Tag Archives: Literature

MERMAID ENERGY by Lisa Alexander


In the beginning 

I was oblivious and happy to play in the water,  in it, out of it, surfacing now and then, but mostly deep below the surface, slithering around the seaweed, teasing the abalones and pulling the tails on otters, or I’d flash my tail and race with sharks and dolphins.  We’re not afraid of them.  They don’t eat mermaids.  We taste bad.

Someone made up a story about us, that we lose our voice if we get our legs.  Not true.  But human-speak is not our natural language, and some women and a lot of men especially don’t like the language that we use, or the things we talk about, so we keep most things to ourselves. 

I am Not Afraid of Sharks

Then there are the men who fantasize about us, and some of them will try to make us something else so they can put us in a box.  They dress it up.  They call it a “house” and a “home” and try to make it sound enticing but most of the time we die to our mermaid selves if they put us in there. 

 

Our language is the language of the undersea – sub-c – the sub-conscious.  We notice things in the depths, the ninety-three percent of communication that happens without words… it’s kind of hard to talk when you live in an ocean, so we see the things people don’t want to have noticed…

 

You Are Lying To Me

The wedding ring that suddenly comes out of the jewelry box because your husband shows a friend your gardens, the plant your wife gave you (because your office girlfriend had one) that died in your care, the tie that’s suddenly choking you when you are lying to me, the illnesses that bespeak your aching heart, your intolerance for change, your fear of moving forward,

Tell Me where It Hurts

the teeth you lose in resentment of the family expectations, the sudden aches and pains after your child heads to college or your spouse goes away for work, the body language between you and your girlfriend, the way she walks away from you… and then there was a love story – told in three acts in a window box –

Exploding Pansies

the first year, daffodils and yellow pansies, explosive and fun, the next, only yellow pansies – which eventually overgrew and got messy – and the third year – purple and white pansies showed up – and bespoke the conflict.  Within a month they were simply gone.  And so was she.

Humans tell us we think too much.  So we keep it to ourselves, or write it in poetry.  In stories.  We pretend it’s just symbolic.  And that it was accidental. Coincidence.   Nah.  We get it from real life.

I Don't Have a Clue

What mermaids never understand is why these things aren’t simply obvious to everyone.   

 

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TALK TO A STONE


I was given a book.  To hold it in my hands was magic.

Floating Rocks

 Michael was studying calligraphy.  Feeling the weight the title held my eye.   I am Intrigued.  I slipped the book from its creamy portfolio case wondering if I had washed my hands lately.  A Japanese Scrapbook with toggle clasps.  Remembering to be gracious to the presenter of this perfect prize, I kissed his cheek and slid  away to a comfy chair.  I turned the first page.

Original Watercolor by kkiser 2011

You Have Time To Get It Done

Words hardly ever embrace the unseen.  Printed on a translucent, parchment-like sheen in subtle shades of gray black ink.  I fell in Love with Kanji.

Tetsuzan Shinagawa is a contemporary Author and calligrapher.  Each page of Nothingness:  Talk To A Stonehas beautiful Graphics and Ancient Buddhist Poems.  One of these poems struck, as I read, a note.  A vibration from  an Anonymouns 12th Century Poet.   Oneness enveloped me.  I felt connected to a spirit in a poem as if there were no time.

Original Watercolor kkiser 2011

Vibrations In The Key of Time

Every Day I want To Walk With God, Brightly, Fearlessly, As the Morning Sun

I felt as giddy as a two-year old on a sugar high.  The dots connect.  A fuzzing of the edges as I float between dreaming and sunlight.  I am fully awake.  Making a comfortable connection to my Poet I write to him on my time line.

Speaking to the Soul Offering a Lively Gift to the Spirit that Loves Life

He will see my echo.  Writing poetry and painting pictures to a dead poet is like writing a message in sand.  Might be a Silly waste of Time.   This is my gift.  Mine to unwrap, to use, to choose.  What I do with it is a private matter between me and my Luvahhh.  What you do in time brings meaning to time.  It is electric and comes from energy that is known but not translatable.  Like Japanese to English.  Somethings are missing.  That is the Art.

Return My Heart

Stones hold thoughts.  Poems carry Spirit.  Music drives them home.  In my life I will collect moments.  String them together like a necklace of pearls.  Love until I drift toward sleep.  I am laughing like I have all my teeth.  This time around is like a soak in a hot springs stumbled on during a hike through a rain forest.   I rest in the warm bubbly jacuzzi of me-ness.  Ahh!  I’ll stay till my fingers turn white and wrinkly.

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Thanks for being here

Kathleen