Cycles of Life –THE SUNFLOWER

Every living entity goes through the same cycles: birth, living and death. Just observing the cycles ought to bring us peace of mind and the trust that the essence of us never disappears, it only transforms and each has its unique, beauty…and mystery…

These images are dedicated to my favorite flower, which no matter how cloudy, it senses the Sun which has guided it forever and turns its head towards it, with no sign of hesitation:

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Residence Of A Soul

A soul may be…

happy, crushed, sad, numb, broken.

None or all at one time or another.

It may feel as a heavy rock, pulling down

To the bottom of an ocean,

But this ocean is bottomless,

The final destination unknown…

Other times,

The place where we, humans, decide souls go,

Is in a better place,

Or  worse,

Depending on …

what we, as individuals, believe in.

Upon the death of my friend, I had a vision

I cannot see anything,

Rather imagine,

Standing on the edge of a precipice,

at the very edge of it, staring down.

I hope to see into the depth of the place

Where  souls might reside,

and find hers.

What if I loose my emotional balance,

And step forward into the endless precipice,

Where I think  souls find peace?

A passing thought!

Instead, I take two steps back,

In the reality and safety of the Now.

I continue to contemplate and question:

Where do souls reside?

When the time comes,

I wish my soul will be pulverized

In a million particles, so small,

They could enter the hearts of the ones I love.

I know, they will not see it, but feel my presence.

When they do,

I hope they will allow my soul

To rest next to theirs…

before the wind blows it away into eternity…

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Too Fragile To Break

Broken in million pieces!!!

Confusion:

Did I slip, was I pushed, both?

An ambulance,

Worried people,

Surgery,

Experts glued me together.

Barely could see the fine cracks covered by make-up

All that mattered was the illusion of perfection, after all.

Again and again and again,

The “accident.” repeated: pushed, slipped, fell…

Not sure!

Ambulance, surgery, fixed by the experts…

I know the play by heart, I could do it alone,

Be the hero of my own play.

By habit, I trip, I fall on a hard floor,

The pain is great, the floor hard,

But not harder than the core of me!

I look around:

No ambulance,

No people,

No surgery or experts.

Only a wall. An object with no feelings.

I lean against it

I think the advantage was I didn’t have to thank

An inanimate object!

What a relief!

Slowly, I leaned on it and pulled myself up.

I knew I wasn’t required, and no one cared,

Yet, I head my own voice scream in my own ears: “Thank You, WALL!”

My lips touched the rough cold cement.

No one heard,

No one cared,

The wall was ungrateful!

My ears felt numb,

My lips bleeding.

I was happy to have done the right thing,

Not because it mattered to others,

But because it mattered to me.

I respected  myself enough to

Follow the flexibility of my consciousness.

I cared not what the world might think

But how my heart felt 

When doing what was right!

My core might be frail enough to break,

It didn’t!

Life required flexibility and foolish people

Didn’t comprehend the difference

Between weakness and flexibility.

To survive one must flexible.

Weakness, will kill you!

Simple to tell the difference…

Crumbs of Life, Pieces of Nude Hearts

My heart is  NOT broken because…

It’s made of iron, perhaps of plastic,

Not beautiful, but efficient and permanent,

In its own ugliness, or uniqueness, or

Commonality,

In its fearlessness of existing boldly and unquestioning,

My heart uselessly asks, over and over again,

“…it is a curse or a blessing?” 

…and no matter how much it asks, no answer is found!

And all it’s timeless,

I could keep asking forever,

Without the horror  of being stabbed from behind,

By friendly daggers…. it would take too long!

A curse or a blessing? Which? And who cares?

Empty containers, shaped as bodies,

Passing one another unknowingly, carefree

 and ignorantly peaceful!

I am one of them!

Are there invisible hearts in our containers?

… more likely they exist on a different plane.

The plane of the  blessed… or the cursed?

By whose standards?

By whose rules anything is born, exists, dies, is beautiful or ugly?

…is it a curse or a blessing,

To even have the indecent curiosity to ask myself such

Questions, which belong to the nude  heart?