Dawn dreams

		I bath myself in soft light of dawn dreams, my song's whistling by first early bird, my thought's weaving in wind streams, reaching the longtime desired seaboard, alerts the friends seagulls, fed with wheat bread, reconciles with speed the snails, touches vibrant waves, playing mermaids, surfing in lurex of butterfly sails... The rapid dawn dreams, reflected in dew, the little big world - so fragile and new; short-lived momentum- the miracle dawn, it melts away soon - I follow...gone...

Image credit: sight-touch.com

Gentle souls

		Have you been touched by quiet gentle souls, walking around throughout the day, seemingly knowing what's their role, carrying the light for who've gone astray? They have been clearing all blurry spots, bringing the purity, fixing the fates, pour healing oil of their hearts to those who trust and open the gates. These gentle souls don't compromise the values, they're real, avoiding ambitions, act with humility, modest and wise, often're in shade, missed a recognition. Manage with tolerance the hatred and cruelty, looking for better and brighter way, telling the story of neighbor, or family, when being asked: How was your day?

Hands healing

		My client: subtle energy, the resignation to her fate, the kindness shows through, the willingness to be wherever people need you, the will to say 'It's rude' to powerful staff person for using male force, showing what to do. Such honorary traits in the conjunction with arthritic hands - the palm lines worn exhausted, lifelong work with water, It's hard to bend the fingers, hold the pen or spoon, - the pay for the kind deeds, is it fair? what lesson has been learned in here? We know that emotions relate to pain, syndromes and conditions. We're holding often and too tightly to money or relationships. So I've prepared images of healthy hands with color aura around to look, to visualize for the intent, and affirmation of my client with words: 'My hands get better every day in every way: each muscle, cell and skin. I'm blessed and healed, I'm loved and free to choose to let past go and to win!'

Image credit: mylot.com

Hot air

		The poems as wild grass - they never ask about proper time to grow, they come at dawn or in dusk, or in midday for show. They're dropping down from the void, distract the schedule, the routine, don't even try to run, avoid - all meetings are ruined. They're hanging on the door as chimes and teasing from behind, there's no escape from crazy rhymes and overwhelmed mind... With inspirational delight I rise aloft to thermostat, and see desired point line has crawled to 'very hot'...

the weapon

summer delight

Abundant Blessings