The journey of my heart

My journey began long before I knew I was looking for something. One night I received an email asking me if I was ready to embark on a journey. I had no idea where it would go. It started with a list. Tired of carrying the weight of my life, I packed lightly with only what would fit in my little backpack. At daybreak, I meet many travelers who were ready for such a journey as this.

I found a hidden door in a tree and was whisked away by a night ride in moonlight. Mysterious gypsies drew me with a silent call in the night. Some kind of enchantment made my dreams deep and meaningful. Before long, I woke each day excited to know what would happen next. The journey to an island brought memories I didn’t know I possessed. Ancient knowledge was revealed to me. How can my life ever be the same now?

I learned to proclaim who I am. I am no longer the invisible child! See me! Hear me! Understand my words! Slowly I have come to realize my own truth. That truth is to be free. Unburdened by my own past and my parents past. Just let it go and find what’s around that next corner.

I have met celestial beings. I have met wee fairies. I have met warriors of great strength and feminine mystic. I have met talking donkeys and talking dolls. I have met known hell raisers. I have been reintroduced to friends of old who knew me long ago.

And now I have learned to be open in a completely new way. My heart feels lighter than I ever remember it being. I have let go of old cryptic ideas. I have found a new road. The Silk Road. It winds through space and time; thoughts and dreams; mystery and magic.

Somewhere along the way I meet myself. The child, the girl, and the woman I want to be. I was stunned to discover that I needed to make some changes. To hold my own hand and say, “Yes! We can do this.” Brick by brick I had to tear down my own walls and find an inner world rich with ideas waiting to be discovered.

At last, I am in an distant land with no water and no road. I have finally come to the last door. The one that was hidden away for safekeeping, so no one would find that brilliant light. The key is the secret that I hid in my own heart. It was a prisoner there that I bound tight. And through my journey the ties loosened. And fell away, until I could feel an ache of joy and freedom coming close. The key that spilled from my lips opened the door and released my spirit. Away I flew with magic wings. I saw a wild fire burning. The fire of my anger, my regret, my invisibility burning, burning, gone!

Little cat

Little cat
In the sunlight

What makes your
Whiskers twitch like that?

Little cat
Dozing on the floor

What do you dream
While soaking in the sun?

Little cat
Of my heart

Would a move to grey skies
Make you dream of sunlight?

Little cat
On yesterday’s mail

Would you love me
Still if we moved to distant lands?

Little cat
My little girl

Would you be happy
To be a studio cat?

Little cat
Of black and white

Would you still
Lay in a pool of sunlight?

Shimmering Gaze

The Full moon is still in the sky when I wake. I take my time bathing and wear a simple dress of pale blue cotton and my summer cloak.

The Enchantress takes a small group of us on a hidden path. We wait in a shadowy grove. One by one we disappear into the trees.

Quietly, the Enchantress nods to me it’s my turn. I set onto the footpath and turn into a clearing.

The lake is peaceful and wide. The water reflects the coming day. Cranes in the reeds search for food.

I breathe in the cool morning air. Mist collects and drifts across the water. I smile contentedly and remember why I am here.

I settle myself near the edge gazing into the water, my reflection still. As I suspected, just boring old me. A shimmer slowly cuts the water like a shiver.

A bear appears. I know this bear. It is me, when I was afraid living in Los Angeles. It’s like an old friend, I had forgotten.

In mid thought the water ripples again. A distant echo…A whisper

Shinjo

A dark silhouette with horns, looms into view. A samurai in gleaming woven armor. My samurai ancestor.

But it is me just me.

He whispers: Be brave. Go forward without regret.

My ancestor looks at me from the reflection. I see his blazing eyes.

The image softens and it is my eyes. I nod to myself and my ancestors that are beginning to haunt me.

They are really trying to impart me with their knowledge. They think if they keep repeating the words I will hear them better.

I do hear them.

And I am pleased they still care even in the otherworlds. I imagine they watch me like a soap opera.

They give me vision beyond myself and the reflection smiles.

Gypsy Poetry

I no longer have a mother
Or a black-haired father.
I have been left alone
Like a fallen tree.

But that tree
Is not quite alone:
The cold wind blows
And touches its branches.


~anonymous gypsy poem written some time ago

My date

Little gypsy

I have a fantasy
To be a child who
Lives in a Gypsy caravan.
My backyard is the world.
My sleeping place is a little caravan
Filled with soft down covers for warmth.
The laughing creek is my water source
The crackling fire is my heat source.
The stars are my ceiling and
The road is the story that
Weaves a new adventure
Around every corner.

I need...

I need water.
I need to slip into that liquid splendor.
I need to stare into the wide sky.
I need to listen to the birds.
I need this…

Appraising the Heart

An eye for an eye

A tooth for a tooth



Within the field of rushes

Lies the heart of one

Mother, daughter, wife, sister, friend,

Whose time in this realm is done?



Within the field of rushes

Lies the heart of one

Teacher, counsellor, advocate, imagineer, friend

Who took but gave an eye, a tooth, a shoulder



Earth to Earth

Ashes to ashes dust to dust



Within the field of rushes

Lies a heart of one

Who gave more than she took

Who returns to the source



As light as a feather



by Heather Blakey

Self-portrait

For my lover

The day we meet
I had no idea we would become a couple.

The day we meet
I didn’t know we would become a unit that fell so naturally into place.

The day we meet
I had no idea how familiar your face would become.

The day we meet
I didn’t know you would be such good company.

The day we meet
I didn’t know you would be my very best friend.

The day we meet
I didn’t know you would be so accepting to who I am.

The day we meet
I didn’t know how much my heart would grow in loving you.

You amaze me! Happy Birthday!

Cuppa tea

Dreaming on paper

Slowly dreaming on paper. I could record the
voices of my ancestors. The samurai with

their still, silent shouts: Be brave. The last
Shinjo. Do not fear. Go boldly forward

without regret. Show them beauty in despair.
Show them beauty in personal pain. Show them

beauty in transformation. Show them beauty
in rebirth. Show them beauty in the now and

be free. Without limits. It’s your story.
a fragment.

a piece.

Sense of beauty

I went to Powell’s bookstore and looked at zines.
I found it a waste of paper. None were inspiring.

There was no sense of beauty. No poetry. No sense
of breathing space. No sense of a Japanese garden

in the rain. No sense of yellow leaves wet on the
pavement. No sense of mist coming to settle on the

trees. I look and look for inspiration in a little book.
There is no sense of beauty. I think. I must create my

own little zine of poetry. But what would I say? Maybe
I could s l o w l y d r e a m o n p a p e r . . .