Release

We cling to the familiar, gripping tightly to what has always been. Why is it we are afraid to release and feel the exhilaration of the drop into something new? As a child I was afraid to let go of the monkey bars, gripping the metal until my hands were slippery with sweat, and they slid off, the universe releasing for me. Sometimes, no one can do it for you. You must release your grip and fall on your own.  Releasing can be a critical step in many struggles. Even weight clings to the body in a desperate attempt for homeostasis.  The most difficult aspect of change is releasing the people or actions or emotions that no longer serve a purpose in our lives. Holding on to these things is like backpacking with a pack filled with useless items. Lugging a toaster through the woods does us no good. It weighs down the pack. It takes up space. It serves no purpose.  What is your toaster?

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Michelle Bloch
Breathe

Taking on the emotions of everything around you allows you to be in touch with more than just your own response to things. It allows for empathy and perhaps even forgiveness. Why do so many go through life with blinders on to the energy people give off? Why do they create bubbles around themselves, alienating people from their lives? Is it the time factor? Too many things to do and not giving space in their day to breathe while they are accomplishing their tasks. We must fold in the moments of awareness around the must do things. Fold the awareness in like the stiff peaks of the eggs you have just beaten to a light and fluffy white pile.

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Michelle Bloch
Deep Water

     Floating down a river where the water deep and dark moves lazily, or so it seems, we catch our breath and take our focus off paddling. The canoe drifts downstream at its own pace - matching the speed of the water. If our gaze rests on the river alone it appears as if we aren’t moving at all, but our movement becomes apparent when we look up and watch as we glide past the trees hanging over the shoreline, past the gulls gathered on a peninsula of sand, past the wildflowers clinging to the bank.  My eye catches small subtle whirlpools breaking the smooth surface of the water, the only indication of the rocks hiding beneath us. 

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Michelle Bloch
Chatter

In the silence of the predawn hour, before the birds wake and their chatter becomes the day’s ambient noise, the lions’ distant roar, and the coyotes’ howl break through the blackness of the new moon’s night. Listening to these animals provokes a thought that there are people who come into our lives that break through the silent pitch with their voice.  Their message resonates deeply, the way the coyote’s voice hits the deep instinctual place in the gut that impels one to howl along.  These people are often unaware of the impact of their words and how it alters our thought patterns and ultimately our path through life because when our trajectory changes we are gifted with an awareness that keeps our eyes open, our ears pricked, our antennae up.

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Michelle Bloch
Season Battle

   When the sun rises behind the leafless trees the branches arch in their naked form as black shadows telling a future of life and rebirth. There are hope and promise in those branches, despite their black arms.  Soon the view will be blocked by the flush of new growth and the umbrellas of green will pop open.  If you look closely at the silhouettes of the branches the buds are visible. the small protrusions dot each line.

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Michelle Bloch
Love & Rain

     Out of angry skies, the rain comes down in torrents. This much water falling to the earth makes one wonder how it could be held high above in clouds we fly through with airplanes. It seems as if clouds should be like fish tanks or those galvanized troughs, solid objects holding gallons upon gallons. Today God left the spigot open.  Sitting in the quiet of the house the rain demands attention. Her music is all around me in Dolby surround sound, in the gurgling of the gutters and pinging off the screens and the deeper notes as the deluge hits the shingles on all the angles of the roof.  It is too early in spring to have the rain barrels hooked up otherwise I know that sound too would be part of the symphony.

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Michelle Bloch
Cows in Winter

     Cows stand in the fields waiting for spring, the mud, cold like a Colorado river and not yet ankle deep because beneath the first two inches it is still hard and frozen from winter. They long for warm mud in the sunshine and the spring rain that feed the crocuses and the daffodils. The flowers with their colorful faces would usually be smiling from gardens along the back country road. But not this year.

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Michelle Bloch
Butterflies

    Fondly flowing, softly sowing, her words danced across the page like the blue from her eyes reflecting her heart and her soul. Thoughts dropped from her mind to the pen not like heavy weights but like butterflies landing softly one at a time or all at once. They were wild and communicated with a secret language unbeknownst to her. They were under no control of hers. But if she was quiet enough, she could sit in the stillness and watch as they landed. They would drift out of the heavens and dance in front of her before landing on the page. 

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Michelle Bloch
Seduction

The foggy mist made ringlets of my hair and the clumps of dirt turned to mud under my fingernails as I weeded the walk of clover just after 7:30am.  I have always loved those early hours before the sun bakes the earth in the summer or when the stillness of winter’s frozen ground is as silent as the air.

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On Writing

Good writing requires time to taste. It begs for fine china and grandmother’s silver and low lighting and most importantly, time - time to read and taste the flavor and to feel the texture of each word.  Most written works these days can be read while waiting for the light to change or for the receptionist to call your name.  Most works are flavorless, like a meal at a restaurant more known for it’s ocean view or it’s grand ballroom with crystal chandeliers.  Have you ever noticed how so many wedding receptions offer guests lackluster food?

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