Meditation

Yesterday, in the copper sun of a summer afternoon, a horse was laid to rest.

His name was, “Sir”, and earned the respect of that name.

He was loved by everyone who knew him.

Before he came to the sanctuary, his life was hard.

But, still, he came to them a gentle, loving, mighty soul.

His quiet strength touched so many.

Because of him, my husband is healing.

For that, I will always be thankful.

So, with a grateful heart, shortly before five o’clock, I meditated.

I was in the far pasture with them, and as Sir fell, I helped ease his fall.

I found my spirit next to his, laying in the grass.

I told him how much his Frank loved him, explaining why he could not be here now.

His lips touched my forehead, an angel kiss.

He knew.

I stroked his cheek and spoke words of comfort and love, until his eyes closed.

Then, I found myself next to a shallow river.

On the far bank, I saw Sir.

Tail and mane whipping in the wind.  He was gorgeous.

Next to him, standing in that radiant light… was my son.

They stood together, foreheads touching.

It was a magical moment.

A magnificent moment.

I knew they were communing; Frankie wanted to make sure Sir “Understood”.

Then, Frankie raised his hand in greeting. He beckoned me to cross.

I did, with an ease of motion that was like silk, surreal and smooth.

The tall grasses on the other side were blowing, and whispering wonderful things to me.

I walked to the boys standing there. I hugged them both.

Frankie’s hair was long and smelled like….snow.

His entire being was pure radiance. His smile, pure peace and love.

He hugged me. No words could ever describe the intense joy that filled me. 

He stepped back, smiling at me. (That Elvis smile that he wore so well).

I looked at Sir. Then I asked Frankie, “Are you going to ride him?”

He looked at me, like I should already know.

Then smiled and said, “No...he is a Pegasus now”.

He watched Sir with obvious admiration and love.

Frankie looked at me, and I knew it was time.

They walked, side by side, into the golden twilight.

Both
shoeless
and
without tether.

Free.

7/8/18

Lynn E. Ruiz

Canopy

Foggy,

rainy morning.

Cloudy afternoon.

Fresh pineapple.

Had a visitor.

A Charlatan.

Another Pompous

Imposter.  

The world is overrun.

And, sick to my stomach.

I type these words.

Remembering

the sweet sound

of songbirds

high in the trees.

As I walk

between drab

buildings.

The joyful ballads

float down from the Canopy

to caress my Soul.  

Sparkling Spirits.

Ignite my heart.

Ignite my hope 

for one brief moment. 

The vignette of

those unseen birds

high above,

with their

ethereal

echoes,

will remain

With me.

A gift

From the

Universe.

-Lynn Miller Ruiz

 June 1, 2018

Frankie...

Mortally wounded

December 21, 2018
There are so many words left unsaid. I thought this would get a little less painful. It only evolves into a deeper, darker pain. Its like a traumatic injury, and it is. You get terribly injured. At first, the pain is dulled by shock. Then it blossoms into a bouquet of agony. Time does not heal the wounds, physical or emotional. They are the same. Each looks better on the outside as time moves on. But, there is always the throbbing pain that still remains in the bones, skin, in the heart and soul. Less sharp, less raw than when we were first injured. But, deeper and ever lingering. It only takes a rainy day, or a movement, or nothing at all, and the physical pain flares. And so its the same, The pain of loss sits on our hearts and minds like a healing wound that it forever getting ripped open, healing, rip, healing, rip....and so on. Never really healing, but never as raw as when first inflicted. See? The soul is forever changed, as the body is in the physical. Scars of the body and scars of our hearts. I will never recover fully from this mortal wound. I am closer to the dead, than to the living.
Only death will heal this wound.
I love you, my son.
Always always, always, always.....
Infinity times Infinity.
MamaDukes
Can you hear me?
Please let it be so

These cats.

Inherited

from my son.

Are

mine

now.

Little

furry,

purring

Terrorists.

I love these cats.

I do not like them, though.

Relentless torment

and torrent

of feral

and

fecal habits.

People tell me

to rid myself

of them.

I cannot.

I could not.

My furious heart

would break.

They are old.

And, set.

I could not.

I cannot.

Mostly because

My son

is dead

now.

And,

He

loved

them

so…

             Lynn E. Ruiz

                5/15/18