Tag: Soul

I am Woman…

~ elizabethannjohnsonmurphree ~ 6 Comments

I am Woman…

So, I am Woman, the wind whips through down the ridges of my throat, graveling pain spills out of my voice, I listen to the wind, it turns toward the sea, I said again, I am Woman.

I hear no echoes from the waves, the words are swallowed up in the voice of the surf as it swells and leaps over the bleached sands. I call to it, I am Woman.

Like sea mist across the dunes, I sway and beg the wind to take me away; words fall silent upon the shore, as I went out in the night to return no more, my choice, I am Woman.

 

©elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

 
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The Parsimonious Me Returns and Other Thoughts

~ elizabethannjohnsonmurphree ~ 2 Comments

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(A collection of thoughts for a writing project)

The unpleasant events of an old woman living in modern day times can be fearful. Everything around the world is being destroyed by fire, smoldering lava of a volcano, buildings are imploding and exploding by the work of foreign or homegrown terrorist. Tsunami’s wipe out shorelines and far inland, earthquakes swallows everything in the path of its deadly fingers opening the earth. Global warming is real, our weather and the results of it leave broad paths of destruction to prove it.

If we compare our inward selves to the unpleasant events of the times within the family, friends and acquaintances, our deep secrets and the truth of the spirit and soul are no doubt warring. Yes, the outward looks and smiles get you through those needed moments, all the while the turmoil is griping you inward with you pushing it to the edge of doom and no return. Of course, what does this have to do with aging; I am certain all ages go through the insecure components of their sense

Yet, all the time we are aging, in those winter years it becomes scary, there is so much to do with less time to do it. Time will not stand still. The family “rock” must be strong, able to withstand anything. I have lead life as best I could. Outside the family, I had role models, my Aunt, a teacher, and when I became an adult, I had work mentors.

I live with depression, anxiety, all of my life and with thoughts of suicide, and during those married years, I thought of it more often; but I had too many responsibilities as an adult to act upon my thoughts. All of these debilitating feelings started in childhood. When I was not in school, I was at home alone to roam the woods surrounding our home. We had no phones, and my mother told me how to act, to live, what to say…be seen and not heard, she was not a woman who beat children. She was a woman that tore her children down mentally, telling me I should be grateful to be living and have a mother. Well that statement and its answer, is far too long to place in this post, it will have to be covered as a topic all its own.

 

©elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

 

*A collection of thoughts for a new book

 

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AUTHOR’S NOTE: Everyone has a past and everyone has memories. I am currently working on a project of a series of five books, a biography of the lives of myself and of those that are relatives. This post and others will consist of my thoughts on many subjects. My poetry will have to sit on the back burner so to speak, as this is an undertaking that will span a year or more.

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The Ticking Clock…

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The Ticking Clock…
A weathervane stilled under a glowing moon bares to the moon its raven wings, in predicted circles it swings. Fishing boats rise and fall behind the jetty wall, the old man mending his netting can hear the sea call.

Ghostly snowflakes cover the seaweed floating among the rocks, the fisherman’s mind rushes like the tick of a clock. Time for one more catch before winter freezes the shore; the nets have taken too long, an overwhelming chore.

He sits remembering his world, its ghosts that the ocean has taken, the young men that God had forsaken. In the beginning the ancient winds brought the fish to earth, they filled the sea to give birth.

Our ancestor’s footsteps imprinted upon the pier, late in the night their sorrowful cries we can hear. Hurry, hurry the time is growing near, soon your boats will freeze in their moorings, the winter winds are what you should fear.

Look upward at the weathervane and its circular world, around and around it whirls. The daybreak will quickly be gone and you will ask God…where did I go wrong. Ghostly snowflakes cover the seaweed floating among the rocks, the fisherman mind rushes like the tick of a clock.

 
©elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

 
AUTHOR’S NOTE: The message in this poem is live moment by moment, live today, yesterday is gone, tomorrow is unknown.

 
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When will the Earths Lights go out…

~ elizabethannjohnsonmurphree ~ 1 Comment

When will the Earths Lights go out…
The earth turns in her floating world, and she is tired by the changing of time, seasons, inhabited by those who bring wraith to her. As humans we look for things will turn out in a magnificent way, we dwell on how things will unfold. Yet, as humans, we keep interfering with her growth, her peace, her beauty. She weeps, the tears fall, trickling, sprawling into the depths of hopelessness.
We, as humans stand still doing nothing to save her, if we have made the wrong choices it is the children who must pay, so why do we care? There is no gain for the earth of today, caring is left in the past, the yesterdays of our own childhood. We show no wisdom, and the great “Sayers” who say nothing, sit and let her be destroyed.
There is no victory, we will not leave her as we found her, slow dank waters will form swamps as the rivers dry up, in the woods the cedars’ will soon be like winter bones. EARTH, she will stand for many eternities, but then she will die and her light will go out.

