i return to write down the gentle art of accepting

First thing I need then to recall and remember Is that I belong to myself and my God And I am loved here where I am and that I matter And accept there's a pathway I've trod Sitting here in a room full of wonder Though an inner critic a cynic might say That it looks to untidy and somewhat confusing yet its is fused in its own special way yes this nest where my body's been moving has been spilled thrilled and tide spilling born Just occured toi me now there's a word most interesting 'Tidily'.....tidies up Must mean when we put up shelves and compartmentalize so many bits of our selves We are the tide itself and all of our flotsam and jetsam Are being tossed by the energetic waves that spill out of our turmoil and current and flow of God's wealth mmmm some talk of bucket lists and those unwritten goals that we may yet turn into our life's shopping list a house holiday a husband or wife and our children a car skiing sailing exhibition top selling book lovely meal or various identities into which we might fit I have been graduate student husband and various kinds of a artist a muralist embroiderer illustrator sculptor of clay printmaker in screen etching plate wood engraver lino cutter and mono printer canvas portrait landscape portrait abstract acrylics on and watercolours painted on wood cloth and paper oils on panel mural in emulsions chef baker vegetarian baker and salt dough maker a life of bucket lists and collages and pulped and layered paper mache

I've been a friend and myself been befriended life goes on or it doesn't it stops sometimes we have lots of pennies and sometimes we pause before we set off to the shops there are consequences from every decision and we all dream of meeting someone who can take all the hurts and make all of life's fears go away I believe we watch films read books and magazines and we all study each other to both conform and be different sometimes we feel better being accepted and yet sometimes the 'norm' suggest we must nevertheless be completely unique in some way the dance of the ying yanging tide like tsunami spills out ideas to such children as I Of course we all need some tender applause and seek caring company without which just look you'll find tears there in everyone's eyes I own nothing the tide spills around me I accept that this room looks to some then a mess I accept I am fool and both genius and still but a child that a lovely young girl recently gave such hope and such tender caress

I accept i wioll find this to do maybe but maybe not tidy should the tide in me choose to spill into boxes and lists and alphabetically coded library versions of all of those worn out and tried on layers of meaningful selves I have tried out find comfort in and gratefully worn when I go out with no real intention of drawing i see something so very beautiful in the fragmented tatty selves of the old and the young whose waves both inside and outside of have tossed them th drawings I make say look at you I'm so glad you were born

not just then as old/young /gifted Jimmy's life models but that the pencils pens itch in these fine hands of my caress are both God's crucified loving father's tender tear scooping hands at life's fountain do I accept you as kind gfst o yes i do ever so yes do i love the girl who has come and understood me do I care how things will be for her I do must i live my life alone and so so sad here without her you are all out there sotling with all life's tidal sweeps and interventions only the right wind and tiller within you will ensure God brings me and you to me i feel the fabric of you flotsam jetsam n fine fallen petals make one flower angel faery and canvas watercolour sky and head us both to a future of mutual caring where er you are i feel already married to you I accept we'll get tired be conformed to lifes pathways I accept we'll often be left with trinkets n twigs n petal and few bunches of flowers at all but on those few wondrous occasions we'll sit down for meals and we'll picnic in storms for we are rich in ways none may not see as we walk on life's shore and until God herself gets lonely and wants to draw both of us with those crucified fingers that tenderly seek to restore the petals back to her tenderest rose we will fell the pieces of flotsam and jetsam and draw God's tears in everyone's faces they are our tears though on other cheeks we see as mirrors traced by petals n pencils n soft water colours on to the tender retinas n hearts of a movie that's ours amen