What Happened?

1366-768-84478What happened?
What happened to those times when laughter came so easily?
I don’t have it much anymore.
It doesn’t come from deep within.
No,
not like it used to.
What happened?

I feel it has been the roads which I’ve chosen.
Those byways of connections,
Loves which were lost,
Memories not made,
Times which should be forgotten.
What happened?

It happened.
This happened.
Life happened.

Sadness.
An emotion which is so difficult to erase.
A heart which refuses to mend.
A soul which can’t find that laughter,
not like it used to know.
Back when this woman wore pig tails,
carefree, wild, untamed.
Running through the saw grass.
What happened?

Life opened its burden,
plunged it deep within,
budded its flawed flower,
shrugged its shoulders unsparingly.

What happened?
Where is this laughter?
It is torn,
shredded,
marred,
obliterated.
Life consumed it all.

The Yielding

The Yielding

I have yielded
Yet,
against my will.
The light which now guides me
is not my own.
Sweet death,
Sweet bird,
carry my news to the kingdom.
Their prince,
their King,
has succumbed to darkness.
Who shall lead them?
Who shall show compassion now?
Fly little bird, fly far.
Find thy knight.
Seek him who does not sleep.
Only then will the beast be bated,
his jaws set,
the teeth imprisoned.

Are You Committed?

The past couple of days I’ve really been thinking a great deal about this word, commitment.  This semester is the last semester I have of classes before I do my student teaching and I’ve started to prepare my applications for graduate school.  I’ve sent the manuscripts of Book One “The Forgotten Spell” and half of Book Two “The Mirror Sliver” off to Laura Blum Guest of Mariposa Press in France, as she has taken the series under her wing, and agreed to represent Legends of Green Isle as an agent.  Things seems to be going pretty good, right.  Yet, there are always some kind of bumps in the highway of life.  Nothing is ever easy; I learned that a long time ago.  My bumps seem to becoming more frequent in that road.  Because of my school, I haven’t been able to work a normal 9 to 5 job.  I work little part-time gigs when I can fit them in.  Recently I spent a day in the hospital where I had to have numerous tests and so forth.  I don’t have great insurance, so I cringe every time I open the mailbox.  We haven’t been able to make our bills every month without robbing Peter to pay Paul, so the medical bills are going to throw another kink in the works.  I wonder how it’s going to be next semester when I won’t have my history intern job or my tutoring job at the school.  These thoughts bring me always back to that word commitment.

Are you committed Connie Wallace to see this to the end?  And how far does that commitment go?

Yes, that was me talking to myself as I stare at my notebook with my story outlines in them, waiting for me to write.  I heave a heavy sigh because right now I’m committed to graduating.  It would be easy to allow these bumps to get the better of me and just give up.  But I think of my boyfriend who gets up at 4:30 am every morning and drives two hours to work down in Atlanta and then drives the same distance home every night.  He is always committed.  I need to be the same way.

So, even though money, gas, food may be tight, I need to remind myself that I’m to be committed to finishing. I’m not a quitter. My commitment runs deep.  I set goals for myself a long time ago, that I wouldn’t leave this world until I managed to make some kind of mark in it.  Whether it be a small one or big one.   Let’s hope that the mark stays…as a testimony to my commitment.

 

A Journey with Life’s Pen.

We all start out in the world, naked.  A clean slate in which life dabs a pen and begins to write.  It’s a unique experience being a part of life’s story.  We all are in one big book that keeps going on and on.  It doesn’t stop when I die, it gets carried on in a sequel with my children and their children, and the generations who come down the road.  What makes our journey interesting is how we develop our character in the story.  Are we the villain or the hero? Or do we just stand at the sideline and watch the story proceed without really making any worthwhile contribution?  Should I re-read my story written by life, I hope I see some great chapters, some that make you cry and some that make you laugh.   And some most special ones that just can’t be repeated in anybody else story.

Persistence is the main ingredient in life.

This gallery contains 2 photos.

