.  Poetry is not about sharing with an audience.  It is about releasing and surrendering.

So, why write poetry?  Hmmm!  I believe to exhale the gaps between the heart and the outer world.  When I write a poem I come in contact with Spirit, the part of me that finds freedom.  Any other form of writing doesn’t come close to it.  The older I get the easier each line falls out.  And, that’s why I write poetry.  It is allowing another to hold my heart in theirs for just a few seconds at a time.

If your soul calls to create, please do it!  To find sanity create what the voice tells you, whether it be a painting, a piece of music, a story, a part of a dance…whatever it may be do it.  This is the Divine speaking through the creative genes in you.  For the sake of my sanity, I pick words.  Whenever I don’t I start to get into a funk.  Writing, as incoherent as it may be at times, is my Valium, my Prozac, and my favorite form of drug.  It alters my moods.  It brings me back to stability.  Don’t hold back.  Just do it.  Whatever it is, please find the courage to follow through.  It is a duty to your spirit.  You weren’t created to not create!

Show Up!

show up

When I was in my first year of college I took British Literature.  I had an amazing professor.  He never took attendance or gave out tests until the end of the semester.  His only policy was “show up and be present and I promise you will be entertained.”  His strong British accent was charming.  The classes were remarkably full.  Students had to get there early enough to get a good seat.  He didn’t take attendance but the classes seem to increase with every passing day.  He explained that he wasn’t a babysitter.  He was there to do his job and get paid.  Our responsibility was to show up and learn to see the world in a different light.  Instead of studying about Oscar Wilde, Shakespeare, and other great writers he taught us about British lyrics (but always bringing it back to the past and these writers).  He made us see music and other media forms as literature.  This is way before the internet so there was no cheating in reference to what could happen within his hour and a half lectures.  His way of dissecting the world through words was fascinating.  And, his form of teaching adults, rather than teenagers was endearing.  It pushed us to take notice that we were responsible only for ourselves after leaving the harsh world of structure in childhood.

Show up and be present: such a simple policy!  We are asked every day to show up and be present in our lives through every breath.  We are only expected to learn, love and live through every moment.  This simplicity is perhaps too juvenile for us to follow.  Showing up and being completely present would require us to remove ego and allow the Divine to be the guide.  It would also relinquish the stagnation of having to follow rigidity and complexity.   Accepting things as they happen would collaborate with our higher selves (and purpose) in a way that is magical.

We are asked to attend our lives with beauty, awareness, compassion and faith.  Somehow even while given such freedom to do whatever we want we complicate the journey.  Going from high school into college without structure of being told what to do can be daunting, but in this literature class it was pure joy.  No one wanted to miss the opportunity to learn.  Imagine that!  No hardcore structure, yet learning was made fun.  This is truly the way we are to live our lives.  The manner in which we establish our presence is always so uncompromising, inflexible and single minded at times.

What could happen if we allow God to do the job?  What could happen if you got out of your own way for once and allow Presence to guide you?  What would it look like if you showed up and enjoyed the process instead of partaking in restrictions of what to do and not do?  I bet we would be amazed.  I am sure we would live for the joy of living and not having to attend one more day with ingratitude.  Let’s just try it for a bit!  Living is a privilege, yet we forget it every day.

Y Poetry?

One of my closest friend who’s a phenomenal writer, asked me a question the other night, “What is the purpose of poetry?  Why do it?”  I gave her a short answer but throughout the last few nights I have thought long and hard on this.

Poetry is my favorite type of writing.  I have thousands upon thousands of poems.  I have no clue how many since a lot of them get thrown away.  I write one or more a day.  Do the math!  I’ve been writing since I was a little girl.  I write poetry because it tells a story in minimal words. It shows through simple phrases how or why, when and what…etc.  It requires the holding back and manipulation of allowing another (you the reader) to enter through lines of voyeurism. Fiction, narration of long stories, well, they tell you how to feel.  Poetry places it so you inhale each line and make it your own.  I don’t care about form, style, punctuation, vocabulary, or anything else that marks a poem as a literary work of art.  I want to know how it feels inside of you and you translate it into words.  Poetry, to me, is the simplicity of adjectives through emotions.

I look back at times at old pieces from years ago and the anger, frustration and sadness fall line upon line.  Yuck!  I can’t even go there but I recognize that it was a part of my life.  I held poetry imprisoned with lack of emotions.  It was forced without flow.  Some of these poems were held in shackles, bonded to some kind of structure, forcing out what I thought was good writing.  It wasn’t.  I am by no means an expert in literature.  I often times don’t manipulate English well enough to be coherent since it is my second language.  But, something is said about finally allowing poetry to write itself without control.  When a line wakes you up in the middle of the night nagging with persistence to birth it on paper, well, that’s a poem from the soul!

