What They See

They see a flower
when they look
that’s what they see
a flower
tall and straight
soft and beautiful
greeting the sun
open to the bees
open to everyone
when they look
they see a flower
that’s what they see
a flower.
They think it’s me.
Am I what they see?
Am I what they perceive?

Am I what I have been?
Am I something between?
Does it sort itself out?
What does it mean

when they see the flower
and I know the roots tell the truth-laden story?
They see a flower. I feel the roots.
The roots are my power. The roots are my hold on life.

They see a flower. I feel the roots.

Whose perception is reality?

Whose reality is only perception?

They see a flower when they look.

that’s what they see, a flower.

They think it’s me.

−me strauss Letting me be

Believing Instead of Wishing

I was in an elevator in the UK, on my way to a meeting. A young lady who was chatting with me as we went to the conference room said, “You travel internationally. Oh that must be so glamorous.”

I smiled to myself, thinking I was her once. How do I tell her that it’s not without taking something from her?

Sometimes the words come out the way they should.

“Glamour is only glamour from far away. Up close it looks like life with all its warts. Even movie stars have bad days.”

She was a smart one, that young lady. She stopped and gave a thought. Then I saw her eyes smiling widely. “Yes, and I suppose that it’s ok for it to be that way. We look at them and they look at us – just as the king wishes he could be a person. I guess we need to know which one we want. It’s decisions that count not wishes.”

She was only twenty-five. I was older by a lot. By the time the elevator stopped she had become quite glamorous to me.

Glamour is about belief.

If I believe my dream, my wishes will become decisions.

−me strauss Letting me be