Brigitte Nowers
Inspiration Piece

Inkling
By Darice Jones
Response

There were sparkly little insights she had now that she didn’t then
At this point, they seemed to tether her spirit to the center of things
The insights would pop up, quick, like grass in the fertile grounds of Northern California after a light rain
They also hung in the air like the mass of water floating above the trees on that one orphic path
You know, the one that the people in their late teens and early twenties were too spooked to walk down
She tried to hold her new understandings in place, believing that was the best way to honor her growth
But in that way life can be, the insights would immediately camouflage themselves, hiding in the details of her days
Hiding in her daydreaming while driving, her doodling, her friends and family, her work
Color blending into color
Confusing the issue
But the knowing, hiding itself in plain sight inspired her to keep going all day long until she tired herself out from the spiritual
scavenger hunt
Finally she would sleep
Slowly opening the dream portal
Climbing the ladder of many tints and tossing Ghanaian Adinkra symbols into the mouths of passing birds
Up, up to where her many grandmothers lived in deep consciousness
Pineal parents who planted pink seeds so they could watch her divine love flourish
At night they poured celestial buckets of shimmering green water over her and blew new songs onto her skin
“It’s better to have an inkling, my dear daughter, than to think you know for sure.”
They’d said that to her many times over the years, but she could not remember it when she woke up
Only the hint of a doorway
A glow that she could enter in the lean times
And breathing so deep that it seemed to create whole worlds

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Lauren Carney
“Garden of One”
ink, paint, pen, and pencil mixed media
Response

One Woman
By Kamika Cooper
Inspiration piece

I am one woman
the one who won your love and captured your once broken heart
I sit in gratitude of those who came and went before me, those who,
not realizing the treasure they had, stepped aside when love was no longer
enough and as these women moved, you grew, you healed, and were renewed

I am the woman
the one to whom you have chosen to bare your soul
the one you stand naked before, so beautiful and strong
you don’t realize the goddess you have become, but I see her, I see you
and you are mine, I am yours, we are ours, enveloped in sweet oneness

I am one woman
unlike any other flower you picked from those other paths you walked
I am an entire garden here for your exploration and cultivation
my love for you is growing each day from the foundation you have laid
so get ready, because I intend to remain THE one, YOUR one, WE won!

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Note: All of the art, writing, and music on this site belongs to the person who created it. Copying or republishing anything you see here without express and written permission from the author or artist is strictly prohibited.

Lauren Carney
“Dynamic”
ink, paint, pen, and pencil mixed media
Inspiration piece

A Cure for the Best
By Kamika Cooper
Response

Mark Carter died. People in town attended his funeral and brought baked goods to his widow, Janet, and twelve year-old son, Mason. They sat with Janet as she dabbed fat tears from her cheeks.

Less than a week later, one early evening just before sunset, Mark reappeared at home as if nothing happened. Janet thought she was hallucinating and questioned her sanity. But Mason greeted his father as usual, without hesitation. Mark’s hazel-green eyes, dark wavy hair, and deep-dimpled warm smile was missing only one thing – the small mole which sat high on his cheek, just below his left eye. When Janet spoke of his recent death and funeral, Mark responded with dismissive laughter. He had just seen her and Mason that morning before work and was returning home from his annual physical, where he received a clean bill of health. He suggested that she’d had a little too much wine, which was probably true, and that she should turn in early.

In the subsequent days’ encounters, the people who attended the funeral had no reaction to Mark’s sudden reappearance. They interacted with Janet and her family as if the previous week of mourning ceased to exist. Janet visited the funeral home seeking answers from the director. She accepted a cup of hot chamomile mint tea to calm her frayed nerves while waiting. Within a few moments, she lost consciousness. When she woke, she found herself suspended within a clear orb, unable to move or speak. Her family’s doctor stood before her and, in a soothing voice, began to explain.

After years of research and experimentation, he perfected a gamma ray suspension delivery method. The method triggered four specific areas of the human body to cure all diseases, to sustain and restore recently lost life. At first, the doctor simply used a smaller gamma ray to remove the mole beneath Mark’s eye to prevent skin cancer, but it wasn’t enough. Mark’s recent lab work revealed a rare, aggressive cancer coursing throughout his blood. Though he showed no symptoms, he would have died in a few weeks. There was no other choice but to heavily sedate him, and pretend he had suffered a heart attack, in the event the method did not work.

Now, Mark was restored to perfect health, with only one known side effect – permanent memory loss of the two weeks preceding the method – a small consequence for the many lives the doctor would choose to save. Everyone in the small town, including Mason, had been easily captured, quickly cured and released. Everyone, except Janet. The doctor injected a syringe of fluid into the orb and as Janet drifted toward darkness, he reassured her that she would be home in no time and wouldn’t remember a thing. All he had done and would do, was for the best. Only the best would be cured.

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Below the Surface
by Pippa Possible
Response

Twelve years old, she is strong and lean. Two years old, my little arms drape around her neck. My legs wrap around her waist. We dunk below the surface.

We are swimming in a lake of water so clear, we can see details as through a magnifying glass.

Every multicolored mottled stone and pebble. Every fish, illuminated by the midsummer midday sun. Scales glistening sequins. The air smells of aloe-vera sunscreen, and campfire smoke. The sun is direct, and immediately hot on my back. The water is comfortably cool, near tepid. Goose bumps still appear on my wet arms.

Below the surface, my sister and I are surrounded by fish. We swim rapidly through occasional schools of them. Synchronized swimmers. We attempt to join their underwater dance. Fish disperse in random directions upon our intervention. A few fish swim toward us, near enough.

I imagine that I can pet them with my bare hands. I want to pet these fishes as I have learned to pet cats and dogs, gently and calmly. A fish makes eye contact with me, before flitting rapidly away.

We are pretending to be a dolphin. My sister, the swimmer. She propels us through the water using the force of her strong legs. I feel safe, attached to my sister’s back, like a barnacle. In this moment, I can gauge my own strength. I hold on firmly. She brings us close to the bed of the lake.

My sister and I explore the bright depths. The water magnifies details. Rays of sunlight filter through the water from above. Illumination. We glide across the bed of the lake, slowly. My toes graze across the slick pebbles. Fish now swim beside us, seemingly undisturbed and unperturbed.

My lungs begin to burn. I signal to my sister with a light pinch on the shoulder. She changes direction and kicks fiercely, thrusting us rapidly to breach at the surface. Lob-tailing, we create as much splashing as we can. I am the blowhole, loudly coughing and spitting water into the air. Gasping to inhale as deeply as my lungs can bear.

Scorched breaths!

We can hear our parents at the shore, laughing at how silly we appear. My mother is sitting at the blue picnic table, tending to charlie-horses in her feet. My father is tending to the campfire, poking at kindling with a stick.

Below the surface, the fish again are scarce. Our dolphin act has frightened them away. I want to remain below, resting on the cool slick pebbles until the fish feel safe to return. I want to befriend these fishes, and swim with them, in synchronous movements. I want to grow gills, so my need for air will not frighten them away. I want to stay here with them, below the surface.

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Note: All of the art, writing, and music on this site belongs to the person who created it. Copying or republishing anything you see here without express and written permission from the author or artist is strictly prohibited.