Free AI web copilot to create summaries, insights and extended knowledge, download it at here

Abstract

roots especially when cut by a sharp blade of insensitivities.Sometimes we can only carry so much in a field that is dominated by a harsh majority.So, my sensitive self and I cocooned to the comfort of music, sipped coffee, watched nature, roasted veggies and daydreamed.We also did a lot of writing.This nourishes my psyche.Some of the written pieces started out simple and soft and held my hand much like music hears me.Others will remain in my journal because they cried me. Each word a tear.The greys, blues, blacks, are familiar voices such as, what would it be like to love and to be loved and to still have our respected independence?Is this an impossible dream?Would the nightscape of my words be squelched if I were to share the prairie of my ideals with someone?I have no answers.Questions, answers and feelings are sometimes just raw; it’s part of the script that shapeshifts us as quickly as clouds move and whitecaps lace a stormy sea.Here in the Pacific Northwest, nature has returned the green salad season to autumnal joys of oatmeal accentuated with cranberries, roasted sweet potatoes, and golden squash.This warms me and fe

Options

eds me. Soups simmer softly.Comfort foods are real; they lather me with marmalade and let me dip my scones into warm tea until this feeling of flatness leaves me.And when flat or quiet gets too heavy, I reread my words aloud to a silhouette of trees.What a safe place. Their wisdom astounds me.They seem to understand me better than I do.I continue my reading and ask:How secure would it feel to be appreciated and valued?Very secure, I say to only me.And that’s the key; to learn how to appreciate and value our self.Perfect isn’t perfect. Quiet needs quiet. Soft is home. Simple foods are a comfort. Nature listens.The quality to be our own person and to follow the unfolding of our story, gives our psyche purpose and respect. Something that often goes unnoticed.And with that gleam of inner hope, I pause, and close my eyes again. I can still hear Rilke, Baldwin and Angelou’s laughter from earlier. Their spirits are in the family room. Even my cat likes them.My morning turned a few pages as the sweet light came across my sleeve and warmed my heart, dried my tears and allowed me to take care of myself just the way I need.</article></body>

Taking Care of Our Self

A sensitive soul’s perspective

Rilke, Angelou and Baldwin joined me for breakfast.

We exchanged the sweetest respect in nods, smiles and hugs. I needed their trueness and I wasn’t disappointed.

Maya’s laughter was round and warm. Sensuous and complete. Feminine and strong.

James sat with his legs tucked cat-like with a curl of intelligence smiling from his innate knowing.

Rilke was sensitive as his love poems are subtle and intimate.

Listening to them left me perfectly speechless in my daydream.

My morning had yet to welcome the sky which was draped in a shawl stitched of organic sapphires; if it were clearer, opals would have been the stars.

For days I have been planted by the waning lavenders and rose hipped roses, letting the rains rinse their reign over me.

Achy feelings need extra room to support their tender roots especially when cut by a sharp blade of insensitivities.

Sometimes we can only carry so much in a field that is dominated by a harsh majority.

So, my sensitive self and I cocooned to the comfort of music, sipped coffee, watched nature, roasted veggies and daydreamed.

We also did a lot of writing.

This nourishes my psyche.

Some of the written pieces started out simple and soft and held my hand much like music hears me.

Others will remain in my journal because they cried me. Each word a tear.

The greys, blues, blacks, are familiar voices such as, what would it be like to love and to be loved and to still have our respected independence?

Is this an impossible dream?

Would the nightscape of my words be squelched if I were to share the prairie of my ideals with someone?

I have no answers.

Questions, answers and feelings are sometimes just raw; it’s part of the script that shapeshifts us as quickly as clouds move and whitecaps lace a stormy sea.

Here in the Pacific Northwest, nature has returned the green salad season to autumnal joys of oatmeal accentuated with cranberries, roasted sweet potatoes, and golden squash.

This warms me and feeds me. Soups simmer softly.

Comfort foods are real; they lather me with marmalade and let me dip my scones into warm tea until this feeling of flatness leaves me.

And when flat or quiet gets too heavy, I reread my words aloud to a silhouette of trees.

What a safe place. Their wisdom astounds me.

They seem to understand me better than I do.

I continue my reading and ask:

How secure would it feel to be appreciated and valued?

Very secure, I say to only me.

And that’s the key; to learn how to appreciate and value our self.

Perfect isn’t perfect. Quiet needs quiet. Soft is home. Simple foods are a comfort. Nature listens.

The quality to be our own person and to follow the unfolding of our story, gives our psyche purpose and respect. Something that often goes unnoticed.

And with that gleam of inner hope, I pause, and close my eyes again. I can still hear Rilke, Baldwin and Angelou’s laughter from earlier. Their spirits are in the family room. Even my cat likes them.

My morning turned a few pages as the sweet light came across my sleeve and warmed my heart, dried my tears and allowed me to take care of myself just the way I need.