Category Archives: Just Me Musing

All of my non-poetry posts, relating to anything and everything. Mirthful, with a sprinkling of Truth.

The Meaning of Life- #Thoughts on the #HumanCondition, #Life and #Writing

16 Tuesday Apr 2019

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I need some BnV!

Excuse me??

Yes, you heard me, I need some BnV. I don’t honestly think I can live without it. (Book and Volume that is.) (Yes, that’s what BnV stand for)

I must confess since I began writing this blog, (which, if I continue confessing I wasn’t entirely sure about starting off with,) I have found myself wanting to write more and more and more and more, found I have far greater inspiration than I’ve had in years, and found an unparalleled sense of accomplishment in “seeing” (so to speak) that others find my particular form of creativity (or madness, whichever you feel is more relevant) enjoyable, interesting, amusing or, at the very least, frighteningly intriguing. (Perhaps you’ve had a similar experience with your blog?) Well, let’s face it, BnV does have a certain indescribable quality about it that makes you scoff, shake your head, and yet, come back for more. (yeah, it has that affect on me too!)

But to come back to my original point, although I’ve been writing this blog since 2013 (I know, kinda insane, huh?) I have rediscovered in the past 30 days (or so- I wasn’t counting, exactly) such pleasure in writing again that it’s hard to put into words….which is a bit of a conundrum given that writing is, after all, the crux of the issue here.(here being WordPress..or whatever blogging platform you choose to use) I’ve often wondered how writers can lock themselves away from the rest of the world, eat little, talk less, and simply immerse themselves in their craft, letting the world go on without them, little caring, little worrying (maybe), but I no longer wonder about that. Now it is me (or, to be grammatically correct, should that be I?) who finds herself wishing she could do the aforementioned: forget the world, the job, the tedious responsibilities of life (though not the cat!), lock herself away from all resort (rather like Ophelia) (sorry, Yes I still insert Shakespeare into almost any conversation, but don’t let me deviate into Shakespeare… just yet!) and write until I come up gasping for breath.

Without BnV, where would I be? I admit that sounds a bit dodgy, perhaps risqué. My apologies for the double entendre (I think)(it’s just so catchy, really), but in all honesty, I sometimes feel that compelled, THAT enticed….to write, that is, and to hope that whatever it is I am saying will either make someone out there in the byzantine blue smile, chuckle, or have one of those OH! moments. (or, at the very least, that said hypothetical person doesn’t run off screaming like Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone.)

Admittedly, I knew this before, but just as many things in life, losing sight of what we love is so easy to do.  So easy, in fact, that, now I’ve rediscovered this passion, its rather an epiphanic realization (that my writing means more to me than most anything else), but there it is in its undeniable, inexorable splendor. Sure, I’ve heard it said since I was a child that finding your passion and pursuing it is the only way to truly be happy working through the salt mines of life, but I’ve also heard it said, over and over, again and again, as I am sure many of you may have, that I should get my head out of the clouds and concentrate on the serious matter of getting ahead in the world. Making it big, securing the future, having a reliable, steady 9-5’er that will pay the bills, put food on the table, yadda, yadda, yadda.  So who can blame me that it took this long to have the aforesaid epiphanic insight? (yes, I just like “saying” that word!) Well, the only person who can blame me is me really, since I’ve known since I was 10 years old that writing was what I loved to do best.

Ok, so you’re probably wondering about now what my point is? Well, as I said in my very first post,(go ahead and re-read it, I’ll wait for you) I’m far more likely to natter on endlessly about nothing in particular than anything specifically, so in reality I don’t truly need a point right now; however, you are in luck because I do, actually, have one. No drum roll please. No tympanic reverie necessary. No triumphal horns pealing in proclamation; no, my simple and unadulterated point is just this: (ok, I agree, I adulterated it quite a bit in the last few paragraphs, but let’s not be mean spirited…) that I think Curly from the movie City Slickers put it best:

One thing

Curly (Jack Palance): Do you know what the secret of life is? [holds up one finger]
Curly: This.
Mitch(Billy Crystal): Your finger?
Curly: One thing. Just one thing. You stick to that and the rest don’t mean sh***.(Well, this is a PG-13 blog after all)
Mitch: But, what is the “one thing?”
Curly: [smiles] That’s what you have to find out.

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Rediscovery of what you’ve forgotten you remember is a journey with a happy ending as soon as you begin.

