10 years from this question...

Martha Beck, whose book I'm thoroughly enjoying, suggests an exercise in which her readers and clients close their eyes and visualize themselves 10 years into the future. Start by calculating your age 10 years from now and the ages of the people closest to you, and "see" the scene or snapshot from your own point of view. Describe your immediate environment--colors, sounds, smells, temperature, etc. Be as sensory as possible so you can really feel it. Martha Beck has been a life-coach for much of her career and this method has proven to be "amazingly accurate" in what people see in their own futures.

I decided to give it a try...


I'm a happy, healthy 40-year-old at a busy outdoor market on a late-October day in a European town. A fresh water scent fills the air, softly assuring the presence of a nearby river. Although the day is overcast, I love every step I take on the cobblestoned streets. I'm wearing the dark brown boots I bought in Amsterdam, a beige sweater and a colorful scarf to protect me from autumn's chill. Something about the scene feels very holiday-ish.

I'm in a tent where candles are sold in glass jars with ribbons tied around the top. I'm torn about whether or not I should by a pink candle. Or maybe an orange cinnamin-spice candle would be more seasonally appropriate. Soft music plays in the background. The heaters warm me and I raise my gaze to look for a friend to consult.

Directly in front of me is a woman, in her late-30s, with long dark hair who doesn't notice me staring at her. Though visibly pregnant, she looks beautiful and vivacious as she discusses various items with the people around her, rapidly speaking some European language. I feel sisterly love and admiration of her. "Alicia!" she calls for me to join them.

A tall, bright-eyed man with great hair and a navy sweater puts his warm hand around mine and whispers to me. I crack up, rolling my eyes at his joke, and feel a sense of family.

We stroll along...

Words

Stiff in the softness of my bed,
Words billowing across my consciousness--
Delicate words, short words, elaborate words, sexy words, hard words.
I wish I knew more words!

What would I do
If words bowed at my command?
I'd charm princes,
Study at any university of my choosing,
Solve awkward familial troubles and
Sooth all misunderstanding.

Speak perfect Central American Spanish
And beautiful French
That'd make my own heart
Melt like butter.
Draw exquisitely soft
Chinese calligraphic characters,
Slow stroke, swift curl,

Oh words! Spill your love upon me!
Lend yourselves not to lies and deceit!
Leave voiceless those who would bring harm,
For no voice is no power.

Show me your meaning!

It's impossible to tell you mine.

In God's Hands

When you go into the valley,
Keep yourself in God's hands,
For though you gaze around,
Desperate and hopeless,
Vertical, tree-covered hillsides
Covering your view,
Seeming impassible,

From the heavens,
All clouds can see
The Way,..............

As they float along,...............

In God's hands.

This Art

This art renews me,

Twirls me like a waltz,

Stretches tall my body and mind,

Ignoring petty faults.

This art captivates me,

Keeps me up at night,

Surges through my tingling limbs,

Flings me toward the light.

--Until I disappear, disappear...

Saturday Morning Market on the Town Square

Luminous sun, cool autumn air,

Truckfuls of pumpkins--

As many different colors and shapes as there are trees

And people--

Spilling out the back,

Onto haystacks,

In ornamental towers.

Fresh coffee--Free,

Fair Trade and Central American,

Like the wife of the vendor at the adjacent table.

Amish jams and honey,

Homebaked whole grain breads,

Handmade soaps,

Middle Tennessee's finest local produce.

Multiple loops around the square,

Laughing, chatting with each other and strangers--

"Bok choy is in season."

"Look at all the bumps on this pumpkin!"

"What a cute dog!"

"How old is your baby?"

Young boy slowly
Pours out sweetness from his violin.

Old Civil War tunes--

Aura Lee, Home Sweet Home--
Swirl around the courthouse,
Whose walls still contain Yankee and Confederate bullets,

Stunning onlookers into awed silence,

Taking us deep into history of the Old South.

My heart follows his bow

Back and forth,

Back and forth, 

Looooonnng vibrato.

I look up through maple trees.

When I think of what I love about the South,

I see smiling, friendly faces

At the Saturday Market

On the Square.

How Do I Get There?

The Orient brings shallow breath,
Tightness,
In contrary to its label and practice,
Which is also my practice.

Europe,
You call my name.
Europe,
Can't you wait?
Europe, Europe, Europe...

I don't know how to get to you...