 

©elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

AUTHOR’S NOTE: We cannot think about the “seasons” without bringing Mother Earth into the fold. She has served us well, beware she made not be here forever, be good to her.

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Misery’s Problems…

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Misery’s Problems…

Misery has sent many souls to Hell. They condemn themselves; a mournful cry comes from their place of unrest. They cry for what they wanted in life and did not get, they could not be satisfied with what they had, misery prevailed. They have helped destroy the earth.

In the beginning there was cold, unceasing and relentless rain, there seem to be a mutation of the earth as the decades went forward with minds unchanged. Days were heavy with hail, turbid waters mixed with cold and snow, fiery had a tight hold on the waters that covered the earth, still many humans could not see the doom and darkness upon the earth.

Their souls are putrid, the soil of the earth is foul, above them the ravens swarm in and out of an acid sky, the beast of the earth roams fallow grounds. Each of those misery humans fell to the ground gathering handfuls of soil casting it into the hollows of the earth. They now know that gluttonous greed will bring rancid air and their belly’s growl like the beast of the night with hunger.

There are many who tried to save Earth, they toiled in the dead ground and prayed for blessings, they watch the writhing shadows of misery, it was too late. Everyone hungry, cold, uncomforted, everyone will die for the mistakes of few. The waters both salty and fresh began to dry, cracks became vast and deep. The land was soft and filled with bugs and worms. The air clogged their lungs they cried and they prayed, it was too late. Those who did not believe that one day we would destroy the Earth now became sinful spirits living in irrevocable doom.

There are those that believed that the earth was being destroyed, there are those who tried to find a resolve for these worldwide conditions. To those that did not believe the earth was dying, became accusers living in great pain. Warnings from the sinners were no more than strange words, there is no way that we can reach perfection on earth, and it is too late. It is not too late to resolve misery’s problems, we must cease our downward path and heal mother Earth.

©elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

AUTHOR’S NOTE: We are destroying the  earth.

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The Gilded Gate…

~ elizabethannjohnsonmurphree ~ 5 Comments

Dreaming – The Gilded Gate…

Thunder bellows from the sky, descending to valley floor, it roused me from a deep sleep; the one lying beside me does not move, they do not wake. It quickly becomes darker; the profound sounds hold angrily above the valley they bounce off the forest, trees sways in the wind. Without warning, the winds spiral upward into the thunder and lightning. The valley was like a ringed abyss. The wind continued like torment and blaspheming.

A sadness began to settle in, is this the outer certainty of hell? I questioned my faith, would my lover and I die within this doomed place, God please hear my pleading. I cried. Did I fall asleep, did I fall into a restless dream, and then an obedient voice was heard. Within this dream. I witnessed countless people, their hopelessness as they walked slowly through a gate.

The dream continued on, leaving me bewildered in my darkest deepest sleep. Then rose a widening light, it filled half of the darkness, “Who Master are those that walk through the gilded gate”. My master smiles at me, it was then that the gate opens to me wide green lawns stretched as far as the eyes could see. Then marvelous spirits approached. I moved quickly trying to walk into the moving light.

I woke and the darkness fell around me, the wind had left the valley, I would live for another day.

©elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

AUTHOR’S NOTE: A Dream

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Excerpt: Poetry from Rhythm Rhyme Thoughts

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Dance

My life was not to be, it stopped, astonished, I hold to the memory as you would a child upon your lap, I grow old without growing. I most frequently return the grave. The grave will not give up my child. I am an old woman with nothing left but memories.

I have no home to go back too, no one wants me to visit, aunts, uncles all dead. No longer does anyone whisper of them. I wish the people of my youth were gathered in one place. Nevertheless, it was not to be, not for me, no mother, no father, their all in the graveyard.

The child in me is ready to go home, to change, and to stand by the road crying out “I am home”. I stand on the stump of my childhood. Life is still lost. The branches of my tree are barren, only air fills that space. The world that was my world.

I am all burned out, a flash in a century, now ash. No one notices me here on the stump by the road, the sap runs out of the trees; I too will soon do the slow dance toward my permanent home.

