If I were to be...

Pic by Gemma Wiseman ~ Ambivalent winter morning skies in the Dromana Hills, Mornington Peninsula
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Sunday Scribblings #222 - ME
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*** This is my Gemma Wiseman profile on Helium

To understand me...

To understand me, perhaps a few tangibles may help.

If I were the sky, I would be a cloud drifting, reshaping, reinventing, but always enigmatic. If I were the earth, I would be a rock, bathing in the rush of a waterfall. If I were a tree, I would be a willow, that soft lacy wandering in the whims of breezes, dreaming quietly by water.

If I were a place, I would be Sheffield in Tasmania; coloured with murals whispering of other lifetimes; wrapped in the mystery of blue mountains flecked with snow.

If I were a shop, I would be Berkelouw's rambling magic of a homestead, alone in serene farmland, in Berrima NSW; graced with an intimate cafe, window boxes of vibrant geraniums and a wonderful log fire hosted by an old armchair. And of course, those books forgotten by the mainstream bookworld.

If I were a garden, I would be Mount Annan Botanic Garden south of Sydney NSW. A healing place, where forested boardwalks gently lead to sanctuaries of old songlines and a sundial on a hill waits for human shadows to cast time.

If I were to be a season, I would be Autumn; that mystical limbo raining in color.

If I were to be an element, I would be Water, the paradox of a variable constant; sometimes plains of blue leading to silken road horizons; sometimes lapping charms by those coastal sands of decision; sometimes cleansing, healing hands; sometimes drowning rebirth.

If I were a bread of life, I would wink impishly from the exotic worlds of a chocolate box.

But, I am none of those things, for now.

For now, I am just some eerie etchings on a white slate, trying to drift in a tiny bark through tai chi skies.



Hosted by
Laini Genge and
Megg Taylor

The True Meaning of Christmas

Pic by Gemma Wiseman

The true meaning of Christmas lives on
Maybe a little like a fractured fairy tale
Maybe a little commercialised
Maybe a little painful
Lonely
Lost
For some
But
Like a still small voice
Buried deep in the sham and drudgery
There is still
A beautiful heartbeat
In Christmas

The goodwill of giving
The celebration of living
The breath of Christ within

Box a little of who you are
Wrap in the ribbons of your love
Tie with the bow of closeness
This is the gift of Christmas

Share time with the lonely
Share time with family
Just share loving time
This is the celebration of life

Feel the secret of namaste
Feel the spirit of the higher self
Feel the joy of being
Close to the first breath of Christ

The true meaning of Christmas lives on
Maybe a little like a fractured fairy tale
Maybe a little commercialised
Maybe a little painful
Lonely
Lost
For some
But
Like a still small voice
Buried deep in the sham and drudgery
There is still
A beautiful heartbeat
In Christmas

Feel the secret of namaste
Feel the spirit of the higher self
Feel the joy of being
Close to the first breath of Christ
~
I wrote this poem The True Meaning of Christmas for Helium
~

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