~Morgan~

Listening for Miracles – An Exploration of #Music and #Spirituality

20 Wednesday Feb 2019

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Depeche Mode is one of my all time favourite bands…hands down, no contest, don’t have to think twice about it. Love Dave Gahan’s delicious baritone, love the synthetic, tribal quality of the music, love Martin Gore’s tremulous tenor, love his gift with words…. but this particular song has always made me sad. Not because of the obvious reasons though, not because the girl dies or because the poor mother is grief-stricken, (sorry, spoiler alert!) but because Martin, David, and perhaps more than a good share of the audience, doesn’t seem to hear the Miracle contained in the lyrics.

First, if you are unfamiliar with the song, Blasphemous Rumours, then you should take a moment to listen to it before continuing on…(just a suggestion, really)

Sad tale? Yes. God vindictive and unfair? Not likely. Why not? How I can possibly say not? Look at it from another angle:

Sad Girl is lost, alone, hurting, who knows why, we aren’t told. She thinks life is too hard and doesn’t want to go on trying, so she makes the ultimate final attempt, but she doesn’t succeed. (“Thank the Lord for small mercies”..to quote the song.) She fails at failing.  It takes time to recover, years, but she comes to the ultimate realization that LOVE is all around her; beautiful, joyful, ever-present, guiding, protecting…like a parent who cares unconditionally, or a best friend who never gives up on you, or like your most precious pet, who adores you unreservedly. She finally understand this LOVE and is Happy.

Suddenly, her time is up. No one can control our finiteness, life is brief. It seems like such a tragedy, especially since she only just found LOVE, but it’s not a tragedy, it’s a Miracle. Had she died without realizing how much LOVE is around her, inside her, watching over her, caring for her, she may never have been happy and she would have died, alone, bitter, lost forever in that pit of despair.(because I believe we go on afterward into what we value, create and share here on earth in this life….but that is another post altogether) …yet because she failed at failing, she succeeds.

She heard the Miracle.

So yes, very sad song, but not for the reasons you thought…

~Morgan~

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Exceptional music written and performed by Depeche Mode.

Sleeping with the Enemy – Thoughts on #Perspectives

18 Monday Feb 2019

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spider

Sleeping with the Enemy

Let me begin by saying that I am arachnophobic. Always have been, always will be. I’m that person that goes into an unparalleled fit of screaming, shaking, and running in the opposite direction whenever those creepy-crawly eight legged monsters are around. I’m the person who wakes up in the middle of the night and strips her bed to the bare bones to make sure there isn’t one or millions of those hairy, spindly, multi-legged freaks somewhere amongst the covers. Or under the bed. Or on any of the coordinating furniture. Or lying in wait on the drapes until I go back to sleep, so it can then descend on me in the darkness of night to send me into the aforementioned paroxysm. I’m also the person who once had to single-handedly dispatch a gargantuan, tarantula sized, octoplet-limbed creature of terror who had taken up residence in my bathtub!!! (insert frenzied shrieking here!)

Fast forward now, from that ghastly day, to this morning where you will find me (hypothetically speaking) lying in my bed, dreaming sweet dreams without care; dozing the morning away because it’s finally a Saturday and I don’t HAVE to get up early. (and the congregation shouts AMEN!) I wake up, lazily search for the clock, realize it’s not even 8 AM, smile triumphantly, roll over and promptly resume my reverie. My mind drifts aimlessly through wisps of dreams still clinging to my memory; lingers over musings of hazy imaginings and teeters on the pinnacle between conscious thought and transcendental hyperbole.…until, at last, I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling… you know the sensation…trying to remember what planet I’m on.

