Prisoners Of Perception & Not Just Rocks

We are prisoners of our false perceptions.
Held behind bars, not of steel but of our own making.

With the expectation of sensory evidence
we remain closed off from those things
that would otherwise enable us to stroll through stardust
and swim to bottomless blue depths.

That which we imagine is not mere imagination,
but rather a memory of that place
from which we've come and will some day return.

Let us not be prisoners.
Rather let us step through walls and railings.

© Rachelle LeCount

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"The World I Know"
by Collective Soul

Lyrics:
Has our conscience shown?
Has the sweet breeze blown?
Has all the kindness gone?
Hope still lingers on
I drink myself of newfound pity
Sitting alone in New York City
And I don't know why

Are we listening
To hymns of offering?
Have we eyes to see
That love is gathering?
All the words that I've been reading
Have now started the act of bleeding
Into one...into one...

So I walk up on high
And I step to the edge
To see my world below
And I laugh at myself
While the tears roll down
'Cause it's the world I know
Oh it's the world I know

I drink myself of newfound pity
Sitting alone in New York City
And I don't know why..don't know why...

So I walk up on high
And I step to the edge
To see my world below
And I laugh at myself
While the tears roll down
'Cause it's the world I know
Oh it's the world I know

So I walk up on high
And I step to the edge
To see my world belo
And I laugh at myself
While the tears roll down
'Cause it's the world I know
Oh it's the world I know

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Now I want to comment on something:

I was thinking this morning, back to summer vacation, and how I have a kind of hankering to go back to Zuzu's Petals Rock Shop in Helen Ga. The place gave me a nice feeling when we were there.

Something about that place. Just can't quite figure out what it is, other than to say there's a happy feeling to it. Maybe it's just me and the way I perceive and experience things, or maybe it's the lady who runs the shop or all those nice stones and gems and cyrstals. Or perhaps, it's the combination of those things. Whichever the case, I like the vibes. There's something there that I, personally, experience as a little more magical than just rocks.

Backlinks - ZuZu's Petals: July 6, 2010

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Boiled Beets & Clover

Boiled Beets

Smooth roots select
...and careful washed
Yet not to cut
...or sweetness lost
Til tender boiled
...a half hour's cost
Then sliced to taste
...with butter tossed

© Rachelle

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Speaking of red things.... here's a little tune from way back when.
It always makes me smile.

"Crimson & Clover"
Tommy James and the Shondells












Teen Me

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Name Me

Name me thy immortal soul,
And I shall declare I am more than myself.
Be there any solid form to claim?
A word by which I am known?
It is you - The origin of my thoughts,
The drum and the flute
By which my heart keeps time
In this dancing mystery.
I shall resolve no more
To give meaning to myself.
'tis a futile endeavor.
If from you I was taken,
Only by you might I be defined.
If in you I am created,
Only by you am I named or given purpose.
Name me thy immortal soul,
That I may become more than myself.

© Rachelle


[Inspired by the story of Zoroaster and Ardouizur, as presented in "From Sphinx to Christ" by Edouard Schure'; Book IV; Manifestations of the Solar World]

From Sphinx to Christ is the engrossing story of the eternal search for knowledge of our origin, evolution, and destiny as spiritual beings. Edouard Schure lucidly and masterfully traces the course of this quest from the primordial wisdom expressed in the Riddle of the Sphinx; through the legends of antediluvian civilizations and the traditions of India, Persia, Babylon, Egypt, and classical Greece; to the pivotal figure of Christ, who renews ancient mysteries and embodies new ones for the continuing development of humanity.

The Eternal Promise

The beauty of the beloved awaits in the charmed stillness and knowledge of his promise. For all it's disappointments and trials, hope shall not be dissolved. For it was sown by the spirit which breathed even before the lungs were shaped. As we move in this limited form, amidst the few grand things of earth, he ceaselessly provides us that taste of a mercy and a grace by which all tears will end and youth be restored and stretched in infinite circles.

The soul does beseech him, as surely as with clasped hands or tightened eye on bended knee. Though there is no need for such things. He has heard his children. The promise, still distant, is brought to our remembrance in visions and stirrings that, while unmeasured, are exacted according to all good purposes. Glimpses of splendor magnified a thousand times. We alone, who are his, will hear his assurance - the eternal promise.

© Rachelle

Late Afternoon On the Porch

Pink clouds roll past.
The sun is in the distance.
Pines stand tall, with bottlebrush arms,
and my thoughts sway with them.
Planes blink their passing,
and beg my curiosity.
"He is by the sea" they say,
"We will take you there."
Salt droplets drift sideways,
spashing their arrival on my face
and washing clean the day
that is now almost over.

© Rachelle

[Written years ago and inspired by dots of planes as they float seemingly silently across the evening sky]


"Laugh, I Nearly Died"
by The Rolling Stones



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