Copyright 2018

 

 

The Certainties of Life…

~ elizabethannjohnsonmurphree ~ 6 Comments

The Certainties of Life…

Life is an uncertain race where most people do no more than run in place, there can be happiness, sadness, and around every corner a surprise; yet hope blooms.

Life is what one must create within their allotted space, or sit on the sidelines and wait leaving their journey to fate.

Life is not all joy floating upon the winds of time; there are rights and wrongs; and unknown quandaries, setbacks, and living means moving forward.

Life quickly passes, fair and cloudy days, laughter and tears, and then the warmth of the sun subsides ones fears.

Life may mean walking in the valleys of despair until fate starts an upward climb, living with happiness, or grief; always trust the heart and mind.

Life lived in harmony with others, loving, caring and expectations met; seeds of livelihood sown, repentance locked away for God to judge; we strive and labor until we pass on.

©elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

AUTHOR’S NOTE: A poem

 
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Realm of Peace…

~ elizabethannjohnsonmurphree ~ 15 Comments

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Elizabeth Ann Johnson-Murphree

 

Realm of Peace…

In the far recesses of your mind, have you ever given thought to “Who am I”? I know that I have been a daughter, a sister, a mother, grand and great-grandmother, wife, friend and held management positions in the work force. Now, I consider myself an artist and writer. All of my identities, everything that I have been and who I am now, still I ask myself “Who am I”?

If I don’t really know who I am, how can I know if I have wasted many years searching? Much of life’s suffering is because people do not know who they are, their true self. Have I met the goals that I set for myself in my life, or did I set any? Will I ever discover my true self? In the winter of my life is it important for me to continue my search, have I truly experienced a spiritual awakening?

I am certain that we are pawns in life on some level. We care for people; family, friends and many of us live a life of boring labor/jobs. Do moments of our memories reveal beauty and grace, is chaos written into the crevices of our face? Are our lives painful as we remember, as life rewinds, unfolding, sadly were we born into a different time? In our weakness, do we hide behind the veil of truth that we are miserable, lost, waiting for an Angel to bring happiness and wealth into our lives?

Do the voices inside our heads penetrate the unhappiness that we may have suffered through bad times? Are our memories like waves beating upon the shore line and does it pass quickly, memories like the sand returning to the sea? Between the swirls of time I ask myself, “Who am I”, if I defeat the ache of disappointments will this miserable burden I carry go away? Does this anguished world possess my soul? Nonetheless, I am human and I try to look past the ruse of my own life and rise to carry myself into a peaceful realm of tomorrow.

 
©elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

 

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Who am I, what is my identity? If memories are the base line in my understanding who I am, then I must continue to search. I do know that I am a unique and complex individual who continues on a journey, and even though I must question my own thoughts, I want to continue on this unknown path into the winter of my life.
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The Spirit and Soul Rises…

~ elizabethannjohnsonmurphree ~ 3 Comments

 

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The Spirit and Soul Rises…

Last night, I sensed emptiness, a darkness closing around me. I wondered did I stray too far off the path that The Great Spirit had set for me to follow in this life. The darkness was bottomless and menacing it would not release me from my fear. Terror like the cold hands of death and panic assumed a position around me. I had let no one know of the fear that had imprisoned my spirit and soul every night when I went to bed and the darkness suffocated me. I felt hopeless with no guidance, the hours passed slowly, did I sleep or did I just not wake, when sunlight appeared in my window and the night was no more, a desecrated black waste hung over me. What was it that I experienced during the night, Hell!

I rose from where I lay and found my feet upon a another path that was unknown to me, it was a lighted way and when I look back toward where I had lay there was nothing but rushing muddy waters. There should be no water where I slept! My eyes surveyed all that and I stood quietly in a whirlpool of my own fears, am I asleep? Fear rose in my throat, choking me. I could not breathe; the light of mercy will never shine upon me again, I was in a world known all too well, my world. I walked through a valley, I tried to climb out, there was nothing in the landscape before me or behind me, no sun, no sky, no trees, no homes, nothing. I slumped to the ground where I stood. There is no breath, had creation ended? I lifted my head tossing back the once brown flowing mane, now white as a winter’s snow.

