Ye Gods and Minor Deities

My God is your God.

A Burning Bush. A Moving Mountain. A Sacrificed Son.

 

My God is your God.

Punishing the wicked and rewarding the righteous.

 

My God is your God.

Pantheons or Deities. Spirits or Nymphs.

 

My God is your God.

Universal Laws. Love they neighbour. Heal the sick. Doeth unto others.

 

My God is your God.

Many heads. Many hands. Many faces. Many forms.

 

My God is your God.

Reflections

It’s that time of year, a time of reflection, of assessment, of planning the next move.

 

Looking back, looking ahead. A thousand questions that float in my head.

What went wrong? What went right? Balancing good with bad; better with worse.

Things that have changed with things that are different.

Things that remain as they always have.

 

Positive and negative, light and dark. The duality of life.

 

Some of it is amazing, fantastic, beyond my wildest dreams.

Some of it terrible, haunting, painful. Both emotional and physical.

Warm kisses, cold shoulders. New beginnings and bitter endings.

Comfort and compassion, cruel words and cutting remarks.

 

You cannot change the past, but you can look to the future.

Change for the better or for the worse but change you will.

Friends lost and friends reunited, new acquaintances brightening life.

Children born, people dying. The cycle of life continuing, uncaringly.

 

It’s that time of year again. A time of reflection, of contemplation, of new beginnings and planning the next move.

Grandma

A giant made small, time pressing her down and compressing whilst stretching me tall, then taller, a giant beside her.

Hair coated in plastic, bouncing back from any assault. Skirt, blouse and cardigan almost like a uniform, appearing with a smile and a hug.

Holidays, weekends, evenings of my childhood. Sleep overs, emergency deliveries. “Grandma I’ve forgotten to bring…” and, “Grandma I don’t feel well; can I come to yours?”

Forts made of pillows, watching the same three videos on repeat. Tarzan bumper stickers and an innocent view, “why does everything have a double meaning!”

Walks on the Chevin or up to the woods. “No Grandma, let’s go this way.” Off to the Abbey for picnic or down to the river for a play in the park.

Oaty biscuits that melt in the mouth. Gravy so thick that it passes for soup. Cakes on your birthday; decorated to perfection. Snacks and sweets and good things to eat.

Then later, “Grandma I like this girl,” or, “Grandma, we broke up.”

An ear, a shoulder, a hug, a kiss on the cheek. A light in the dark, a bulwark against pain, an ally – unreservedly. Always there, never too busy.

My Inspiration.

Her eyes are piercing, they see into the depths of the darkest places in my mind; shining a light on the shadows that cloud my thoughts.

Her voice can caress like a lover or crack like a whip. It calms me and encourages me, reprimands me and inspires me. Dispensing both wisdom or humour in equal measure.

Her lips are soft, they are gentle and warm. Not quite red, not quite brown. Their curve promising a thousand different mischiefs and delights.

Her smile is infectious; the sight of it sets my blood afire. The beat pushes and pulses, shooting heat through to my innermost soul.

Her hair falls in a long cascade. It flows in the breeze and floats like a mist over my pillow. Its curls offer an endless enchantment to my eyes.

Her scent is intoxicating. It is as heady as a perfume yet subtle and elusive as pollen on the wind. Its aroma is enough to drive all other thoughts from my mind.

Her heart is mine as mine is hers. They beat as one in the quiet of the night as we lie together in the cool before the dawn; enjoying the peace love finally granted.