Yes, you! I am speaking to you and using your first name, not the second one you use to pen —
because I want you to hear me, and understand.
I want you to go back to the memories from nine-year-old you, and relive them again. That was the time when you really knew — when you understood that you did not come here to be ordinary.
You came here for happiness, like you felt when you were three — running and playing with your cousins, making mud cakes and eating sugar cane with your hands all dirty…
Derisively, are you male?
was his sexist remark,
for you seem to suffer greatly from
sex on the brain, I laugh.
There are worse things to have on the brain
don’t you think?
Like evil thoughts,
hate, fear, jealousy?
A tumour perhaps —
a stroke waiting in the wings?
So if my illness is sex-on-the-brain,
let me suffer and die
over and over again.
He rolled his eyes, walked away confused
What was on his tormented brain, I mused.
Back hunched, forward shuffle long dead;
I started to speak but said nothing instead.
So, what was I thinking about again?
were the sounds coming from his sax —
inviting with a warning.
Tunes of unresolved issues
Brought forward from many lifetimes
Beckoning yet still denying,
And like a moth to the flame —
© I. Trudie Palmer
leads to feelings that can only describe as ecstatic blending
and you may say, how corny
you tryin’ to clickbait me?
I felt that way as well
when I first heard it said by Ajahn — my favourite monk.
Better than sex, he declared
My ears perked, what could be better than orgasms — so powerful
that you can be taken to undiscovered worlds?
Guess not known to those fighting giants
wanting to get there first — the scent of musk and the jungle guy.
Don’t they know we can travel for free
every time we sit
I feel your energy surrounds me
I feel your caressing of my body
— my long neck, my arms, my full face
You are not here —
you are as near
as bad boy Mars is from beautiful Venus,
yet still you are palpable,
as if I can reach out and touch you —
your broad chest, your sweet lips. …
I am ordering a 10-gallon bucket hat today from my favourite intergalactic superstore. I want to use it to tip all the wonderful editors on Medium — they have been doing a tremendous job in sharing the stories that we enjoy reading in their publications. There are some who actually own publications and others simply volunteer as editors for a particular pub. It is not an easy job and takes up a lot of precious time — that’s why I am getting so large a hat — they deserve to be well tipped.
But as life is supposed to be…
There are some of us, we see death coming in our non-resistant state — dreams, meditations, visions, any state of mind — or more aptly put, state of no mind where we connect to the greater consciousness and see and hear and feel these things. It can be disconcerting and no matter how many times you experience it, it still knocks you off kilter for a while, especially when it is someone you know. Oh, Boy!
I remember when I first started having these experiences. I would see someone I know, most times in a dream looking their best ever…
The quiet, so quiet that unfurling evening petals could be heard
and ultrasonic waves emitted by alien fruit bats echolocated loudly into the void.
Dancing fireflies — their flickering lights — the sound of crashing cymbals,
so quiet was the night.
He stood immobile, blending
into the long shadows of the trees
with their whispering leaves;
the misty evening’s moisture to glisten.
He knew she would come, she said she would.
So, with ears alert for the quick patter of her sandals on their secret path — each step, ally to the passion they felt for each other,
Coconut oil glistened on dark skin
earplugs in to quiet the din
Contemplating the beauty of her body
that has served her so well from infancy.
She admired the tiny wrinkles hobnobbing with her eyes,
her long greying hair often used as a disguise —
To hide her childlike exuberance for living
where nothing really mattered but loving and giving.
Feeling peace amidst life’s many trails —
knowing that she would do it again with a smile.
She bowed her head almost touching her chest
Giving thanks, fully realizing that she was truly blessed.
I. Trudie Palmer
This is my prayer of gratitude for a life that continues to unfold one joyous moment after the next.
There are days when I get tired of hearing advice — every tongue with a pen in its grasp wants to give advice; whether or not it believes it; whether or not it practices it; whether or not it even makes sense to anyone else but the speaking tongue, advice spills forth. And I just want to say shut up, just shut up, and stop telling me what to do. And I know you can relate to the way I feel — ten points for this relational piece.
There are times when we cannot just say be quiet. The advice…