I screamed this darkness does not own me, nor my heart and soul. I had not been unfeeling in life. Oh Creator cleanse my soul, deliver me from this inferno where I stand among the bones of those who have gone before me. I heard a voice call to me in the darkness, I wanted to wake from this nightmare, I wanted to be safe, and I wanted my spirit and soul to feel the sun as it rises in the morning. Here in this darkness my life is shown to me, and I remembered everything, from beginning to the soon to be end. I moved slowly in the dense darkness, my mind moved from time to time good days and bad days. The abused times still burnt into my mind. There is no hope, no safe place for me. Then a sliver of sunlight penetrates my eyes and mind, it was the morning sun. I was not dead and I cried releasing myself from the darkness and void that had taken over my body and mind. I live for another day; The Creator has given me another chance. The nightmare was over.

 
©elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

 
AUTHORS NOTE: My depression leaves me with restlessness, insomnia, and anxiety. My control is through exercise, writing, reading, and painting. I believe that the stigma placed on depression needs to be erased, I also believe that my creativeness is many times guided by these moods. Activity is my drug of choice.

 
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Excerpt:

Flying with Broken Wings

A Journey into a Life of Bipolar, Cerebral Palsy, Depression and Schizophrenia Disorders

A Biography

By Elizabeth Ann Johnson-Murphree

Copyright © 2017 Elizabeth Ann Johnson-Murphree

Charlotte Jean Murphree died on July 21, 2010; she was fifty-two years old. This is her story, written by her mother and from beginning to end as Charlotte may possibly have told it.

“The Demons”
[Mom] Flying with Broken Wings is the story of my daughter Charlotte; her journey from Heaven to Earth and the “unexpected” return back to Heaven when she was fifty-two-years old.

Charlotte was born on July 13, 1958, she would soon travel a path through life carrying the special circumstance of conditions that she did never denied, bipolar, cerebral palsy, and depression and schizophrenia disorders.

This is her story through my eyes, heart and mind. The many conversations agreements and disagreements with her, the outwardly life that I knew she lived, all that would be part of her life. In addition, the inter struggle that she would know. Her life, much like a rushing river, that entwined with my own and that of her family.
My memory is long and vivid…most of her demons arrived in her mid-twenties; in the beginning Charlotte was a happy child and young girl whose problems were mental and physical challenges in life, her school, yet without the demons of the mind.

When she became older, any typical day was as one in the fall of 1997; I was leaving for work and Charlotte was sitting in the middle of her bed talking in the voices of a man, woman and sometimes a little girl. She never gave these personas’ a name; however, I knew the tone of their voices, all too well.

This behavior was a red flag for me; before I went to work, I gather up all the sharp knives, everything sharp putting them in the trunk of my car. I knew what might happen when I got home.

I arrived that night standing by my car staring up at our living room windows. Yes, Charlotte lived with me for thirty-nine-years, I pretended not to see her look out the window; when suddenly the lights went out I knew that she would be in her dark bedroom. I knew when I walked in the door that, the Charlotte I knew when I went to work that day had gone away.

In her place was the persona of the man and woman with evil minds whose intent was to control her and harm me. The little girl seems to be there for Charlotte’s protection, she always talk kind and sweet, begging Charlotte to stay calm and not listen to the other voices.

The first words I would hear upon walking in the apartment was that of Charlotte’s own voice begging the man to go away, and then he would speak to her with a low menacing evil sound coming through Charlotte.

“Get up, you know what you should do”, his voice almost a low growl.

Suddenly she was standing in the kitchen, towering over me. I tried to show no emotion, I ask how her night went; my usual patter before I went into the bathroom. My own voice as calm and normal as I could make it sound. I showered, turned on the TV while she pace from kitchen to her bedroom, stopping occasionally to stare irately at me. I took my car keys and handbag into my bedroom; closed the door placing a security stick under the doorknob.

I went to bed secure that she could not get to me. I was not afraid to die; I did not want was for Charlotte to live out her life with such a heinous act hanging over her. It was then that I heard the man voice calling from the other side of my bedroom door, the man with no name.

“Better not go to sleep, I’ll cut your troth.”

The personas that developed over time were deep within Charlotte’s psyche; he and the woman could take over her thoughts and actions any time that they wanted too. I had tried to talk to him and the woman before, begging both to leave her alone; they would curse me and say they were going to kill Charlotte and me too.

The incident is only one of many that she and I would have to endure. I am in hopes that Charlotte’s story can help others who live under the same conditions to learn that living with these children is a forever changing pattern, one did not know where to go or what to do to help their child in those days, they were usually medicated to a zombie state.
That is not true of today, the twenty-first-century; there are many avenues of help for the children and their parents. I want parents to stay strong and let their children young or adult know that they are not alone!

In the 21st Century help is there from their birth, find it! Live for happier times while you can, for they are not often. Love them and hold onto them.   EAJM