Mermaid Calling

#poetry
poetry

Mermaid Calling is poetry intended to inspire the soul, uplift the spirit and ignite the heart:

 

Woke up and thought she had died
because she felt better, a bit scaly, but grand.
The cards pulled said rosy and fine,
that it was the end of troubled times…
it was a year one.
Sat on her rock, she coiffed her strength,
played her windpipe, and out came a love chant.
God, man and sun fell for her charms.

*
“If tonight was the end of the world,
so long,
I would turn tail to leg,
to see you.
If tonight was Poseidon’s last gulp,
soul love,
I would sink ship and boat,
to ride your fin.”

 

~ G. A.
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 Nana Joy

#happiness
spiritual teachings

Nana Joy is a short story about the pursuit of happiness. Intended to inspire the soul, uplift the spirit and enlighten the way, may you enjoy it:

 

– Why is it so hard nana? Why is it so fucking hard to be happy?

– Because of the antonym — nana mumbled as she crocheted a wool magenta hat for her grandaughter.

– What?! — Clare’s head shook in stupefaction.

– The antonym — nana repeated — what is the antonym of happiness, dear?

– Friggin despair?! — Claire couldn´t help herself — I don’t know… unhappiness, sadness, misery… my entire life!

– Oh Clarebear, not with a name like yours — said nana with a quick knowing glance.

Clare slided off the couch and curled up on the worn out Indian silk carpet, right next to nana’s wooden chair.

– Sweet Clariebear, you should never pursue anything that has an antonym, for it will only be a temporary fixture, it won’t last long. Soon, you will fall in the arms of its opposite, and that too won’t last long. You will live a life of highs and lows, peaks and valleys… you will age prematurely. You will get horrible wrinkles you know, hills, gorges and folds even Nivea won´t be able to fix.

– Ew, no-thank-you! So, what are you saying nana? I shouldn’t want to be happy?

– Nope, you shouldn’t. You should just be joyful.

– Isn’t that the same shizzle?

– No, it is not the same… shizzle, my dear. Joy is an immutable emotion. It has no antonym. Joy is a state of being, not doing. Joy is a state of being that depends on no thing and no one. Joy is unalterable, unshakable, unbreakable, infinite, eternal, holy, truth.

– Wow… who said that, Father Tony?

– God no! — nana carried on slowly and lovingly crocheting — an old friend of grandad’s and mine. Joy is a frequency, you see, a vibration you can pull into your body straight from spirit. Spirit resides two feet or so above your head…

– What?! He does?!

– Shush. Clare, spirit is heshe.

– Oh, of course, of course nan. So, joy…

– Yes. Joy, you don’t pursue, you access. The easiest and quickest way to access joy is straight through the meadow of peace and the river of love.

– Right — said Clare trying to make sense of nana’s metaphor.

– It’s not a metaphor, Clariebear. First, you be peace, be peace, be peace… think of someone or something that resonates peace into every cell of your being. Then, you be love, be love, be love… it feels different, doesn’t it? Now, be joyful. Bring your attention to a place about two feet above your head and pull this energy down into the body, all the way down into the feet and back up and around. Joy, joy, joy… joy to the world… — nana started to hum, then sing to herself, then to Clariebear.

– Joy, joy, joy… joy to the world. Joy, joy, joy… joy to the world! — as she sang, Clare’s eyelids softened, her smile broadened into a grin, her beauty exploded like flowers in spring.

 

~ G. A.
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Little ‘n’ Tiny

#shortstories

Little ‘n’ Tiny is one of many to come short stories intended to inspire the soul, uplift the spirit and enlighten the way:

 

Six-year-old Dan walked right down the middle of the uneven street. With the confidence of a super model, the swagger of a rapper and the bad-boy grimace of an old Western vaquero, he approached tiny Ivan, who was just chillin’, sitting on a half burnt wood bench, playing with a water-filled pink balloon.

Tiny Ivan swiftly stood up and met little Dan right in the thick of the road, in front of nana’s house.

– Well, Ivan, I’m leaving — he said with his fifty-nine year old man’s voice and his ice blue eyes — aren’t you going to give me a hug?

Seven-year-old Ivan stood there, hands down his shorts’ pockets, shoulders up his ears, not really knowing what was going on with his summer holiday frenemy.

Little Dan grabbed Ivan by the neck and slapped him a hug so tight that threw tiny Ivan off his spot.

– I’m leaving, and I’m taking my bike with me. Mum’s village has streets covered in potholes, so I’m probably gonna kill myself cos I like to ride fast, you know. I guess I will see you soon. Goodbye.

– Goodbye — muttered tiny Ivan.

As little Dan’s dad drove him off, tiny Ivan slowly trudged back to his bench. He sat his butt and his shoulders back down, gently cupped the pink balloon with both hands, and watched his pal disappear.

– Are you OK Ivan? Are you sad?-I asked, concerned.

– No — he replied — can we go for a bike ride now?

 

~ G. A.
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