Mirrors of the mind Some dim Unkind

Multi-toned Reflection echos Ever on into eternity

When You look at me Do you see? A reflection of peace and beauty

My mirrors need aligned One breath One day at a time

Some have cracks Streaks and scratches Yet somewhere tucked in behind

There’s a little man Who miraculously rewinds He straightens the mirror Replaces the glass

It’s quite the task Yet every day the image gets clearer Hope multiplied is hope that lasts

From an outside perspective the room would’ve seemed small. Moisture hung in the air; mildew and ‘fresh linen’ febreeze. Scribbled notes, an unmade bed. The type without a top sheet. Where blankets are a collectionof second-hands and charity tie-blankets. A small brown teddy rested next to the lumpy pillow.

To Avalyn, it was her secret garden. A tree house in her mind. Collections of dried flowers perfectly situated on the windowsil and delicately taped to the wall. Sticky notes formed abstract shapes across her walls. Organized thematically, an inner war openly displayed on the walls of her life. Hope, grief, anger, and that mysterious whisper that wouldn’t quite fade. The sole trickle of warmth into her soul.

Maybe that was it. In spite of the chipped paint and filmy windows, the room was truly a haven. The space Avalyn could let go and release. A moment breathed in slow, tear drops on another blue post-it note. Elegant little pens collected near the blue, metallic lamp which stood so faithfully intent on lighting the worn ikea desk. One could assume the desk had been white, but now under splatters of acrylic paints and scribbles of graffiti it is hard to be sure.

With no one to tell and a world on her shoulders, this young girl made her space where she could. Two plant cuttings sat on the windowsil between the dried flowers; trying to find their roots, but chilled by the drafty windows. Desperate for life an ironic reflection of Avalyn’s heart. Longing. Hoping. Roots plunging deep, but never finding the nutrients she craved.

Essence and elegence The floral aromas rise subdued Stately they seem High, pristine

What once was life Cherished on a mantle Forgotten in a box in the attic Preserved, revered

A memory maybe dear Constant they whisper Echos of sweeter yesterday Once life, now frozen; unchanging

Delicately the rose rests Untouched it remains collecting dust Future restrains

Never willing to look ahead Because clearly, The best has been And it is dead

“Jim! Jim! Wake Up! You’re on air live in five minutes!”

_What kind of crazy dream is this? _ I thought nearly aloud as I sat upright in a stiff suit on the edge of a cool, professional chair. It only took a second for me to recognize, through some mean trick, I no longer appeared to be Susan Estrada.

What’s worse than this discovery was probably the secondary discovery. Not only did I somehow change bodies, I became someone I must somehow know. The neame Jim rings a bell. The room is familiar. _Wait, isn’t that MY waterbottle? _ I must’ve left it on set the other day.

“Do you hear me Jim? I know everything’s been a bit crazy lately, but pull yourself together. This is maybe the most groundbreaking speech of your life! Your whole life’s work up to this one moment. ‘Professor Bonhart; The Grand Finalé: Life and It’s True Purpose’”

This time I noticed the middle-aged small, thin man by my side. His eyes wildly scanning my surroundings, mentally prepared to take down the threat he knew was coming for ‘My work’. _Poor Melvin, _I thought, _He can’t tell it’s too late, the works been stolen or swapped… _I don’t know how it happened or why for that matter, but the pieces began to fit together.

I’m in the greenroom. The very one I worked in not three days prior. Except now somehow I am the respected Professor Jim Bonhart. _God help me!!! _THE JIM BONHART. Some how switched bodies with small Susan Estrada, a seventeen-year-old from LA visiting over spring break and an amateure of a photographer who happened to snag a chance interview with Rebecca Soles, a professional photographer and journalist if ever there was one!

High up in the sky Floating ever patiently Shining day by day Persistent in your ways

Do you ever get lonely up there? Watching all the happenings of the days Joy and laughter, tears and heartbreak

Does it ever bore you? The monotony of the cycles Nothing is new beneath you Yet above you I wonder Is there something that catches your gaze?

Constant in circulation Not one to run and hide Could it be your on assignment? A mission to keep life bright

What was it like? The first moment of your rising At birth were you not filled with mirth? Yet day by day you never took one break

I doubt very much you live a dull life If your rays could speak, what tales would they tell? I’m convinced they’d sing The glories that have been The ones that are Way up there, you’re just a star

Your light to us makes our brightest day Yet light to you is simply your way Small in stature and distant in space What is the force that keeps you in sync

Could it be the wonder? In the Heavenlies Where choruses of glories ever ring Oh that I could hear you sing

Sweet sunshine Oh so sublime Ever be, shining brightly so we see A fragment and reflection Of the true beauty The One and Only

‘Closed mouths don’t get fed’ It’s what mama always said. Yet somehow I managed to find a morsel. Every Sunday 10 am. Small town Sundays, sing a couple hymns, let the pastor preach. We stand, we sit, we clap, we greet one another. Surface. Never deeper or more. What were we there for?

