Tag: tool

dreams, love, psychology, relationships

in need of some fussing and some nursing

Posted on by littleREDelf

:::

I wanna fight for my own strength
cracking through the pavement
bones of harmony
and flesh learning to see

My skeleton of stone
my heart of burning bone
my rapturous tone
my aching for home

My dance upon my tomb
my butterfly wings i’ve sewn
my aching for home

:::

ā€” Burning Bone (feat. Kyrstyn Pixton)
from On the Horizon by LYNX

 

[photo credit] Raphaƫl Goetter
[photo credit] Raphaƫl Goetter
Last nite IĀ dreamed a child was born. An angry, powerful girl child meant for battle. A child somehow prophesied and meant to act as a weapon, a tool for humanity. I did not give birth to this child, IĀ simply kept my distance and observed as all the wise men and women sought to coax her and train her. They staged miniature bouts between the child and those who thought themselves strong enough to get within striking distance. No one could and those who tried were thrown back from the child’s fiery, protective field, a red bubble, a halo of light that would build and erupt and push the intruder away as the child sounded with an ear-piercing cry.

I watched the warriors come and go and paced and thought and drew close to the child and gently removed the clutch of her handler from her tiny shoulder. I was well within range to destroy the child meant for service and greatness or murder and annihilation but IĀ gathered the child instead to my barren breast which suddenly gave milk and comfort. I looked to the handler who nodded and closed his eyes and took the child with me for a walk through a field, which led us down a dirt road whereĀ Iboarded a bus where a man sat beside me with open sea-green eyes and a gentle countenance. He put his arm about my shoulders and held us both and the child looked up at me and smiled.

Noā€”it is not a longing for children. I am instead longing to soothe that angry, sad untempered part of me who has taken some damage lately and lashes out at all the wrong people, in all the wrong dimensions, and with wildly inordinate scales of heat.

I am listening to my dream language and IĀ know what IĀ must do. It involves some self-mothering. And some fussing and some nursing. To be sure.

food, humor, photography

the ingredients and the tools

Posted on by littleREDelf

An amateur photographer went to a dinner party. He took some prints to show the hostess who exclaimed how beautiful they were saying, “These are great! You must have a very good camera.”

The photographer said nothing.

When the party ended, the photographer told the hostess, “That was a wonderful meal. You must have some great pots!”

Sometimes . . . yes – what you use to get the job or the joy done is the discerning factor. But mostly, it is what is in between those four invisible lines that creates something delicious and delectable to the eye and the heart.