The Beauty Pageant Dream

Walking my dream

I dreamed I was at a church camp and busy with many things, mostly talking to and doing projects with children, but also just learning about my own deep, still waters. I felt fulfilled, peaceful, and calm. I realized at one point, that I'd been entered in a beauty contest. I didn't give it much thought, though, and continued my projects. I ate a good meal, which I could feel nourishing all of my cells. I ate everything on my plate; there was no waste.

Then I noticed that the other girls were getting ready for the pageant. They had their make-up on and their hair styled just so. Their mothers were there helping them into their formal gowns.

I was alone in the dream but didn't have that empty-alone feeling. I felt solid and whole.

The others were fretting over questions they might be asked and how they would answer. What were they going to do for the talent portion, I wondered.

What was I going to do?

I caught an image of myself in a mirror. I wore denim pants with a common sort of top, draped with a shawl or scarf of some sort that shimmered in the light. I arranged it carefully around my shoulders and, looking in the mirror again, decided it would work.

One side of my hair hung stiff and wiry while the other side held its usual natural curl. I must have slept on it funny. I ran a wet comb through the straight side and then twisted it around my finger. Much better.

"I don't have a formal gown or make-up or my hair sprayed into some professional 'do," I told myself, "but I do have me. I am beautiful inside and out. I have sincerity, strength, and integrity. I am enough."

I stepped back from the mirror. It was time to go on stage.

I woke up to a beautiful autumn morning. The wind gusted and golden maple leaves drifted through the air.

I pulled on my blue jeans, an old T-shirt with remnants of a once beautiful butterfly on it, one of my husband's long-sleeved western shirts, and my lace-up boots, and started to go check my heifer, but it was plain to see, my husband informed me, that she still had not calved. The dogs informed me, with much enthusiasm, that they would like to go for a walk.

We took off down the runway, I mean the driveway, the dogs bouncing for joy and wagging their tails, me with my head held high, knowing that true beauty lies within me. Beauty is the joy coursing through my veins, the faith pulsing in my heart, the solidity of sincerity, the poise of integrity, the grace of living my truth day-by-day, releasing yesterday and laying the foundation for tomorrow. I braided my hair as I walked and pulled a piece of grass to tie it in place. 

I am more than enough. I am beautiful.

If the pageant judges had asked me what I wished for the world, I think my answer might have been that every person would see their own true beauty within themselves, that we would all be winners.

Healing Thoughts...

 

                                    Lonesome Oak, Late Summer

A Prayer for Adi

Sing! Sing again,

Beautiful one!

Relax.

Faithful heart,

be her drum

send the breath throughout

from lungs,

to heart,

to brain

and back,

to knees and toes

oxygen riding

through vessels' melody

whispering joys

of memories

of more life to live

of beautiful days

of children's laughter.

Beautiful One,

Sing! Sing again,

Beautiful One,

of children's laughter

of beautiful days

of more life to live

of memories

whispering joys

through vessels' melody.

Oxygen riding

to knees and toes

and back,

to brain,

to heart

from lungs:

throughout!

Send the breath.

Be her drum,

Faithful heart!

Relax,

Beautiful One.

Sing. Sing again.

In Memory

 

Sunset at our farm

Technicalities Aside

Technically, he wasn’t my grandpa,

but I remember:

The fun the family had when my dad

Dated his daughter,

Like “taking pictures” with a spoon

And getting my dad to hold a cup of water

On the ceiling with a broomstick.

I remember helping

“The ladies” in the egg-packing plant

And unpacking bales of egg cartons,

Which we stacked in the old schoolhouse.

We swam in his cow pond—Yuck!

And I caught little bluegill 

from the same pond,

Then watched him fillet his big catfish.

He took us golfing

And taught us to replace the turf

We tore up

And let us drive the cart.

I remember that after lunch

He had an ice cream

And melted it in the microwave.

I had mine hard.

Then he took a thirty-minute siesta

And I learned to help load

And unload the dishwasher

And talked about how to fix my hair.

When I was grown up,

He welcomed

Our little family of three

to visit in the mountains.

He took us to see the wild horses

And let me get out of the jeep

While he backed up on the precipice

Because I was afraid we might go over.

Later, at the house,

Grandma shared her brownie recipes

And they told me how they taught

My younger cousins a lesson about giving.

I remember picnics and volleyball

And anniversary parties

With singing,

Especially patriotic songs,

America, the Beautiful

The Battle Hymn of the Republic

God Bless America

My Country ‘Tis of Thee,

But at church

He sang with his sons,

Amazing Grace 

When the Roll is Called Up Yonder.

Oh, and did I mention?

The bear he carved

With a chainsaw for me

Or the beautiful necklace holder?

He made it from cedar

With seven golden hooks

To hold my jewelry

When I’m not wearing it.

And he made a plant stand for me

From a cactus—

Saguaro, I believe.

It serves well in a corner between windows.

Just a couple of years ago

He cut geodes open with us

And shared what he taught

The youth in his church,

That you never know

When you look at a plain old,

Homely-looking rock

What beauty lies inside.

I remember

The light in those blue eyes,

His patience,

And the love he shared.

Blast it!

Technicalities aside.

He was my grandpa!

Poetry to Grow On

Growing Patience
     By Vicki Dawn Arnett

I am a seed
     a little seed
     of thoughtful endurance     
     and strength
     and fortitude
     and yet, compassion,
buried just below the surface.