My thoughts shift from mystical to rational, (darn it!) I begin to strategically plan out my day, workout and the subsequent primping and preening that follows, breakfast, errands, financial concerns, laundry…yeck! Oh To sleep, perchance to dream! (sorry, snuck some Shakespeare in there on ya!) But this fair thought, now ended; I must rouse myself to the full and stumble on…( that part’s not Shakespeare, that’s me being “poetic”. Shakespeare always merits Italics) So, up I get and up gets the cat (his name is Little Orange Pooz, but that’s yet another post). I turn to make up the bed and then I SEE IT! A black, fuzzy, eight-legged beastie fully the size of a quarter (OR for my British friends, a one pound coin) sitting on my curtain just above my pillow !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Typically, this is the instant where the heebie-jeebies take over, the moment when rationale goes out the window and an inescapable spasm of insanity runs riot over me. I stare in dismay, but to my utter bewilderment and astonishment, I neither freak nor flee. Rather, although I have no comprehension of why, I stand there, LEAN CLOSER, and gaze at this little furry monster more intently. I can see he’s not moving; he’s almost curled up, and for half of a fleeting second I almost smile!!! He’s sleeping! Is he dreaming? What does a spider dream about, I wonder paradoxically. Does he dream about dropping down from the ceiling in the middle of the night onto unsuspecting, sleeping young women to send them into riotous fits of irrational fear all for the sheer hilarity of it?

Who cares!!!! I shake myself…it’s a spider!!! In any other situation, I would instantaneously grab the nearest shoe and start screechin’ n’ swingin’! But, instead, I find myself walking calmly (albeit briskly) to the laundry cupboard, retrieving a duster (a long handled one to be sure!), and returning to the scene of the crime to patiently coax this denizen of hideousness onto the fluffy fibers of his waiting conveyance so I can carry him (once again, at a BRISK pace) to the door and deposit him on the first green growing thing I can find.

Ok….what’s the deal? How can this be? What alternate reality did I wake to this morning that would find me inquisitively regarding and then effectively sparing the life of my lifelong nemesis and archenemy? Is there some lucid explanation for this, otherwise, inexplicable deviation from the norm? I spend the next several hours musing over the possibilities. It could be simply that I hadn’t yet had a sufficient intake of caffeine, was still half asleep and not thinking clearly. Or it could be, perhaps, that I was so surprised I didn’t have time to think about it, really, completely. Or my body could have been taken over by aliens in the middle of the night and I was under some form of extra-terrestrial manipulation!

No, I guess not.

I guess the most likely, if least appealing, explanation is that I’ve changed somehow, in some way as yet not quite realized, or at least not quite realized until this morning, and I’m left to wonder… Is it possible that change isn’t as tedious and complicated as we always think it will be? Perhaps, every now and then, change comes quietly, when we least expect it, like a furry, not so little, spider tiptoeing into our room without us even noticing it. Curling up beside us while we’re not paying attention, it lies, waiting to be discovered and, ultimately, it transforms us into someone we barely guessed we could be.

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~Morgan~

Thank You

01 Friday Feb 2019

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I wanted to take a moment simply to say Thank You. You are amazing and I truly appreciate YOU more than you may ever realize.

You have made my non-descript little blog far more than I ever could have hoped for, far more than I ever dreamed.

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Thank You for continuing to visit and enjoy what I share.  You are a treasure for which I am thoroughly grateful.

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~Morgan ~

A Better Place – #Thoughts on #Humanity, #Utopia and #Politics

24 Thursday Jan 2019

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I don’t talk politics publicly.  It’s one of those unspoken unspeakable rules…one of the three things you never talk about socially…but every now and then you have to speak your conscience, don’t you?

“The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil was that good men should do nothing.”- Edmund Burke

I agree.  I also think you can easily add ‘to remain silent’.  If someone was being beaten and you stood by and neither said nor did anything to stop them, you would be as guilty as the aggressor, wouldn’t you?  It’s within the nature of human beings to respond, to react; at least, I still have hope that it is, but I can certainly understand why so many look at the world today and shake their heads with despair.  I do.

We are all unique and have different strengths and individual natures. My nature, as many of yours, leans very strongly toward empathy and compassion.  When a child cries, I immediately need to know if they are all right.  When someone is hungry, I want to give them something to eat.  When an animal is mistreated, my entire spirit weeps in agony.  There are So Many Innocent victims who suffer in silence because they can do nothing else.

But surely we can, can’t we?  I know we are surrounded by violence and hatred and despicable acts I can barely comprehend, but are we not also surrounded by people of a similar nature and spirit as our own?  Are there not just as many longing for some good in this world as there are those who are aggressors and violators? Where does it end?  If we want Peace, do we not need to become Peace? If we long for Love, should we not first Love?

I say all this as a preface because what I really mean to say is that I look at our government and feel such anger. I watch their inaction in monumental proportion and rage against the cold machinery of it all.  I listen to each side trying to prop up their greed and dishonesty with even greater deceptions and avarice while I long for just one good person to stop doing Nothing.

