Dreaming

is-lucid-dreaming-real

They tell you to keep dreaming, but I am on a mission to stop the flow of dreams. To stumbling block my way through imagination, and the influence of certain memory. You see, there’s a secret to all these dreams. A hushed lullaby of awareness kept sacred within the chambers of understanding. A secret left deserted amidst the open square of objectives and goals and missions, and all this talk of entrepreneurship. It is easy to get lost here. To be an off scale balance of myth and reality. A sleep walking fantasy of coming and going wrapped up in fragmented steps and plans. Dreamers strive to illustrate the future with their talents, and to breathe life into the stillness of pictures that once belonged in books. Their striving is admirable to say the least since I too have goals I wish to accomplish. Yet while accomplishing them I’d hope to do so while awake; in the depth and breadth of consciousness. To never be put into a situation where I lose track of myself for the sake of adding humanity to fairy tales. The greatest achievement means nothing to the person who has lost track of themselves, and have opted to be boxed in, and to be mentally limited. It’s OK to have goals, but be not the sacrificial lamb to your greatest dreams. Do not do away with goal and objective, but be careful under the concept of dreaming, since to dream, you have to first be asleep.

Guest Feature – The Prophet

Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love’s ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise on your lips

– The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran

Hide and Seek with Spring

One minute its warm and then the temperature takes a bow. He’s too clever to crouch, for then I will notice him. So yes, a bow will do. Just enough to add to the confusion of the weather. But today. Oh no today I’m on to him. It’s so very nice outside. Plus, I have seen splashes of yellows and trees budding reds. I have felt the gentle brush of warm air crawl upon my skin. I have watched the sun hopscotch with children and then hide behind the clouds again. I have seen the shelves of stores dressed in organic soil and flower pots. I awake to the kiss of sunlight nibbling at my face, though by the time I make it to the window you vanish before I could let you in. I approach the patio to get a taste of a calming breeze, then shutter at the sight of goosebumps on my skin. My short sleeves and dresses lay intermingled with my sweaters and jeans, poor things. They are confused in this maze of a world, this puzzle of a decision. My blinds are open again, trying to catch up with you. I’m sure the twinkle of the stars is really laughter. I think I even saw them slap high fives with the moon, for I am the peeping tom of the sky. Over here playing hide and seek with spring.

Sorry

young woman with her head in her hands

Have you ever been tired of saying that you’re sorry? Can’t courage your way out of this weakness; can’t forklift this stain out of your chest; can’t shatter these words into dust, drive them to the deepest ocean and wave them goodbye. After all, demons are easy to kill, for they coward under the strength of your words, melt under the banner of your truth. But I am no superwoman, not yet anyway. The law of my tongue half written, a scorching painting left unfinished. But I’m sorry sounds like broken English too distorted to be deciphered, so the flesh of my skin crawls away from the filth of this apology. My knees are stitched against the backbone of my breast, my arms stapled around these, my head tucked tightly inside of me. I am twisted. What kind of forgiveness got me in this fetal position? At some point a change has got to come. I have not the time to keep traveling on repeat; the same old album forgetting to change it’s tune; a dangling sacrifice. The birth and death of me are these apologies; both the resurrection and artwork of my eulogy. I have just had enough of these wretched…. I’m sorry’s.

Recipe Sunday: Spinach, Onion, and Swiss Frittata

l210500737I know, Recipe Sunday is mad late, but, better late than never is what they say. I am dying to get into this one though. I decided to switch it up a bit so this is a breakfast recipe. You can however make it a dinner if you’re a 24 hour breakfast eater like me. I’ll make pancakes and eggs for dinner in a heartbeat. But enough about me, you will need:

2 Teaspoons canola oil
2 Cups vertically sliced onion
4 Cups baby spinach leaves
8 Large eggs, lightly beaten
¼ teaspoon salt
¼ teaspoon black pepper
3 (3/4th cup) shredded Swiss cheese

1. Pre-heat oven to 400 degrees.

2. Heat a 10-inch ovenproof skillet over medium heat. Add oil; swirl to coat. Add onion; sauté 10 minutes or until tender. Add spinach; cook 2 minutes, stirring just until spinach withers.

3. Combine eggs, salt, and pepper. Pour egg mixture over vegetables in pan; cook until edges begin to set, about 2 minutes. Gently lift edge of egg mixture, tilting pan to allow uncooked egg mixture to come in contact with the pan. Cook 2 minutes or until egg mixture is almost set. Sprinkle with cheese.

 
4. Bake at 400 degrees for 8 minutes or until center is set. Transfer frittata to a serving platter immediately; cut into shape of choice and devour. 🙂