Alone, I wait.

It is cold
     dark
     dreary
     while I wait

alone

     and the weight
from above rests heavily on me.

What is that I feel?
     It is warmth.
     Something inside me vibrates,
     loosens my walls.
I stretch and reach for more warmth,
     but also anchor myself
     'round a tiny grain of sand.

My eyes are opened
     so now I see
     the glorious light,
     heater of my heart,
     stirrer of my soul.
I watch, in wonder, its trek across the sky.
     It is dark and cold again. 
     Once more, I am

alone.

     What happened?
     Where did my light, my warmth, go?
My head drooped, and weary,
     I rested.

While I rested, I heard a cry,

"You are not alone!"

     I reached farther down,
     down below the surface
     through moist soil
     clinging to bits of sand
     for comfort
     peace
     strength
and when yesterday was but a dream,
a finger of light caressed the sky.

Joyfully, with all the world,
     I wept
     dewy drops upon my brow,
     magnifying the light's gentle touch.
     I stretched to meet the sun,
     to join his journey again,
     but today, it wasn't to be.
A curtain pulled across the sun;
I could not see his smiling face.

I shivered and dug deeper down,
     down into the earth,
     her silence somehow comforting
     and in the stillness, 

I waited.

Light faded,
     faded dimmer
     as the curtain thickened
     and no trace of his journey permeated.
A chilly wind swept the land.
I resisted it with all my strength;
     still it persisted.

And then came the storm.

Quick flashes of light
     roared through the sky.
The wind whipped at me;
     hail mixed with rain pelted me
     and pushed me to the ground.
Rivulets of water etched canyons
     around my roots.
I, willing my tiny tendrils to dig deeper still
     and straining my stem
     to stand straight and tall,
I fought for my survival
     the whole day long.

Finally, the rain lessened
     and the wind bore the clouds away.

Exhausted, I lay
     with my head in the mud
     and barely caught the
     motion of sun's fingers dancing
     as they slid over the horizon.

In the cold dark,
     my roots went down,
     down into the wet soil.
     I let my head rest
     on Mother Earth's breast.

The moon shined, a thin crescent,
     mere reflection of Sun's glorious rays,
     and stars glittered
     in their own galaxies
     so, so far away,
     and I knew

I was not alone.

The lilting song of the whippoorwill
     and the incessant inquiring of the owl
     rang from the hilltops
     and resounded through the valleys.

I fell asleep then
     and dreamed of knights and ladies,
     and fairies and trolls
     and garden gnomes
     until, at last,
I awoke to the morning's song,
     of birdy trills
     buzzing bees
     and the tentative breeze of new butterfly wings.

And the Light peeked up out of the east
and blessed all life with his touch.

I raised my head
     from the muddy earthen bed.
     My eyes trailed the sun
     as he rose higher,
     higher into the sky.
Before I knew it, he was right overhead
     and I—

I stood straight and tall.

Sunrises came, and sunsets, too.
     Joyful dewy mornings,
     hot days, cool nights.
     I stretched up,
     up and reached for the light.
     I dug deep and anchored in the soil.
     I sang my own songs
     of courage
     of laughter
     and delight.

Then cold bit deep;
     my leaves fell at my feet
     and I was stiff
     and I rattled rather than sang.

Rain turned to snow,
     which drifted around me.
The sun distantly swung around,
     east to west.
While the birds, bees,
     and most of earth's beasts
     rested and waited
     and sighed.
The moon turned full,
     then new again,
     full and new, full and new,
     I didn't count the times.

And then, one day the wind shifted;
     Sun's light thawed my branches.
     Birds sang again.
     Snow melted.
I stretched my trunk up
     and my roots down
     and followed the light
     through the sky.

Buds grew on my outstretched hands
     and bloomed fragrant flowers.
     Bees visited my blossoms,
     breezes pranced 'round me,
     birds nested in close to my heart.

I was not alone.

We sang the songs of summertime
     and watched the days come and go.
     Fruit set in where
     springtime buds had been
     and grew heavy,
     bowing my limbs.
     Ripening, it smelt sweet again,
     and bees swarmed busily around.
     Squirrels played in my branches;
     children laughed and chanted in their playhouse
     near the stream.

Now my fruit fell.
What wasn't carried off or eaten
     rotted and stunk. The flesh fell away
     baring the hard stone hearts within.

The cold bit deep.
Rain turned to snow.
Birds, bees, and most of earth's beasts
     rested and waited and sighed.

One day, the wind shifted
     and Sun's light thawed all he touched,
     waking us with his might.

Snow melted, birds sang,
     bees buzzed and children played,
     but not one of my fallen stones
     could I see
     amid last year's leaves
     matted down upon the earth.

I remember a time when
     I was a seed,
     a little seed
     of thoughtful endurance     
     and strength
     and fortitude
     and yet, compassion,
buried just below the surface.

I warm with the Light
     that guides my days
     and hold fast to the wisdom
     of my Roots.
I relax and float upon the wind.
Flowering, I feed my friends.

And somewhere down there—
     down under the leaves,
     a tiny seed
     digs a little root down to grip
     a grain of sand.
It stretches up,
     up to reach the warmth and light.
When the storms come,

It is not alone.

We will sing songs of summertime
     and greet the days to come.