What would it take for ‘one representative of the people’ to say “I refuse to let this continue.”

What might it mean for one to say, ‘If hundreds of thousands of Americans are not being paid because we cannot find a way to practice democracy and come to a compromise, than neither shall I take pay.”

How much good could it possibly do if we stood together as a community, rallying round each other in support of one another, rather than finding offense in everything someone may or may not say or do; rather than faulting them for perceived wrongs or disagreeing with them simply for the sake of feeling stronger, more powerful, bigger?

AH Utopia.  The Dream within the Dream.

Or is it a dream? Why must it be only a dream?  Why can’t it be more?  Why, in this hour of chaos and calamity, can we not stand shoulder to shoulder as a people and Demand Change?

Perhaps because until chaos and calamity hits our own front door, we are free to look away, shake our heads and say whatever we feel like saying against the absurdity of it all.  Perhaps, until one of our very own is affected personally, goes hungry, is denied the basic necessities over an argument that, in reality, is merely a show-piece for posturing and pretense, it is too easy to employ apathy.

If we could feel the pain of a stranger as deeply as we feel the need of a loved one, the world would truly begin to be a better place.  If we want Peace, we need to become Peace. If we long for Love, we first must Love.

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~Morgan~

Rain- #NaturalWorld #Meditations

16 Wednesday Jan 2019

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Rain.

It is a beautiful thing. There are so many types of rain, really, and I couldn’t tell you which sort I prefer more (unless we are including the fluffy, white, frozen variety that I love most of all, in copious quantities, as frequently as possible.)
Silver Greenery

There’s the light, misty kind that I tend to envision whenever someone talks about Great Britain. That type of drizzly, foggy rain that hangs over the landscape, penetrating every crevice, enveloping whatever it touches in a hazy shroud, and leaving ten thousand beads of incandescent diamonds in its wake that sparkle and scintillate when the light reappears. (Sounds divine, doesn’t it?) Oh, it’s also that deceptively inconsequential form of rain that doesn’t look like much until you walk out in it without your brolly.
Mists

There’s the freezing drizzle, or frizzle; that sinister variety of rain that usually arrives overnight and surreptitiously transforms the garden path, car park, or the front steps into a skating arena suitable only for Olympic athleticism. It’s that quirky classification of rain that warps and blurs everything into unrealistic, Photoshop-worthy deviations of reality that makes most of us grab our camera’s (ie. Phones) to record and share the surreal, Dr Suess-iness of it all. This category of precipitation doesn’t initially impress either, so you generally disregard it until you have to go out and then promptly wind up on your…..
Winter's Icy Grip

There are many classifications of thunderstorms as well. Those that pop up in the middle of a sweltering, summer day just long enough to make us all run for cover; the kind that create a lot of noise for 20 minutes and then disappear into a haze of steam. There are those that roll overhead in the hiatus of evening, fast and furious, full of sound and fury, (signifying nothing?) that do little more than make a mess, generally. And then there are those magnificent, cacophonous, tempests that jar you from sound sleep in the middle of the night with ear-splitting thunder and shocks of lightening that leave you wondering if you couldn’t hide under the bed with the cat.
Lightening

There’s also the awe-inspiring, stop-you-dead-in-your-tracks kind of rain that makes you stare out the window in astonishment, forces you off the road in your car because you can’t see one inch ahead or behind, and makes you wonder for a fleeing, transitory moment if there isn’t an arc being built someplace nearby that you perhaps ought to be booking passage on: those torrential downpours of cats and dogs (and monkeys.)
pouring-rain

Then there’s the steady, pervasive, day-long kind of rain that sweeps over the earth, softly falling hour by hour, never flooding, never rumbling, never wreaking havoc. This is the kind of rain that looks like a painting by Monet or Van Gough; that smells so sweet you inhale the scent of it deeply and can’t help sighing. It’s also that sort of precipitation that makes you want to pull off your shoes like a child, go out and splash in the puddles.
Gentle Rain

Much like life, we can’t control the rain; what kind of rain it is, how hard it falls or for how long, but we can control how we respond to it so that we neither wind up soaking wet wishing we had protection from the rain, staring in dumb-struck wonder at the rain fearing what might happen next because the unanticipated variability of the rain caught us completely off guard. Rather, we can stop to enjoy the rain, whatever its form, inhale deeply, and allow ourselves to be refreshed and renewed before we plod on.

