i give my dreams a home: a place, my dreams can feel loved, where my dreams can take off their shoes, at the end of a long day’s journey,
i believe, my dreams love out loud, they love outside of me, my dreams have fireplaces all of their own, cozy up to their own kitchen tables, make themselves chamomile tea, in teacups of wooden carved-makings,
my dreams need lots of space to move around in, to be welcome, to feel safe in, to explore the world within me.
i welcome my dreams/ my dreams live here, there’s a welcome mat at the front door, there’s chicken soup for those weary nights, you have to keep the lights burning, a warm bath to rest those old spines,
a bit of jazz and soft splashes of rain, and wind to nourish the shadow- soul, hints of cinnamon, and winter spices tiptoe lightly, beside the dreamer and her dreams,
across the window sill there are dream-pods,
with names of things she’s planting,
each one, a new love,
each one, a starry-night,
blooming rainbows in their own timing,
gently she says,
carry fire, and let it be magnified,
honestly/ unearth/ dreaming-sorrow,
the ones she let die without watering, plucking and pruning.
How grateful I am to come here. To be in the realm of gratitude. To become so aware, where love thrives in every soul. I’m so thankful, to be given each moment. What a precious gift of life. The sound the heart makes, without any help from me. To wake up in the beauty of gratitude. A taste of gratitude in the morning. To encounter the spirit of gratefulness, rising in a new way. That I am alive, to feel this. Grateful to navigate the waters of my soul.
After 30 days of writing poetry. I feel strong. I feel like I could take the bull by its’ horns. I’d never do that of course! Although, putting words down on the page might be something I can once again, just suck -it -up -and -do. I mean, there are times I’ve made excuses for not coming- here, to the page. Times where you just have to put a pin in it. Come back and try another day.
For the first time, in quite a few years, I’ve had a 30 day streak on word-press. Mentally I think, I’m in a better place to write. As I make several attempts to get outside my head. Which many of my poems are about. It’s’ the darndest thing, all that crying, weeping, and leakage that came to sit with me. I tell you I had no idea, I hadn’t unboxed those boxes. All of those tears saved my life.
As I look back, and move forward all in one fell swoop,
The challenges between writing and the kids is really the writing part….
Some things you didn’t know behind the scenes, yesterday, I also celebrated my 100th day of eating clean to the best of my ability. I’m on the journey to better health. So these last hundred days , of no chips, no coffee, no pounds of sugar added anywhere. And what do you know? I feel better. My sugar cravings are at an all time low. Even as my kids passed around chocolate cake. I didn’t ask how it was. Even to live off of their taste-buds and get that sugar-whiff -high. Whew! Right then and there, I walked out of the kitchen, like a 7 foot tall amazon- beauty.
Yes! Here’s to another milestone. Coupled with eating right, I put in the work of exercising 10-30 minutes each morning, even with all that poetry, and more poetry, I got up and kicked my own butt, no gym membership I’m done with being robbed. I never made those meetings. However this time, 100 days eating clean, to the best of my ability, 100 days of exercise that’s including 2 rest days each weekend.
Along with my regular appointed schedule of working for my home -church, kids activities, checking on my neighbors, family and friends. At the end of the day I would be so tired. Writing poems at the crack of dawn, writing poems on lunch hour – unable to post until 8 or 9pm. Writing poems in the car, poems in the garden, poems during thunderstorms -lights flickering.
Oh that’s not to say, I didn’t have my moments, like take the day off. Been there, done that! Returned too many T- shirts! I had to sing my way out of that funky-feeling. Write my way out of my own blues. Lean into moments of quietness, and tune into-silence. And there would be my poem of day ,
I am Eva -former refugee, doctor and a writer. My parents were Holocaust survivors, I escaped communism. I wrote a novel, mixing family stories and fiction. A novel about Holocaust, communism, racism and emigration. What makes people leave, and what happens to the ones who do, and to the ones who stay. I believe these old stories are more important now than ever before.
A Poet's Vision 