I Pick Up On Cues

Dessert bloom complete

Not the first, but the second web guy I’ve worked with has gone missing, vanished from contact and out of sight. I read a post yesterday from a woman in the UK stating that her thirty-one year old web designer was tragically killed, so picking up on cues, I paused, I prayed for my missing in action web guys and then I paused again, because I knew that my missing “Webers” have been held up from me intentionally in the cosmic chute. This cue, I knew, because “missing in action” was my specialty; taking the missing and helping them look into mirrored beauty. Helping them pause so they can truly see.

But oh how I am a doer. I like to get things done-wired for action and forward movement. My top strength sighted by Strength Finders, is: Activator and so it’s natural that I like action. Yet here I am on this winding journey of learning to cease from action, to slow the engine, to retire youthful self-will and missing Webers and instead, wait. Wait? Waiting for what? Waiting for the greater and not settling for the lesser of my bullet speed active, idea-producing mind.

Who likes waiting? Like a kid in the candy store I want my hands on the candy. I want my hands in the till! For an action girl waiting flies in the face of everything I think I know! It flies in the face of those who pound the pavement, make it happen and wave their stats to prove it. It flies in my face, so I throw tantrums, “Why can’t I run? Why can’t I conquer and complete? Why can’t I be amongst the doing doers? Why can’t this gold I carry be released?"

This “I can do it” independence wipes her sniffles of comparison and poem by poem her uneasy hand steadies in this wake. Then I am reminded that I was made for “different” and different is not what I usually want to be! Then I’m reminded that we are all gatekeepers of sorts and it's important to know the gates that we keep.

So I trim my light in the darkened stillness. I hold the space for other miners and songbirds that have forgotten to sing. Graffitied across my soul, I was told, “You get the songbirds singing,” and so this waiting is perhaps not waiting for me.



You are a gatekeeper of one thing or another, be it mysteries, or spaces, be it open or closed. There is a telling and there is a knowing that only you can know.

I walk in the quiet where action curtails. I walk in the heart-world beyond sofa and tea. Substance expands, but only if you allow it. Take its hand and walk through the doorway where a listener hears, but a runner cannot perceive.

I call to the quiet, standing in the doorway. I gather up morsels for others to eat. It’s not skyscraper technology, or analysis inquiring. It’s the simple, the beautiful the ancient and the found, the corridors whisper of yearning for oil. Stay in the busy and you will miss it with superfluous glitter and mountain rounding desert.

Walk into one doorway or another. Fill up, or stay empty, a lantern holder’s choice. Yours or mine, you cannot compare it. Choose for yourself for time can’t help but reveal it.