 

Words fall out quickly when we allow the emotions to unload onto a page.  I believe poetry is a song from the heart.  Worrying about rhyming, structure, and other important literary elements stops the flow of what is really inside.  Yes, these parts that make a poem should come way later after the words are out and about.  Let the spirit of your truth say what it needs to share.  Don’t hold back.  Allow each word to come out without restrains, handcuffs, and enforcement.  Poetry is not about sharing with an audience.  It is about releasing and surrendering.

 

So, why write poetry?  Hmmm!  I believe to exhale the gaps between the heart and the outer world.  When I write a poem I come in contact with Spirit, the part of me that finds freedom.  Any other form of writing doesn’t come close to it.  The older I get the easier each line falls out.  And, that’s why I write poetry.  It is allowing another to hold my heart in theirs for just a few seconds at a time.

 

(dedicated to A.M.)

In a Name

Tell me your real name,

you staring back

through the windows of my soul.

Mother was heavily sedated

when she labeled you,

but here we are

living up to the antiquities

of a foreign noun

collecting adjectives

every day

from those who meet us,

know us,

and sometimes never like us.

What do you want to be called

in avoidance of the perception

a parent insanely applied …

for who is Mildred America?

She won’t live up to those nouns

anymore

than sweet names

that linger inside the tongue,

sliding off to make pretty sounds

with simple syllables.

Mildred America…

what was she thinking,

or did she not think at all?

How does one live to the reverence

of such hard sounds

that hide within initials of truth.

When I place my Millie A.

no one imagines a continent sits

within the first and last name

waiting to be explored.

So tell me,

you there, in the mirror,

what would you like to be called today

besides “Lovable,”

“Funny,”

“Dharma,”

or “Friend?”

Living Your Stories

Oh my goodness!  Life happens regardless of being present or not.  The summer has escaped me.  I don’t know where or how it went by so quickly.  I look back at my computer and realize I haven’t been able to catch up on my favorite blogs.  I haven’t been able to finish the five books I started months ago on my nightstand.  I haven’t been able to take the many hikes I had planned.  We’ve had a busy summer in our retreat center.  I am grateful for it all.  We’ve met so many wonderful people, each with their own incredible stories.

For so many years I would dive into books and escape the stressful life I was living.  Sometimes I would read five or six books in a week.  Once the kids went to bed I would glue myself into the stories…many of which I dreamt of living.  I would travel with my narrators.  I would dream of being in the mountains somewhere.  I lived vicariously through lovers and their many adventures.  Now I realize that all the stories have become a part of my life.  I am doing exactly what I have dreamt through those novels.

Looking at the past few months, a wonderful man in my life, only one young adult left at home, a gorgeous haven I call home, I cannot imagine anything better.  I have acquired everything I put out to the universe years ago.  I have found a piece of heaven while journeying with my best friend and I don’t require the nose diving mindless nights of searching for dreams in someone else’s stories.  Don’t get me wrong, I love books and will continue to read forever.  They teach, excite, marvel, and unite in places that life has yet to provide for us.  But, there is something sweet to be said about being the heroine in your own life.  There’s so much magic in allowing dreams to come true.  The Law of Attraction requires the energy set forth from your desires to align with your reality.  Books provided the desires, teaching me what and how I wanted my life to evolve.  Now that I am living these stories it is hard to sit long enough to concentrate on fiction.

As autumn peeks through the mountains I begin to slow down and relax.  Winter will once again force me to take refuge indoors.  I will catch up on my favorite sites.  I will read and research extensively.  For right now the weather calls for me to live my stories outdoor.   I apologize if I haven’t visited some of your stories.  I thank you for the support the blogging community has given me.  I am dumbfounded each time I write something and I receive feedback.  It is always mind boggling to find another person on the other side of the world reading my experiences.  I am forever grateful for the love and support.  May you enjoy the rest of these last summer days!  We can always meet back here in cyber space!

Mucho love to all….Millie

Tattoo in the Heart

If my heart was a poem

what would the words say

that hide so deeply?

What would they describe

if they were miraculously released

verse by verse,

adjectives dancing out of me

rhythmically composing

secrets of a silent soul?

I do not know for sure

but I am willing to bet

that love is written on each line

describing how I feel

full of sentiments

flowing,

following comas, periods,

and pauses

until the words find you,

tattooing themselves into your heart

while becoming

one with me…

and all the mysteries lying inside

with things I cannot verbalize.