Rainbow

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~Morgan~
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Photos 1 and 3 taken by me 🙂

Other Beautiful original photos found on Pinterest.  Credit Gratefully Acknowledged to the original photographers.  Thank You.

The Glow – A #Holiday #Meditation of #Hope

23 Sunday Dec 2018

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The Holidays are a splendid time of year, filled with cheer, giving, kindness and benevolence we might otherwise neglect to employ; yet, it is also a time of year when many look through the glitter and sparkle and see only shadows of what used to be. Memories can be a funny thing. Though they are of happy hours, they can make us sad; and although they are of joyful moments, they can bring us tears. This holiday season I find myself understanding these conundrums more than ever before as I look around my festively decorated home and find myself missing one who loved this season of the year more than any other. I sit quietly staring at the place she used to sit and long to hear her laughter ringing through the house once more.

Nevertheless, she and those whom you may miss, would Never want us to be sad and would not want one sparkling, shining moment of this Blessed Season to find diminishment, particularly in missing them. Are they not near in every glittering ornament on the tree and through ever gladsome song? Do they not smile through the glow, a sweet reflection of the radiance of where to they have gone that reaches out to touch our quiet hearts? Should we not remember that we are never truly alone when Love has touched our lives and remembers?

Now, you may have other beliefs and you may not entirely agree, but when Love smiles upon us, I believe we should pause to smile back. Perhaps if we did so more often, the darkness of this world would be a bit brighter. Perhaps it might glitter and sparkle like the lights of our countless holiday ornamentation shining out into the bleak winter night. Perhaps through our quiet smiles we might draw those lingering in the shadows into the light, if even for a moment, to bask in the glow and share a contented sigh.

Love is ever present. Not in some far removed, theological ideal, but in Us, should we choose to remember it and share it. A simple act of Kindness; a smile of consolation; an unasked-for generosity; or patience amid the chaos can share that Love in far more powerful ways that we ever may be able to imagine.

May The Glow of the Season Reach out to you through the darkness of these troubled times and fill your quiet world or rush and bustle with Peace and Joy!

Happy Christmas!

~Morgan~

The Conversation of Transformation – #MeditativeThinking & #Spirituality

18 Sunday Nov 2018

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Speak in tones that are Hushed and Still,
In Quiet Transition and Lingering Blaze,
While the Quickening Breeze lends a corporeal Thrill,
The Luster of Autumn’ Sweet Golden days.

Cherry-cheeked apples fill cask and crate,
While pumpkins Smile a toothless Grin,
Crimson and Russet Dance in Unified State,
While Garden Spiders Laboriously Spin.

These Restful Days all too Fleeting Pass,
As November Strides in with hoarfrosts Waiting,
Shifting life’s waters as a looking glass
Finding Reflection, Perfection Creating.

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In the glorious shimmers and russet tones of Autumn, we revel in warm colours and sweet scents; tempting our pallets with tantalizing spices as the lush splendour of summer transforms into the stillness of winter. Colours fade like the hours of daylight diminishing; Shadows lengthen in the clustering dimness, and as the frolicking jubilee of summer settles into the quiet repose of winter I find myself considering how very much like Life are these transitions.

Autumn brings the shifting season of life into sharp detail for me, much like the colours of Fall. The gentle transformation from taxing summer to seductive autumn encourages me to reflect and allow Change the opportunity to whisper of new and different possibilities. A season of transformation, Autumn reminds me that internal alterations are often as necessary and Life-Renewing as external ones. It suggests that how I relate to the world, as well as to myself through Mind, Spirit, and Body, can be as ever-changing as the seasons.

As simply and as beautifully as leaves transforming from glorious green to radiant umber and glittering gold, that which makes us reflective and opens our minds to possibility speaks to each of us. It’s a conversation, not a lecture. A chorus meant to be shared. A rhyme intended to be enjoyed. So in this magnificent season of transformation, when colours are converting and all of nature prepares for renewal, perhaps we should pause as well, breathe deep, and open our thoughts to the conversation waiting all around us.

We might be surprised by what we hear!

~Morgan~

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Beautiful Original Artwork: Autumn Farm by Paul Landry

Where Love Walks – #InspirationalMeditations

18 Saturday Aug 2018

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There are so many in this world who are alone. So many who are sad, lost, hurting, and they may ask ‘Where is God?’ ‘Why is there so much suffering?’  ‘Why are so many in need?’ ‘ Why does  God who is supposed to be all loving allow so much misery?’  ‘Where is He?’

