Fas & 这是写

(May 30, 2010)

I have a journey that is set before me. A journey on which I carry only the things that cannot be stolen. Something inside of my heart. I am not sure what it is. But there it is. And a lantern in my hand. May the winds blow me beautifully and may the stars guide me truthfully. Destino, fas, πεπρωμένο.

It Is Written
(May 31, 2010)

如果你遵循的星写的古地图, 任何人都不会理解你. 所以如果你能够阅读这些地图, 你会跟着他们? 永远被误解? 或将你紧紧地闭上眼睛, 假装要像其他人一样?

If you follow the ancient maps written on the stars, no person will ever understand you. So if you could read these maps, would you follow them? And forever be misunderstood? Or would you close your eyes tightly and pretend to be like everyone else?

Copyright © 2010 C. JoyBell C. All rights reserved.

On Horseback

On Horseback
(May 23, 2010)

I think that if you have a horse, pegasus, qilin, or unicorn, you should sit on it! You should stroke its hair, whisper in its ear, be one with it! And you shouldn't feel sorry if other people don't have one.

My mother has always been my number one critic. If she is not the first to criticize me, she is surely the one to let me know if anyone else is doing the job for her and what exactly they are saying about me.

I was about twelve or thirteen when she confronted me one day, her eyes like daggers to my soul “Look at yourself! You sit up there upon your horse high up there while all the rest of us are walking around down here! This is what people are saying about you!”

She looked at me in disgust.

I was still a young girl. But in the matter of a few moments, right then and there, I had decided that this is where it would end. This is where I would stop allowing myself to be picked to pieces.

And I said something that etched a look on my mother’s face- one that to this day- I still remember vividly.

I looked at her straight in the eye. Face held high.

“It is not my fault if I have a horse and everybody else doesn’t. And should I dismantle myself from my horse because other people don’t have one? I will ride here on the back of my horse. And nobody can push me off of it!”

There are no words to describe my mother’s face. But maybe that was the beginning of her saying to me (and she always says this to me) “Who are you and where do you come from? Tell me. I want to know more.”

Until this day, my mother remains my biggest critic. But, she will never say that she knows me. She will only say that she doesn’t know the things that I know.

And though she is still first to challenge me, there has been no talk of horses, ever since!

I have learned that people don’t like it when you have a horse and they don’t. They want to grab you by your hair, pull you down off of it, and drag you along in the mud and the mire and the dirt and the grime on the ground for a whole straight mile! And if they can get away with it, even ten whole straight miles! And when you are all bloody and dirty and defeated, they will go ahead and kill your horse right in front of you.

Like me, you have to make that decision. You have to look people (or yourself) in the eye, face held up high, and think (or say out loud like I did) “I will ride here on the back of my horse. And nobody can push me off of it.”

© 2010 C. JoyBell C. All rights reserved.

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(April 27, 2010)

In all of our actions, in all that we do, in all of our visions; we must act, we must do, and we must envision ourselves already from and in a place of victory.

In all that I do, I do from a higher ground of victory. In all of my actions, I act in a victorious stance. When I envision things for myself, I envision them as mine.

You are already there. All that you have and all that you need is already inside you. You are divine. You are human.

© 2010 C. JoyBell C. All rights reserved.


Eating A Grape

Eating A Grape
(May 8, 2010)

The red juice curls off the corners of her lips
Dripping, oozing down the edge of her chin
Her eyes slowly close
Her long deep dark lashes skim the top of
Her alabaster skin
And the tastes and the thoughts and
Even the soft plucking sound of the
Harvest of the grapes play on her
The rough hands that picked the
Fleshy textured pulp of grape in her mouth
Seem to run their fingers over her lips
The taste of the sun burning on the surface of
The thin red transparent skin dusted
By the vineyard winds sweeping up from
Dirt ground
The rustling of the leaves on the vines
Tastes of the sunburned skin dusted by warm winds
The low low low soft thud of the
Bunches dropped into beige baskets
Smells of sweat-stained shirts clinging to
Hard-worn backs bronzed by the sunshine
Sweet scents of lost fruit trodden underfoot

She swallows

The tender white whispers of the morning sunlight
Stains the ivory walls of her bedroom

The white China bowl
The red grapes

The motion of her fingertips plucking
A single one
Like a secret so silent that no one
Has ever told

And the grape touches her lips again…
Her ebony lashes lower and bow…

All over again…

© 2010 C. JoyBell C. All rights reserved.

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White Shoes

Photo of my son, Gilead, holding a white rose for me.

This piece I dedicate to my son, Gilead, for whom words cannot express my true, deep admiration. And mama, I know you'll be reading this soon... Happy Mother's Day to you!

White Shoes
(March 29,2010)

I really feel that
Our love
Is like no other

And if I were
To compare
It to anything else

Our love is like
The rain
On warm summer afternoons

This love is like
The sun
On chilly winter mornings

You and me are
The answer
To many thoughtful questions

My love for you
The alabaster
On these ancient leathers

Your love for me
White shoes
Down these ordin’ry roads

Copyright © 2010 C. JoyBell C. All rights reserved.

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