Peace Rose

 

Peace Rose

~*~

“The world is bent on destruction at the hands of those who would themselves destroy …”

Grandma Rose raised her tea cup to her lips and sipped. She seemed unperturbed by her words, while I sensed my rose-coloured glasses slipping.

“Fighting for peace is not the wise course, but those who know not how to love themselves can never demonstrate love, or offer true peace, to others. It is not possible.”

I felt hopeless. She’d lived her life while most of mine was still ahead of me. The world seemingly falling apart around me. Still, I could see her point. How many times had I witnessed the mask of love a-kilter on the faces of those who felt nothing but self-loathing? Their acts of redemption couched in resentment and frosted with anger. The glass half empty with a cracked smile on its face.

Fighting for peace ~ the greatest oxymoron of all.

“What is to be done?” I asked.

Grandma Rose raised herself up, replaced her tea cup to the coffee table, and focused her attention on me.

“Love yourself. Genuinely love yourself ~ warts and all. Look inside your soul. Whatever troubles you, address it, embrace it and love it away. Even those we consider unworthy just want to be loved. They act out for attention. They act out because they don’t understand the source of their pain. If people would just look inside to find, address and love away their suffering they would feel no need to cause suffering in others. Only when the people can find this place of peace in themselves will there be peace in the world.”

A sigh rose from the depths of my own suffering; a tear pooled in my eye. I knew she was right. I had learned a long time before that love begins at home ~ the home of my soul ~ and that it resonates and colours the lives of others according to my intention. Love begins with the inner journey ~ a painful journey I understood all too well. A journey that creates empathy and a liberating knowledge of self that disengages the power of pain and sets us on a course of love in its purest sense.

Grandma Rose, ever the philosopher, noted my discomfort and offered this consolation:

“When you ask the meaningful questions, my dear, it is my privilege to give you the meaningful answers. As my wisdom is born of the inner journey so will yours be. It is a hard road but one worth travelling. Remember, the Golden Rule: ‘Do unto others as you would have have them do unto you.’ As long as you live by this treatise you will not go wrong … as long as you understand how you would like to be treated … and why.”

~*~

A free-writing exercise …

Thanks for visiting …

Dorothy

©Dorothy Chiotti … Aimwell CreativeWorks 2014

 

 

 

Summer’s First Kiss

SpentSummer’s first kiss

A fantasy

A fumble

A moment made humble.

Not stolen;

Theft.

~*~

“Do you remember your first kiss?” Summer asked of her mother.

“Oh, darling, that was such a long time ago.” She thought for a moment. “It certainly wasn’t with your dad.”

“That would be a no, then?” Summer was despondent.

“Yes, that would be a no. … What about you?” Her mother asked, mildly curious. “Do you remember yours?’

Summer thought for a moment. Dare she tell her mother the truth of that first moment her lips touched those of another? She’d never mentioned it before. Too much shame attached to it. Not a kiss by choice; a kiss by chance. Someone else’s chance. No romance. A moment of groping in a dark theatre by a boy who’d asked her out under false pretences; her boundaries crossed when she had no border guard. All she’d wanted to do was watch The Pink Panther. 

“No, mother, I don’t remember my first kiss.”

~*~

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Sadly, not all first kisses are what we might wish.

Written in response to Kellie Elmore’s Free Write Friday challenge.

Thanks for visiting,

Dorothy

©Dorothy Chiotti, Aimwell CreativeWorks 2014

Daily Prompt: What’s in my Name?

The name Dorothy is of Greek origin and means “Gift of God.”

To those who do not believe in God, this probably won’t mean much.

DaliaMy strong belief in God, however, makes this name particularly meaningful to me, even if, at times, I have felt it terribly old fashioned for the era in which I live. I have contemplated changing it to something more hip many times, and considered shortened versions, but they just don’t want to stick.

When I was a little girl of three my parents and I were visiting San Francisco Zoo. Apparently, towards the end of our visit, I got quite tired of walking and turned to my father, looked up and said, “Poor Dofy …”. I was carried the rest of the way. Occasionally a family member might address me affectionately by this name. Very occasionally.

I will not tolerate Dot or Dotty.

I am told, by my mother, that I was named after my godmother (ironically enough), someone with whom I am still in occasional contact, though we are not close.

Dorothy is also easily translated into Hungarian (Dorotya) and as half my heritage originates in that country it stands to reason that my name might have some link to that culture. However, I am not aware of any of my female Hungarian ancestors having that name, nor that my parents had this in mind, particularly, when considering my moniker.

Coincidentally (or not), my middle name, Elizabeth, Hebrew in origin, means “God’s Promise.” (Hungarian: Erzebet.)

The inspiration: Queen Elizabeth.

I have tried to adapt this into a nickname as well but again, nothing sticks.

I am Dorothy, through and through. This name reflects my deep and abiding faith in a power greater than I that has, through all my life’s ups and downs, been my rock.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

~*~

Thanks for visiting …

Dorothy

Daily Prompt: Name that … You!

©Dorothy Chiotti, Aimwell CreativeWorks 2013

The Seed of Doubt

Delicate Gerbera

Planted early, the

Seed of Doubt

Sprouts of innocence, feigning

Constructive criticism

Beneath the guise of

Concern, when all is but

The grasping tentacle of

Another’s insecurities. It

Binds and strangles

The tender blossom born

Of love, all the

While adopting the

Stance of the treasured,

Indispensable

Flower in the

Garden of Creativity.

With stealth it

Grows and creeps,

Blending into the

Unassuming landscape,

Giving nothing, but taking

All.

Shallow rooted with toxic

Blooms it poisons

The garden of the

Soul, where personal truth

Percolates and Creativity

Is born.

*

Pluck now the

Weed-born seed! Fill

Well Soul’s Garden

With the glorious blossoms

Of thy Truth.

Remove all room

For Doubt ~ there

Will always be

Someone too happy to

Sow it.

*

Copyright Aimwell CreativeWorks 2013