He/She/Universal Love is not far, aloft in the distant cosmos, disconnected and unfeeling. God, whatever or however you think of God, is not some metaphysical apparition. God is Love, love is God; and yet, if God is love why does he seem to not love?  Why are there so many situations that are devoid of love?

I recently had an accident where I wound up in the emergency room. (A Segway accident while on holiday that resulted in several cracked ribs)  After several hours of pain and tears, I was being discharged and a woman was coming in at the same time. She was extremely angry, but also sad at the same time, though it was harder to see than the anger. She was cursing at the security guards and saying unkind things to the nurse who was helping me to the car. The nurse apologized to me for her behavior, but I wasn’t offended by it. Instead I empathized with her and felt a deal of compassion for her.  I wanted to say something, to share some measure of kindness with her. Some offering of love, but I didn’t.

I was very fortunate when the accident that sent me to the ER happened. I was with people who could help me and was surprised by how many strangers stopped to offer their aid, but the woman I met in the ER had no one. Little wonder she felt alone, and it’s not surprising she said the things she did, things like she didn’t matter and that love doesn’t exist. I remained silent, perhaps because of my own pain, but I continued to think about her.

Of course she matters. We all do; and of course Love exists, because even now I’m still thinking about her. Love, much like God, isn’t distant and set apart. Love abides in each of us, waiting to be shared.  It reaches out in the hands that tend. It pronounces itself in kindness. It whispers of its existence through compassionate glances and unspoken empathy.

Perhaps this is why there are so many in need?  Not because Love doesn’t exist, but to give us the opportunity to prove that it does.

Wherever Love Goes
It Urges Mercy and Justice.

Whenever Love Speaks
It Sings Kindly and Gently.

Whatever Love Teaches
It Inspires Honesty, Truth, and Encouragement.

Whatever Love Gives
It Fills with Compassion and Generosity.

May Love Walk with us, Speak Through us,
Teach our Spirits to Sing Harmoniously,

And Give Selflessly
So we may Never Walk Alone.

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Although the past few weeks have been extremely difficult because I’ve been in constant pain, I am finally mending and will be able to return to my normal routine of writing soon!

~Morgan~

A Single Syllable – #Inspirational #DailyMeditations

19 Thursday Jul 2018

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“Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality.”

-Edgar Allan Poe

Do we truly ever stop to consider just how far and wide our words and musings travel?  How often do we say things before we consider the lasting effect those words may have, on others or on our own lives?  Can we grasp the powerful truth that what we speak becomes our reality?

I have listened over the past months to all the raucous noise of hatred and intolerance flooding our media; of friends dividing from friends and loved ones from loved ones over matters that are fleeting, but I have not raised my voice to join the chorus.

Rumi said:  “Raise your words, not your voice. It is rain that grows flowers, not thunder.”

How right he was, for the Power of our words, whether spoken or written, create change, instill impressions, teach lasting lessons, and take root.  I recently stumbled across my own words, which I use on Facebook as part of my profile introduction, and had to pause.

Words are spoken, heard, seen, felt and dreamed.

Indeed they are!  In this hour, when unleashed anger spills over our world, near and far; how will we choose to use our words?  Will we Build or destroy?  Will we mock or Encourage?  Will we take aim with Positive or negative energy?  For myself, for my writing and the consequence of the same, I will strive to unleash Harmony.  Compassion.  Tolerance.

“All I need is a sheet of paper and something to write with, and then I can turn the world upside down.” -Friedrich Nietzsche

Human beings are blessed with the rare gift of language, but they are also blessed with a gift called conscience.  Regardless of whether you believe in an afterlife or not; heedless of the truth of Karma or the possibility of having to answer for our every action in some measure, the simple reality, in my humble opinion, is this:  what we say; notwithstanding how we say it, has a consequence.  My words, written or spoken, will have an effect on someone, somewhere, in some manner, and I do not flout that responsibility.  Certainly I feel strongly about this or that, but I do not presume I know enough to say that I am right and someone else is wrong.

What if we are all wrong?  What if the only Power on Earth and in the vast cosmos over our heads is the Potent Power of a single syllable?  What happens if the indelible connection we refuse to accept is the simplest and most complex notion of all.

