leaning unreservedly

On being open to love. . . To be open to love mustn't one be open to Him as love first? Opening every avenue of my being, of my life, and of my future fully and unreservedly to Him. Being the only true Love I should not be afraid to trust my entire life, being, and future to Him. On the contrary of being afraid of love I could say, I love Love. And according to the high peak of the divine revelation, I can also say that I am becoming Love in life and nature but not in the Godhead. Hmmm. Now there is an interesting thought. Of course I am not fully there yet, just in the process of it. Darn life-long slow process. Sometimes I just wish it would hurry up and happen. It seems like it would just be so useful in all my life and living today in this age. Hmmm. Now there is another thought. Purhaps there is some enjoyment as God as our love in this age, even if not in full. I just need to learn how to plug in to that source and stay there. I suppose that Love is in my mingled Spirit, right. And that is where I should live, move, and have my being every second of every day. . . but how do you do that? O Lord, How!? It's not that I just want to live a perfect life, never doing anything wrong, but I do realize how much my person/self affects others and I wish that I could just touch people with His Love rather than my own. Someone once told me that because I am in this life-long process and I have been exercising to live one spirit with the Lord that it's quite possible that a feeling I have may very well be of the Lord. . . That I may be more one with the Lord in my soul than I realize. However, I also just heard/read in the Song of Songs footnotes that even a person at the peak of thier Christian experience, being fully one with the Lord, needs to lean wholy on their Beloved, not trusting on themselves. I know that I am not even at the base, let alone the peak of my Christian experience. . . therefore so much the more I should have the realization that I cannot trust myself and must lean wholy on my Beloved. Hmmm. . . I think I will have more on this later.

coming out

The cat in the hat is out of the bag.

blogging mothers

I don't know how this turned into a poetic blog. . . there is a lot of poetry in my past, what can I say?! I haven't had a lot to blog about lately. Not to say that nothing is going on in my life, but I just haven't had the opportunity to reflect on everything in a blogging format.

Oh here's something new. . . my mother has asked me to set her up with a "blog" account. Imagine that. It's kinda cute, but I'm a little worried that she will somehow stumble onto my blogs or other people's we know. I'm thinking of starting her on some other kind of account that I don't use. . . possibly Xanga or something. Hopefully that will cover everybody's butts.

evening music

Evening Music

I.
Black dresses and black tresses pinned with sequins
Traces of glitter sparkling like glasses of champagne

II.
Black suits with black ties — penguins with bows
Softly caressed the neck and strings
Creating white notes across the sheets on black pedestals

III.
Black heels and black flats tapped with the rhythm
Of the man plucking the baseline with nimble fingers

IV.
Van Cliburn on the bench suspended in time
Fingers free of the mistro’s trance
Aloft in that harmony, that sweet chord, whose black keys dazzled

V.
Aurora like moonbeams illuminated the souls of prodigies
I went, therefore I saw — stars born in the black night air.

by: mlejane
Copyright 2001

ode to the human spirit

Ode to the human spirit

from one
intimate
breath of life
man’s spirit
was
formed
creating a space —
mysterious
to
science —
to be filled,
through
a choice,
by
One thing
eternal.

a space
apart
from man’s soul
his spirit,
Pascal’s
"God-shaped
vacuum,"
the organ
by which to
worship,
contact,
and
contain
this
Someone
eternal.

the space
deadened
by the first
man’s choice
thus I am
empty
and
aching and
don’t know why
a glove
without a hand
fulfills not its purpose
so is man’s spirit
when void of
this One
eternal.

with just one
life-breath
it was formed
and with one
breath by man
his spirit’s reborn
"Lord Jesus, Lord"
this void is filled
o what Rest
my spirit finds
the Peace that passes
the thoughts of my mind
a Joy in my purpose:
God in me
and I in He
eternally.

by: mlejane
copyright 2001

comments accepted

Uhm ya... anyone out there?

Feel free to leave some comments.

Would love to know you've stopped by/through.

a night in hell's motel

A memory poem. . . Late one night on our family's roadtrip to Disneyland our van reached a truckstop in Collinga, a small hole in the ground off highway 99 in California with only a Denny's, a gas station, and a Motel 6. Not being able to stay awake while driving and not having made any other arrangements, my dad stopped at Motel 6 to make our night's accommodations. We were all too tired for our 14 hours trek and were begging for a bed to fall asleep on, thus, unable to complain. This is were it all began. . .

