Is it a heart or mind that is captured when a story comes to live on the screen as if concocted as typed? A memory or imagery merges—paints itself across the screen as envisioned—with feelings and colors from a world that doesn’t quite exist, yet does.

I had no idea how it held me captive, until I was freed and felt the rush of releasing sentiment, reaction and response. Once guarded, now unafraid, I spoke.

Your tapestry speaks of histories, of memories, and of dreams once lived yet maybe not. You are a heart that I have won. Even my nervous and tender sentences do not put a dent in your undying craze over me.

The thoughts that come to me when I am into you.

You are green and blue light, swirling together. I hear you thinking. There is something about you I want to learn, grow into and hide in. I do already. You know.

I surrender now to you. To you, and to the powers that be that will make my dreams come true in a second once I let go. To you I speak…

You found me. Or did I find you? Either way, I'm glad we're "connected". Now let's share.

What is inside you when you feel like melting? Are the particles of you floating eloquently in space aimlessly, or alive… waiting to pounce? You remind me of a memory where the bubbles of time enter without a cue, knowing their place.

The way you are looking at me now creates an incredible story in me. It goes on for days. Did you know the power of your eyes? The power of us—as my eyes connect with yours, even from the distance, even in pixels that attempt to encapsulate skin and texture?

It‘s obvious to me that creative words come from the heart and the soul of life, which when flowing freely come sporadically. It is what’s in the silence in between moments.

Sometimes the words don’t come—well only the ones that no one wants to hear. These are the times when I need them the most. It’s when I desperately wish I could write a wonderful book just for me to read, so that I will believe that it’s possible to touch another being in this moment.

Without sleep, our whole viewpoint on life changes. All that was once beautiful becomes overwhelmed by heavy eyelids, low energy, a negative mind, or a feeling that maybe tomorrow will be better. If you cover up a lack of sleep with caffeine, eventually health problems will arise—and certainly mood swings, pending disease and an unbalanced physique.

As the wind blows, I know why I’m a writer. Because life is in balance; like a seesaw, it tips. I see through a lens that looks for what’s interspersed as opposites—each sting has a petal. I can hear what you see when I am grateful to be alive.

I went to the optometrist today for my first time in all my years—having 20/20 vision all my life—because I noticed that in the last year or so, I am no longer able to read the fine print on my iPhone. For that matter, I cannot focus on anything anymore that is within a one-foot distance from my eyes. This is new for me.

Write with me
... as if I'm writing you
... as if I hear only your voice.

The writer is a person whose faucet of words continues to flow. There is no on/off switch. But, the writer—an author of freelance ways of the mind—can also take a nap. A good nap. And in that slumber, words dancing (or not), there is an inflection that breathes through inactivity that produces the artistic work.

I have wondered lately if it would be possible to live the life of one of my two indoor cats, and if I were to accomplish this endeavor, how relaxed life would be. As I rush around through my days full of schedules and kids, I often remind myself of the solace I will feel when I finally get to relax on the floor

It's summertime... But just because the beach and sunshine beckon you to follow a free-spirited attitude, you can actually allow yourself to relive your yoga.

I am happy for the miracles that occur in healing sometimes. Surreal, yet not. For instance, it is known in some cancer patients with x months left to live—as deemed by their doctors—that to embrace their illness by leading a life full of bliss for the last months of life is to allow cancers go into remission.

what lays hidden...
reveals
its courage
~ r.e.l. 2012