Today I was up at 7:00 am and watched as the sun came up over the mountain across the way.  A remanent of a low mist still hung in the air and the sunlight filtered through it and the trees, making our two acres greener than ever.  I just had to take a picture, but […]

You are what you are because of others: A self reflection on relationships

I don’t know why but I started this morning by thinking back to a moment in my past when a 14 year relationship was ending, but for some reason it just popped into mental thought.  The person who I was involved with then, stated to me “if it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t be who you are today,” as we concluded our affairs and went separate ways.  At first, I was a little angry about this statement.  I thought to myself “well you egocentric so-and-so, this has been my life and life has made me who I am.”  Those words have just stuck with me this past 12 years and I find myself reflecting over them from time to time.

Tis the case for the morning.

I wondered about what really makes us who we are.  Do people?  Events? Our parents? Our position in life? Poverty? Riches? Where we live? Who we know?  I could go on and on, but I’ll stop there.  In my opinion all of it matters.  The imprints of the vast melting of all of it makes us who we are.  We start out in this life a clean slate, a little tiny baby with no knowledge of what goes on here, in mother Earth.  Things around us put their mark on our clean little board (metaphorically speaking) and our minds take those marks and analysis them, throwing out what we disagree with and keeping those things that seem to work.

As we grow older, we find that re-evaluating those marks from time to time, gives us a fresh, new perspective about our life.  Today, I finally came to the realization that what this person said wasn’t so egocentric at all.  He was right, he did have a hand in making me who I am today.  For instance, I learned that being a doormat for him wasn’t very pleasant, and in coming to that realization, I developed a very independent nature and finally got a clue about standing up for myself.  I don’t take disrespect from anyone anymore.  His presence, while not always positive in my life, had a profound effect on me.  So, yes,  he did have a hand in making me who I am today and for that, I am grateful.

Life holds many lessons, and what or who crosses our paths will always leave some imprint on our lives.  They help make us who we are.  The greater challenge is discovering what impact they had.  Whether it is a person across the street, or individuals across the sea, we all have things we can learn from each other.  Remember you are who you are because of those around you.

“Silence” / A Sci-Fi Short from the Desk of Constance Wallace

When I dream at night, it is usually in major motion picture color, with added 3D clarity, which brings the visions to a striking realism.  Minus the booming effects that my boyfriend Kevin Henderson can add, with his ever so wonderful knowledge of Home Entertainment Systems, I sometimes find some great short stories from these particular nights.

Here is one called “Silence.”

The world was quiet.  All the anxious fear had been silenced, and the only sound right now, was the gentle washing of the sea, as it pulled at the sand in front of me.  I ran my fingers through the warmth of the small crystals, letting the granules slip through the opening between my fingers.  Is this how God feels, contemplating creation? A brief moment of absolute clarity, and then the moment vanishes?

I can’t make the screams go away.  I didn’t like this feeling of being a creator, chosing life and death, placing the value of human existence upon a scale that I must weigh.  It was wrong to me.

The department was my responsibility, its experiments I oversaw.  All pre-cautions were put in place.  How did they breach the system?

I can’t make the screams go way.

“General, you must blow the sector!  If you release it, we’re all doomed!”

That sentence replayed itself like the emotions on the other side of the monitor, as I watched my friends and co-workers claw at the sealed doors, asking for release.  I could not make the vision go away.  It was my creation, a viral mutation that could silence the whole world.  They needed to be released, their anxious fears muted.

“General, your command?”

Did I say the words?  I don’t remember.  All I remember is the silence.  A weight of quietness, which hung about my shoulders, its heaviness equal to my burden of creation.  I can’t make the screams go away.

“Grandma?”

The gentle touch of little fingers brought my vision to the present.  I turned to view the innocence of my grandchild.

“Yes, dear, is it time?”

The small blond head nodded quickly, her smile beaming away the dark cloud which veiled my thoughts.  Rising from the warmth of the sand, I grasped the beautiful fingers as she led me back to the island temple.  Our sanctuary from the silence of the world.  Our place of regeneration, my creation.  A people who knew no war, no fear, no hunger, no disease, no strife.

I could not make the screams go away.