Stain-glass Eyes

I have trouble with the primitive idea we search for our Soulmate. Please imagine with me the thought of a search. We’d have to have a picture of what a Soulmate is or a formula to follow. Or we may have to wait for a sign from a deity. We wouldn’t have freedom to change the criteria over time. If we did it might throw off the magic or sacredness of a perfect match. With society’s pressure we may believe we aren’t capable and need help in this search.   Perhaps society knows the criteria for Soulmate or has a hand in choosing. “Oh, you make such a perfect couple!”   “Don’t they look good together?” “This match is made in heaven!” Consider cultures that still have a mate chosen by elders or parents? Can we expect divine help in our choice? I have loved. I have been with mates that have made me surge in happy. Some have died. They chewed off a chunk of my heart.   Ones who are still alive and not with me are losses. They also have sliced off fragments of my heart. Well…if these loves wer

  Finally,   this white birch is me. Breath alone wasn’t enough to sustain harmony or poise in tree-pose. I Wiggled and I wobbled—- grimaced Over and over. I tipped and toppled. Deep in frustration I harshly judged my inadequacy to stand upright on one leg. Until one insignificant afternoon, I, with my slow, resolved drumbeat of breath. A Heart full of anger at inability, looked for help outside myself. (Pissed at my limited resources to be perfect) More of a search than a look. I saw several birches. Inside a single tall birch stood--surrounded. A fierce wind (with power to draw in a storm) tossed all but the one inside the others. Imagination drew my attention To this strong, firm, unbendable birch. It became me. I stood alone, steady in my endurance. I felt a surge of tree cells spiral up my leg. My breath followed effortlessly. Black and white spirals and lines became etched along my skin. Power and stability. Around and up from the roots. Balance took on a force. Strength. Worth.