Tell Me No More of Enchanted Days

  I want to sleep so badly tonight,  But the fire still keeps burning.  Last night I was shivering So I imagined I was sitting next to it.  Its warm flames engulfed me in.  But that was just my imagination.  My teeth were chattering,  My hands were still ice cold.  Where is your warmth when I need it?  Why are you burning all alone?  Tonight, I'm scared.  What if something happens That I never planned for?  An unexpected log falling out of place,  Setting my whole room ablaze.  One can never be too careful,  So I splash water on the heavy log.  I keep doing it hoping it will subside.  But it roars back to life.  What kind of fire is this?  The more I try, the more it sizzles.  It's not going to die so easily,  Some fires are meant for life.  Looks like another sleepless night.  I give up, I say, either you burn out Or at least keep me warm in my sleep.  Glowing embers are no good for me.  But who am I to complain When I'm always tired or cold?  This is no ordinary fire.  It

( View from Forester Cottage, Kantal)  I had read 'The Celestine Prophecy' when I was in college and even though I did not understand all of it then, I do remember understanding that what it was talking about it had to do with energy and how humans use it to exert control over each other. In my 20s I used to read up on things related to the occult, alternative medicine and healing plants. But then came my 30s and with that all learning stopped. It is said that we stop evolving when we lose our curiosity and stop asking questions, or we stop trying to better ourselves.  My journey picked up again in my 40s when I was confronted once again with my old fears and my old triggers. Who am I? What value am I adding to the world? Am I wasting my life? Am I a people pleaser? Attracted to emotional unavailability? Unworthy of love? Ugly? Fat? Why do I keep trying to be nice to people who can't be nice to me? Why am I always left without explanations? Why am I kind to people who are u

Looking for inspiration Under the harsh sun Tracing the shades of trees.  Beneath wet stones Ant hills and yellow leaves.  I was hoping  The words would find me,  Knock at my door,  Ask me how I've been.  I've been told I live in an alternate reality,  That I need to start living here.  But how can I help it?  Reality doesn't have you,  Holding my hand Touching my lips,  With your fingers,  As you shush me up And ask me to just listen.  For once, stop talking  Listen to what I say now.  I don't want reality,  I just want this world Where I can be anything I choose to be.  A sage, a fighter,  Mistress of vices,  Whore of Babylon Washerwoman of your dreams.  I could wash your hair,  While you quietly hum.  Feed you buttercups Or dandelions Till you are delirious and numb.  We could walk by the warm river Dip our toes in the sounds Of mockingbirds and koyals Till we sink to the ground.  You would sink into my flesh While I would float above.  In the sky, like a wet dream S