Mary Jane's Shoes

Mary Jane's Shoes

Musings of one person among many. Not exceptional in any way, as with all, I have exceptional experiences and varied reactions to those events. Mine is one of many life stories and how I manage and cope with the events which make my life my own, I attempt to put forth by way of my writings.

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Winter’s Gift

December 5, 2014

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I do love winter. It is a period of time when I give myself permission to go into hibernation, as a prairie dog retreats to his burrow. It has always been a time for me to rest and soak in the year’s experiences, revel in their occurrences or learn from them. This season is a time to recharge and feel gratitude, more so than I do when the temperatures are warm outside and I am more heavily on the move. It is also a chance to visualize for each member of my family and for my friends, an auspicious future, one filled will their personal choices for fun, learning, adventure, and spectacular moments. 

It is in the winter cold when time seems more available to dream, create, and influence the future. During this time too, the actions of the past can be mulled over and understood. More cerebral becomes living life. This makes sense as the chill brings a natural slowdown in the physical, as the bare grey skin of deciduous trees blatantly reminds us. This slowing in the physical realm allows an increase in mental pursuits. A balance is kept. 

A peace and cleansing is given us. The dreary skies can be viewed as a blank sheet of paper upon which we can write or as a stone waiting to be carved. The lackluster color palette outdoors can be viewed as an open field where any seeds can be sown. Rather than finding inspiration in summer’s color bounty, winter provides a respite from intensity and a chance to inspire ourselves. 

In living under dismal skies, try a change in perspective. Where monotony takes precedence, see rest and renewal. Where the bland seems oppressive, find new colors, see possibilities.
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Each Counts

November 25, 2014

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Retain your perspective.
Onto true priorities hold.
Life lives in the moments,
not in the whole.
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Changing States

November 8, 2014

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With air still, heated, hot, scorching
lungs struggle
to expand,
fully with breath.
The path is without shade.
It is stale and stretches long.
Moving coolness is necessary
to release the trapped sensation
of heat and stillness that grip my skin and muscle.
Panic begins its appearance
in this adaptation of drowning.
I stand taller, stretching
as if cold air rises, not heated,
and inhaling full fresh air will come with more height.

Through oppressive heat
the marvel of man made chill
is close,
as I approach my wheeled
and steel horse.
Unlocked.
Entered.
Skin it sticks to leathered seats.
Key engaged.
Knobs, I quickly touch
as their temperatures too have risen.
I receive a full face of dusty searing; heat, from this idle horse, is the first to touch the skin.

With time,
cold air is blowing stiffly.
Fans aim sublime wind
towards my arms, neck.
Heat rises off my skin,
with sweat evaporating.
Water drops on skin
do not hold the strength they did.
Each withers as a dying pond.

I’ve seen through the dry suffocation.
I can now breathe.

Of Yourself

November 7, 2014

Intentionally relax the congested mental movement filling your day. Breathe. Focus on that which brings you simple joys and serenity, if only for moments. It is for each varied. Praise the individuality of you, your thoughts and honorable beliefs, without reminders of purely outward successes. Replenish and renew.

in the house broken

October 22, 2014

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when he was two and she was eight
when he down the street did skate
and she an elephant did create

scattered and strewn
are faces.
coated paper,
glossed and colored,
the faces, the children’s eyes look up from hardwood worn and stained.
much disarray
as ages overlap.
albums rifled through
and left are empty spaces.

when he was two and she was eight
when he down the street did skate
and she an elephant did create

as these fixed expressions
hold the past,
under childhood treasure tossed,
wood blocks and open drawers
they still laugh,
the faces on the floor.

would seem I could learn their tricks.
would seem I could read their minds,
return to that time
to shoot the portraits once again,
this time promptly placing each inside an ordered book or drawer.
Not without lock and key,
not one other would see.

when he was two and she was eight
when he down the street did skate
and she an elephant did create

~ mary jane goodman

A Moment’s Peace

October 20, 2014

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eyes close.
air warm of sunlight, it soothes.
cool wind, it brings truth
removing hitchhikers of dirt from the coat.
cleansing, moving air imparts peace.

peace is the moment
existing only at present.
separate.
feel now,
with the freshness of the cool,
the heat of yellow stretching to the skin.
this moment is alone.
it owns great worth,
this moment alone.
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Passing Words

September 18, 2014

I just spoke to my sons Elliot and Ben, respectively two and three hours away. I am excited for their futures, but part of my heart is missing. The pieces gone are with them and my daughters out of this home. Time passing is a difficult page to see turn, though it turns with a simple breeze, without my effort. If a page is splattered with spilled milk, the spill of mistakes I have made, I still do not want to see the words disappear as the page corner is lifted and pulled to the left revealing new words. The new may read of great happiness, but my desire disobeys all laws of physics. I wish to see all the words from prior chapters live together on the same page with the new.

Perspective

July 23, 2014

Always maintain your perspective. Be sure that your perspective is aware and encompassing of others’, as it can be, and often is, skewed, even as one believes they are thinking without bias. A pure worldly view, that equalizes all, will see us survive.

I Shouldn’t

July 23, 2014 2 Comments

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I shouldn’t be here,
listening to you breathe,
feeling you shift in bed,
dreaming of a never time,
speaking words best left unsaid.
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I shouldn’t be here,
sipping your strong coffee,
sharing your buttered toast,
talking of the news,
and laughing at your jokes.
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I shouldn’t be here,
smelling your earthy scent,
touching the back of your neck in the morning light,
nor kissing you in the dimming incandescent night.
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I shouldn’t be here,
sitting on your front porch,
tending to your sun baked ferns,
reading your sincerely written words,
nor thinking of touch, for which I yearn.
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I should leave.
Sharing time is weaving
more weft through steady warp.
To loosen make believe
and slow connecting skin,
this binding we need thwart.
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If I leave
will you remember me?
Will you see my face in a crowd,
walking,
only to see it disappear?
Will you see my head thrown back with eyes
laughing,
only to remember my tears?
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If I leave,
will you remember my finger tips
touching the crook of your arm?
Will you miss them dear?
Will you long for tousled hair?
Will thoughts of a life without me
bring you any fear?
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Tell me please
before I leave
that you will miss me so.
Tell me please
before I leave
that you don’t want me to go.
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Heart

July 22, 2014

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Feel your heart. Live your heart. Be your heart, and enthusiastically expose the full and true nature of your heart.

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