Category: prose

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Prose; Snow Crystals (Free, an example of my Prose)


(Thanks to everyone for all the likes on this. I love writing prose and will continue.)💜

I lose my gaze in a myriad of crystal snowflakes
wending their way to the earth.

I wonder if they could be the scads of tears, prayers, thoughts,
and meanderings of humans all over the Earth
who didn’t quite ascend their minds to the pure, white-hot, burning light of well-being to be absorbed by the sun?

The snows will always return until humans are magnetic and hot…

The snows return to earth under
the sacred gaze of bright cardinals robed in red and
chickadees who speechlessly honor and guard their sacred prayer.

Their temple is truly the bare tree,
The faithful, the crystals, kneeling to bow to the cold wind easing to a snail pace…
the evergreen, the stalwart, pounding, sacred heart of the earth who doesn’t even know what forgiveness is. It’s unnecessary.

Blessings to all the Earth’s living to be born again in the winter white.

©1/2/11 Lisa Townsend

winter image

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If We’re Not Thinking in Dreams…


earth magnetic portals - hidden

They know by studying the brain that we are not “thinking” while we sleep.

If I’m not thinking, then where are the people, places, voices, words, events, and feelings coming from? It’s not exactly like watching a movie; it’s more like an opaque, frenetic cloud that’s really alive.

I’m free in my dreams to sit back or join in, to interact or be quiet without judgment. Waking life is a dream for me. All day, while I’m “awake”, I’m trying to go back to my dream state to remember how I felt, who I saw, and what happened. It feels like there is a whole other life full of etheric information for me there. Waking life feels like just a resonance is a type of magnetic can; the kind you string together.

Where did I go? I know it was a good place because it affects my day, depending on where I went that night.

I’m not saying I don’t like it here, on earth, but the other side does beckon somehow. I’m a bit glad of that for when my body is worn to a frazzle at one-hundred and four years old, my work is done, it will be easy to drift off and say, “My work here is done.  I’m out.”  My senses and my body still want to drink in all that earth has to offer though, right now.

Earth is fabulous, no matter how hard it can get here.