Flowering Bulbs…

Beauty of nature, being(s) in hers… feeling, and being blessed with nature, brought inside to love and cuddle… seen outside to savor and wonder… colors, sights and sounds, her make-up.. our impressions from the sights seen, smelled and felt… blooming insides, connections to her beauty.. connects ours… bring in colors, shades and differing hues… bringing out the thoughts, imaginations and conceptions.. of mothers nurturings… grounded Ones seeded in such growths… blooms Ones’ insides, when seeing others growing and blooming within her liklihoods… treed vessels, running around… picking flowers along their ways.. smelling daisies, awestruck feelings.. bring both natures together at your surface… observing the love. previous containers.. vessels now express, their flowers, not containers… flowering, connecting and growing, up, and out, to color all about… once knowing, the nature of nurturing.. and its mutual growing…

Growings, within the thickets and weeds of sleeping defaults, trying to own their material world.. not of nature, souly the grasping weeds and vines of humans’ nature.. making webs of lies to catch confirmed feelings, and what to love and hate.. grounded in their owning.. reality shows, produced by their stars,  not aware of the falling… leaving their tree, no longer flowering and growing within nature, but one of their own making.. consuming to the end, devouring all within their living, outside natural realms.. and blooming artificial desires.. forgetting they were flowers, stops the bulbs from maturing.. unrealized potentials now, roots rotting from staying in the shadows, and not in the blooming… closing views to the rays coming in, self-absorbed in matter, no longer absorbing her views…

Paving their intentions, and roads to their hopes and dreams, unempathetic to her demise.. no thoughts or feelings towards hers, solely whats to make mines.. little kids, in grownup bodies, pretends outwardly adult, of spiritual immaturities.. spirit, rarely given a glance, lost in the fathoms of their belows… anchors weighted, sinking sunken to the bottoms.. of flowers no longer growing… shoots out of sight, clearing when out of your mind, falling out with thorns and shadows of what remains constricted below.. ready to unleash, allowed to grow into partial paralysis of consciousness.. perceptions change, when the flowering is killed.. stifled, and contained within their feelings.. stirring and brewing to blow your lid again.. unobserved whys, missing their marks, by their instigating remarks…

Release the letting goes.. on and on, cycles and waves, subconscious conquerings… allow thoughts to move along.. past you, not casting as you observe the coming and going.. staying fertile, while picking and tossing weeds, as seeds of thoughts, thrown into the garden.. never allowing the roots to grow, of anything outside your intentions.. nothing now, nothing that rises, takes your seat.. becoming your driver… all thoughts are passer by’s, less the few worth observing.. but only at a distance, no attaching, this time around… outside looking in, the inside is properly maintained, to till, seed and plant, bulbs in your garden.. blooming out, fragrant colors of your foundational nature… flowering the results of your master peace…

roses, tulips, carnations of beauty growing,

beauties of different types, fragrances and color..

all differences, made One, seen in the growing,

all alike, but individual expressions, of one kind or another…

laid on the next generation afters, building blocks and blockaids,

to lay upon the children, in-turn layers upon theirs…

no wonder the veils, mystery and misery of life…

riding out parents expectations, or not, carrying weights to bare.. never knowing…

not a baggage handler, but unloader..

sifting through the luggage, of previous chapters and beliefs left over…

left for us to ponder, demands of past demons, theirs, let go…

layers are for dreams, peel them and start over…

beauty doesn’t start or stop, but transforms itself.. and any touching its view.. viewing its touching, touching its beauty, the beauty of flowers, growing up…

 

*Mystic Angel Cristine

 

 

 

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