Week by week I grew up. God must be. Just look around! Yet no one is hungry. We come empty, but bloated. The poison of life. Sneaky lies, broken hearts, broken eyes. Maybe if we just make enough rules this sick house will get well. Time after time. The latter condition of the church worse than the first.

Precious bride that she be. Has not made herself ready. Desperate and longing, but broken and unwashed. If only she knew the blood never stopped washing. The water never stopped springing.

Maybe it is true that closed mouths never get fed, but I’d like to remind you that open mouths do. Simple change in posture. Shift in desire. The one who seeks finds. The one who knocks is answered and welcomed.

Come broken. Come afraid. Religion is dead. It’s time to wake up sleepy head. Your prince is here to lavish you with his love. Wake up and rise. You’re beautiful in his eyes.

Cacophony of voices. High. Low. The buisnessman’s quick pointed tone. A mother’s reassuring touch. Shuffling consistent with abrupt interruptions. A distracted straggler stops in his tracks confusing the flow. Every movement made seems only to impede another’s route and intention. Lack of movement also a disrupting force. One flow, inconsistent and cumbersome.

Turning the head to the left one might catch a whiff of fresh baked delights. Now only a few steps farther a door must’ve been propped open. Repulsive scents of weed and overused bathrooms drift undesired up the nostrils of the unexpecting wanderer.

Shouts, cries, laughter. A kaleidoscope of tone and volume echoing in low rumbles of constant conversation. No fear of an eve’s-dropping amongst high levels of commotion ever present.

Now sweet relief wafts through the air as one discovers beyond the bathrooms and cracked back doors, the traveler happened upon a section of homegoods; unlit candle scents blend plesantly, coloring the air. Nevermind the overwhelming sensations ever whiffing through the atmosphere. Overarching all is a sweetness. Nearness. Overwhelming to some, yet necessary to all. Connection.

In the midst of the chaos a moment of recognition. The intersection of lives. A hundred thousand stories, too deep to begin uncovering. One little discovery, one heart delighted by the fullness of sweet company, a mission accomplished, the satisfaction of completion even if only one of a million tasks for the day. No longer an introvert’s nightmare if only thought through the mind of a story-teller. Suddenly the explorer discovers deep mystery. No longer a bustling market, but a life-filled library. Walking, living breathing tales. Adventures of yesterday or yesteryear. Dramas, action, romances, bitter heart breaks, wonder-filled break throughs, all brushing past. Shoulders rubbing in the victorious seasons for some. Jostling and bumping against those still deep in process. Below the surface of chaos lies a deeps sea of uncharted beauty. If only one would be curious enough to take the dive.

Often as it may be The mind is renewed Set ablaze and afresh On the task at hand

“This will be the day” declares he Valiantly Life as formerly known Discarded as new habits are grown

Alas, would it last? Thoughts betray the depth of desire This will be different But could it?

Ever hopeful Ever bouncing From fixation to fixation Eternally searching for the satisfying bliss

Ethereal can it be made real? The depths of the soul Filling the void The hole

Externally it would appear Due to the reverance or the fear That success has been won A man has been made Whole and done

Perhaps success is better described As one who forever follows Truth instead of feelings Relationship that lacks religion

That hole deep inside Maybe all this time, it was the lie.

Here we are Surrounded by what remains My dreams crashed and burned around All I thought would be is no more

What’s left? Picking up the pieces feels impossible Is anything salvageable amongst this ruin Hope has faded in my heart

Yet you remain It must mean something I thought if I went for my dreams it would work out Alas, the fire storm that ensued

Your being is my healing I surrender now Trusting your ways You may have all my pieces

I will cling to you instead Trusting your timing That what remains; refined by fire, Is all that was meant to be.

Lightless, lifeless, melancholy of melancholies The very air I breathe a fading mist. What is life apart from you?

Your breath awakens my soul The tender touch of your hands on my heart Life is on your tongue, dancing in your eyes Purpose flows from your veins

Without you I could not be You’re my home my victory

I remember the moment I first saw your face It stole my breath My heart shattered I’d wanted to run, but you promised to remain

Never leaving Nothing seeking But my heart The fellowship of my being Your one desire

My hope transpired Belief arose Piece by piece Moment by moment In finding you I found myself

Homeless, home Orphan became your own Precious in your sight Not by my move or motive Your simple delight