A Night In Hell's Motel

Two men dismounted chrome motorcycles.
Shimmering skull rings covered their fingers.
Chains of metal chattered about their necks.
Coarse multi-colored beards matched their long scragglely tresses of hair.
Sweaty blue headbands across their foreheads.
Body piercing in every-imaginable place.
And tattoos wherever their skin used to be.
A worn, black leather jacket -- silver spikes on the cuffs.
More skulls, patched onto a faded levis jacket
Fraid where the sleeves were missing -- exposing a thick burly arm.
Torn, ripped jeans -- holes in every inappropriate spot.
A bandana caked with grease and road dust tied on one leg. Scarlet red.
One held a briefcase shackled to his large wrist.
The other scopes the scene.
A two-edged blade the length of my arm strapped to his side.
Their large, scuffed boots thudded against the pavement as they made their way passed our locked van,
Through the reception of the motel, to the desk where a man stood unaware with his back facing them -- DAD!
We watched in suspense from peep-holes the steamed windows of the van outside...
"Your room number is on the key," whispered the lady as she leaned toward my dad and slipped him the room key.

(Needless to say, we booked a Hilton for the ride home.) *wink*

by: mlejane
copyright 1998

a quintet

A five line poem. This one goes out to sean... a fellow lover of his pillow.

Happy Resting

Deep in rest,
I lay my small head
On a small little pillow
In my big bed dreaming of laughter,
Smiling.

by: mlejane
copyright 1998

*smile*

haiki

The Sunset
Orange, yellow, pink, red.
A fiery light at night.
Romantic delight.

by: mlejane
copyright 1998

reading into it

Finding poems from my past is just one of the X-mas like joys of sorting through boxes from my early college days. This one captures the essence of a friendship --ironic in this case-- through the use of emotion and depth of pain contrasted with the surface of connection.

Reading Into It

We met.
You said hi.
We talked.
Laughed some.
But didn't cry.

You left.
Said g'bye.
We waved.
Later I cried.
Why?

Tears just flowed
From the spring in my soul.
First a drizzle,
Then a rain,
Then a flood.

How is it
That on can lose
so much
At the end of a friendship
That never really was?

by: mlejane
copyright 1998

news, news, it's all old news...

I don't know whether it is more comforting to know that the news channels repeat themselves so frequently in order that one does not miss a piece of news if they are "just joining the program" at any given time or if it's annoying. Recently the TV downstairs is on nearly around the clock with news. BLAH BLAH BLAH . . . And if you get tired of one news channel you can always "flash" to another news channel to hear the same little bit of news and maybe see it filmed from 'another angle' (literally). Oh yea. Just what I've been dying to hear. (Could I be any more sarcastic?) This news is getting pretty old. Enough already with the noise. . . would you all just shut-up.

* M-U-T-E! *

Some people have the greatest jobs. They get paid big bucks to argue on television and to be heard in the living rooms, kitchens, bedrooms, sheds, and probably bathrooms too all over the country. That's gotta be the job for people who just want to be heard no matter what it is they have to say. . . absurd or not. Wait a sec, isn't that what blogs are for? Nah,. . . I'm not auditable out here. . . This is not necessarily considered as noise.

i hate spiders

o christmas tree, o christmas tree

you are a fire hazard!
your lights so bright
they'll burn us down
they'll burn all night
ashes to the ground.
o christmas tree
o christmas tree
you are a fire hazard.

So I went on my first Christmas Tree hunt with my sister and her family today. It was fun. The ground wasn't too muddy and the air was freezing cold. We saw so many trees of various sorts... even a few 'Charlie Brown' trees. When we found the p e r f e c t tree we gave my brother-in-law the 'man-job' priviledge of sawing it down. T i m b e r! When the tree was placed in the the tree 'shaker' to remove all the dry needles my younger nephew (age 3) says, "Look mummy, they're jingle-bellin' our tree!" Awh, so cute. And then when they pulled our tree through the net wrapping canal my older nephew (age 6) says, "It's a G I R L!" Too funny! Gotta love a day for the holidays. It doesn't look like I will get to go home and help them decorate it this time as I have an important date with my friend Kat and her husband this evening... but I enjoyed the little experience... most people seemed to be in the "holiday" spirit. The music playing, fresh hot apple cider, and candy canes helped any one who wasn't.