Love.

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The Touch of Love is seen in the Miraculous as well as the Simple,
In the Drops of Water upon a newborns head,
In the Benediction o’er a Final Resting Place;
The Touch of Love is Bread in our Hands
And Wine on our Lips,
In Prayers offered beside the sickbed
And in Joyful Laughter at the birth of Life;
The Touch is in the Understanding and Patience Spoken to a Troubled Youth,
And in the Sincere Help offered to One in Need,
It is Heard in the Promise of Unconditional Love
And the Warm Embrace or Handclasp extended to a Stranger.
The Touch of Love is known in the grinding bit of a drill
Searching for Fresh Water In a Forgotten Village,
And in a coverlet offered to a refugee, lost and alone.
The Gentle Touch of Love is Shared through words of Encouragement
To One depressed, discouraged or grieving,
And Through the Compassion of Empathy conveyed
By a Wordless Nod or Gaze.
The Touch of Love is Extended to Each of Us and Shared Through All of Us,
To The World In Need.

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~Morgan~

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Poem inspired and written in conjunction with Pastor Robert Kehrli

Article is my July Morgan’s Musings from Fresh Lifestyle Magazine

 

 

This Silence

10 Thursday May 2018

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I have been quiet this week due to having just moved to my new home in Alexandria Virginia. I have been settling in as well as tackling the daunting task of learning a new job. I hope that you are all enjoying a fabulous May. Please know that I shall return as soon as possible, but as we are preparing to move again to a new condo across town at the end of May my return may be sporadic until we are completely resettled.

Thank you for keeping me in your thoughts and continuing to visit BnV for any of the guest bloggers I have scheduled during my hiatus. As ever I wish you all the best blessings and happiness.

~Morgan~

The Heartbeat – An #Insight to #Poetry

07 Monday May 2018

Posted by in Just Me Musing, Poetry

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Poetry is music, a song without instrumentation; a symphony of rhythm, meter, timing, flow and magic.  It is a conundrum.  The expression of an emotion through the use of language that seeks to instill emotion, but how does one create a concerto of syllables and verbs, adjectives, nouns and pronouns in order to adequately convey something that is often intangible.

Take love for example.  How does anyone truly express such an inexpressible concept?  A sensation so powerful it overrules all logical thought, yet so delicate it can be whispered in the softest tones and still be understood?  It is exceedingly blissful and agonizingly painful; a tempest of temptation temptingly tempestuous.

Some poets are born to spin emotion into lyrical gold.  Shakespeare, Poe, Blake, Dunn; they all had a unique style that reached hearts and minds within mere measures of words and are even today, hundreds of years after their lives, evoking emotion through the power of words.  We, as contemporary poets, all seek to emulate, in our own way, magic similar to theirs; we all strive to convey emotion in an enduring and poignant manner.

Poetry is music.  A Heartbeat; a pulse; a tempo to which the heart and mind dance.  For some, creating that music is easy; for others a struggle.  For me, it is magic that is indescribable; a romance between my hands that form the words and my spirit that feels them. I write with my eyes closed, waiting. Heart quiet in restful calm or pounding in passionate inspiration, and Spirit open, willing, questing, seeking, listening, as the words and images come tumbling down.  Down from Heaven.
Down from the Sweet, sparkling heavens;
Down from the clouds of thundering rain,
Down from the Starlight of glittering Refrain,
Down from the Breathless moon that Sighs,
Down from the Whispers of Silken skies.

I am there, an open vessel while my Spirit sings the Sweetest tune I have ever heard. Though I cannot physically hear it, though I cannot listen to the manifestation of music like I do when I connect to my playlists, I hear the serenade as clearly as that faltering music. The melody comes down.
Down from Heaven,
Down from the sweet, sparkling heavens,
Down from the clouds of Glittering glow,
Down from the bastion o’er the rushing flow.
Down like a Heralding triumphant horn,
Down from the Endless expanse of morn.

Eyes closed, waiting. Heart Quiet, listening. Spirit Willing, Questing. All for the lyrical Beauty that spills like an endlessly cascading fall of sparkling water from that inestimably breathtaking Source. I write, write as fast as I am able, unconcerned about spelling, punctuation, context, verbiage. I sit in Humble wonder as the Blessed words pour Down.
Down from Heaven.
Down from the Sweet, Sparkling heavens.
Down from the rainbow of Jubilant Praise,
Down like a star falling in radiant blaze,
Down like symphonies of ethereal balm
Down like thunderous, calamitous calm!

