Two-Takes Exchange.. Take Two

Hello, Readers. Tis I, Aubree...again...back for another 

Two-Take Exchange with Bad Word Mama

. 

Just in case you need a quick preface, here's the lowdown of how this works: each week, or every other week, or monthly, or whatever, Ellen and I will take turns choosing an image. We will then share the image with the other and will write up individual "takes," describing how the image inspired or moved us. Neither of us will know in what direction the other is going until we make the swap and publish them 

(I will publish her "take" on my blog, and vice versa).

So, below is my take on this week's image. 

You can find Ellen's respective post over on The Basement walls.

 We hope you enjoy our two-takes.

Drum roll, please......... 

Dear God: 

I will try to make this brief b/c I know you are a super busy God(dess), and you probably have a whole lot of prayers to try to get around to answering, not to mention all the world dilemmas and grotesque issues of humanity that need to be addressed; and of course, there is all the smiting that needs to get done (I added another name to my "please smite" list, if you have any extra smiting time); also, there is that spider-monkey-gorilla-ant thing that just got added to the "endangered list," so I'll try to make this brief...

As you know, things have been really hard for us financially over the last two years. As a result, we've had to recently make the decision to downgrade our toilet paper, so I am basically begging you to PLEASE make one of two things happen: bring the price of Charmin w/ Aloe way down, OR please help our buttholes toughen up without having to endure the whole "wait until the callouses form" stage.

Secondly, my constipation grows worse with every passing moment. I have sent numerous letters to the Pope and Homeland Security, but they continue to ignore me. PLEASE help me prevent the irrevocable world-wide catastrophe that is pretty much guaranteed to occur when these fecal demons are finally released into our sewage and water systems (our house is not on a septic tank...as you know, b/c you are God and you know everything). 

It is no longer a question of "if;" it is only a question of "when." Please save the innocent.

As you also probably know, there are terrorists hanging out in the trees behind my house waiting to descend upon me and steal me away, so as to harness the power that is incubating in my butt (and growing stronger everyday). This is getting serious, God. *I know I have made mistakes about things stalking me in the past as a result of my paranoid delusions, but I am CERTAIN that this is way different than the time I was certain that a three-headed goose was living under my bed. I don't mean to tell you how to do things, bc you're God and all, but I think you should let that one slide. I was, after all, only 34 years old.*

And finally, God: PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE bring back Jello Pudding Pops.

Amen.

Two-Take Exchange

"Hello everybody! My name is Aubree, and I am the writer of the 

Akashic Aisles: The Basement View blog. 

My good friend and author of Bad Word Mama has graciously agreed to be the other half to the whole that is the Two-Take Exchange. As part of this image-inspired blog-swap, she and I will take turns choosing an image that moves us in one way or another, and we will each write something about it (having no idea in what way the other found inspiration in the very same imagery until we make the actual swap). 

And THEN, we will each post the other's "take" on our respective blogs. Sounds fun, right? 

IT IS!!

Below, is my "take" on the chosen image for this first week's swap. 

To see how Bad Word Mama was inspired by the same image, please visit 

The Basement. 

We hope you enjoy reading our Two-Takes!"

Lay your troubles upon her like a veil.  
She will hold them until you are ready.

The foundation of entire worlds can be seen in the hard and distant antiquity of her eyes. 

Her concern weighs as much as her celebration, anymore.  She can't afford to fail, and yet failure is promised.  Always the focused Giver, she fears that her triumphs will become mere shadows that only sometimes float across her face.  

She weathers the assault, because she has a warrior's spirit.  She has a warrior's spirit, because she must.  And when the ruined and forgotten fall before her, she becomes the will of the wind: sweeping them up in a gust of remembrance, making them new again. 

Her pain has become a crown, forged by the fiery abundance of Love...a fragile crown without pomp, without jewels that glitter for attention.  Those jewels, she gave away - willingly - upon hearing that first cry and knowing that the kind of love that aches from intensity is now her kind of Love.  Wanting to be ever-present, she realizes - in an instant of heartache and wonder - that her protective measure will inevitably suffer limitation by another's design.  Her reach is long, her gaze holds longer, and there is not a collective - nor solitary - thing that can outlive her touch.  But the world must turn, and life must speed along, and the nest must succumb to the elements.  Alas, her greatest triumphs will take flight into a harsh and unforgiving sky.

She has to hold on, while letting go.

She is a home, a truth, a soaring knowledge.  She is a mountain, unmoving in courage.  She is a star of polarity, balancing the scales.  She is a belief that bends.  She is a cloud that takes the shape of all things hopeful when the day has become desperate.  Cleansing and shaping soft structures: she is sand and surf.  She is the seasons; she is the Sun.  She is all things in, by, and of Creation. 

So much more than a fertile womb: She, is a Mother.

I wrote this in dedication of all mothers that know what it means to love so intensely that it hurts, and trust me when the memory of the child I once was openly declares that a woman that gives birth does not automatically become a mother that loves. However, Life made up for what my childhood was so severely lacking, and it turns out that while writing this, I DID have a loving mother to think about: one that supports and forgives and worries incessantly and tries to understand and tries not to judge; one that not only keeps the nests that her own children outgrew inside the lovingly assembled shadowboxes of her mind, but that also helped to build the nests for the next generation...her grandchildren. She is the supreme example of motherhood, and humanity. She is my husband's mother and my son's grandmother. She is my utmost example and inspiration.

Reflection

She couldn’t help but to notice her own reflection in the bathroom mirror.
It’s not as if she avoids her clone, she often looks but she does not want to see.  She doesn’t want to see the pain that she feels everyday.

She stops and leans closer to the piece of glass.  She can barely recognize the woman looking back at her.

Her green eyes aren’t as bright as they used to be.  The sparkle that had once resided faded immediately.

People used to say that they could see her soul glowing through her eyes.

What do they see now?

She knows it isn’t completely dark.  However, there are shadows that gloom with in her.

Her mind rushes back to a memory of what her eyes and soul used to look like before her life changed forever.

As the memory fades, she forces herself to open her eyes. She glares at the single tear that skims down her pale face.

The pain has certainly taken a toll on her appearance, not only her eyes also her face and her hair.  She used to love her hair.  She runs her fingers through her hair; it isn’t as soft as it was.  The color no longer has the coppery under tone.  It is bleak and lifeless just like her mood.

She strokes her hollow cheek where it once glistened with beautiful color.
The color of love the color of life.

She rubs over and over hoping to scrub away the lifeless feeling.  She feels nothing only numbness.

Her slender hand slides down to her chest, she closes her eyes to concentrate on the sound.  She can no longer feel it, she has to listen.  The trench that once held her heart is empty.  It beats only because it has to; her mind forces it to keep going.  She knows it trembles with every passing day.

She steps back from the mirror; taking a deep breath, she wipes away the single tear.

She gave herself one year, one year to be what she felt.

Today, marks the one-year point, she gives herself a small but sincere smile.

The doorbell rings, it awakens the woman she no longer wants to be.

(This post is purely fictional)