Her smooth skin is an illusion:
Inside, she’s tough like leather.
I don’t mean this cynically.
She’s seen catastrophe:
Yet, she persists.
Carrying a torch with a hopeful flame
That never dies out.
I don’t understand this.
She studies genocide,
Yet, she tells me everything
Will be okay.
I walked on a cold, misty night
Reflecting on my life thus far
I have given my life to Christ
Made wishes upon shooting stars
When released from behind bars
You could say I was born again
I’m better, but still have the scars
From a life devoted to sin
The hand and the shadow. As the sun sets, light fades through the window. The angular shadows beckon me closer. I reach out with my finger, looking to meet my Shadow Self on the wall. Seeking to integrate those parts of myself I deny and push down. What happens when I touch the Shadow Self?
Hand seeks the shadow
Shadow reaches to the hand
My two selves’ touch
Washing in the river. Washing myself clean. Clean of the dirt and grime of a society gone mad. This is the way of my ancestors, to wash in the river away from the frenzies of the city. The water is cool, and my blood runs ice-cold when I step inside. I feel the purity of the saints.
River cleanses me
Of evil impurities
We are connected
The trees, they are made of us
We made of the trees
Here’s a piece of fantasy flash fiction about what happens to the pieces of our broken hearts. It’s actually quite hopeful (see – I don’t write horror all the time!) It’s about 550 words and has an estimated reading time of 2 minutes. Let me know what you think!
Sending up a prayer – way up in the air
Pleading with God – will He respond?
He’s quiet at first – this feels so forced
But the prayer changes me – can’t you see?
I begin to let go – at first, it’s very slow
My worries remain – at least for today
I don’t expect magic – or to feel ecstatic
My faith is hard-won – once, I came undone
From that I learned – not everything’s absurd
While it may seem so – it takes time to grow
Into spiritual maturity – certainly not purity
Life’s never perfect – the future, we can’t predict
But spirituality helps me – it makes me feel free
The angel visits me.
Shocking sound, vast colors, she’s suffused in light. A messenger, her words deeply stirring. Her face purest yellow, shining,
smiling, brings ease, a luminosity
She says everything
Will be all right,
All’s well, all shall be well,
All manner of things
Shall forever be well,
Like Julian said
This is a picture I took from Wikimedia Commons of a statue of Julian of Norwich, an English anchoress from medieval times who is regarded as an important Christian mystic. Julian (1343-after 1416) wrote Revelations of Divine Love after seeing visions (or “shewings“) of the Passion of Christ. She was on her deathbed at the time of the visions, but she recovered and wrote about the visions sometime later.
Reach for light, no matter what.