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~Morgan~

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Beautiful Original Artwork: heartbeat_by_moonbeam1212

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#ThankfulThursday – With #Gratitude!

12 Thursday Apr 2018

Posted by in About Me (since you Insist), Just Me Musing

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105

I’ve been unusually quiet for atypically long, and I am truly sorry.  Believe me, I miss stopping by, seeing your posts, chatting with my friends, but the maddening rush of life has been more than customarily maddeningly lately and in the few brief moments of calm I manage to squeeze in, I have been focusing on my latest Work In Progress, a Jane Austin-esque Romance now well over 150,000 words!! PHEW!!!  AND to top that off, I am working on moving at the end of this month…so needless to say, the hush shall continue for a short while to come.

Still, to my absolute Delight……Booknvolume has reached two additional Milestones: over 18,000 followers and over 240,000 visits world-wdie!

Flabbergasted? who me?  Yep!  Gobsmacked and Off-my-trolley Chuffed?  Uh-Huh!

Who knew, when I first started out, that the words would come so prolifically or that so many would find my particular brand of verbosity appealing, interesting or, at the very least, bizarre enough to warrant a few return visits 🙂 Regardless of the reasons, however, Please Please allow me to take this opportunity, on this Thankful Thursday, to say how much YOU mean to me, How much your Support and Appreciation of what I offer here makes me smile and continues to Inspire me.

As I said in my very first post : So there you are and here I am, two partners in time; one sharing, one gaining (little or nothing, but perhaps at least a smile…if I am successful) giving and receiving, for better or for worse….(yes, I see the direction this metaphorical segment is taking and I would break off, but where this is going illustrates so well another of my quirks, which is, though I hate to admit it, that I do tend to find meaning in even the simplest things)…so to get back to my metaphor… if you think about it, being a writer and a reader is rather like being in a relationship ( I was going to use the M word, but we barely know each other yet). There’s good, there’s bad, there’s mutual intrigue, there are laughs and tears, arguments and betrayals of one form or another, but in the end, it’s generally worthwhile. (there, that wasn’t too bad, was it?)

And Thanks to you, this relationship continues, the Inspiration flows on and, hopefully, so too does the laughter! So For YOU! My Dear Sweet WordPress Family:

OH How the Surprise of Tears come,
Rushing in on my Poise and Certainty
When Such a Warm and Delicate Touch
As Your words and support,
In Delight of Mine,
Causes the Moon to Shiver,
The Sun to Shine
Without the Simplest Enticement or Lure!
My Thanks, Seemingly Paltry,
Yet Honest and Pure,
Rings True and Clear as the Song of the lark,
For Ever Do I Receive This Honor
With More Gratitude of Thought and Feeling
Than My Language or Heart Can Sweetly Express.

~Morgan~

Ornate Tapestry – #Inspirational #Poetry

29 Thursday Mar 2018

Posted by in Just Me Musing, Poetry

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Herald of Spring

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The Silver Light of Winter
Has Spread her Arms and Laid Her head
Upon the mantle of the Frozen earth
To Kiss the Birth of Spring Instead. Continue reading →

Drops of Truth – #Poetry of #Spirituality

15 Thursday Mar 2018

Posted by in Just Me Musing, Poetry

≈ 8 Comments

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Drops of Truth

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Drops of Truth in the Enigmatic Sky,

Sheltering Wings of Heaven’s Soft Sigh,

Weightless Love Conquering All,

Gentlest Embrace when We Stumble and Fall,

Tenderest Whisper of Hovering Devotion,

Calming the Tide of the Thrashing Ocean,

Sweetest Reminder of Our Precious Worth,

Unshakable Love From Long Before Birth.

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This short lyric poem is an affirmation of what I, as many, believe:  That Love Abides over us, Guiding, Protecting, Loving.  It is a Gentle reminder that we are not alone, we are connected to that which Gives Life and Breath.  I am not debating who or what this Abiding Love is.  Father, Creator, Universal Source, Spirit of Life; there are many names but only One Love.  May you never forget You Are Loved.

~Morgan~
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Beautiful Photograph found at: wallpapersas.com.  Credit Acknowledged to the Original Photographer. Thank You~