Author: Jana Horton

I write to soothe my soul. I empty my words onto napkins, scraps of paper, receipts... anything really. When I was very young my mom told me to stop writing on my hand. I never did. I write on it to this day. I’ve lost so many scraps of Self on soggy napkins; I’ve yet to lose my hand. The words I scribble there may wash off, but since they are inscribed in my soul, once they are released, from heart to hand, I am allowed to let them go.

Malaga Spain

Majestic arches into times now unknown.

Ruling governments conquered, then overthrown.

Surrounded now, as it was surrounded then,

by beauty and grace, and by hoards of men.

Forgetting and forgotten wisdom of God,

treading in the streets that were so often trod.

The Grecians, the Romans and the Sultan Kings,

The beauty, the wisdom and powerful things.

Did they hear Wisdom’s words? Did they heed her call?

Or forsaken, surprised, at their city’s fall?

Nothing remains now but the mortar and stone

And sweet imaginations I dream alone.

A city surrounded by legend on sea;

And treasured by Nations, by kings, and by me.

Water Bug

Water bug, water bug,

large and gross.

Water bug water bug,

don’t get close.

I’ll screech, I’ll scream,

I’ll jump, I’ll shout!

I’ll squash you Bug,

if you don’t get out!

No one likes guts and gore.

Not on the kitchen floor.

But I’ll screech, I’ll screem,

I’ll jump, I’ll shout!

I’ll squash you Bug,

if you don’t get out!

Get out!

Why Love Then?

Why Love Then.
When we love we put ourselves in a place of eventuality.
The possibility of beauty and the possibility of ruin is equal, in the prospect of loving another.
It is as likely that love changes us into an exquisite many-faceted crystal, as it is that love changes us into mired dirt, broken and trod upon.

Why love then? Why risk the elemental pressure of nature, taking a small measure of love, and turning it into something beyond the control of a beating heart.

Dust or glitter. Dirt or quartz.

Do we choose how love will turn out when offered to others?
No.

We control just one thing. How our love is given. Is it given unreservedly? Is it given with the knowledge that there may be extreme pain, because the death of love may be more devastating than never loving?

Love changes that which it owns.

Why love then?

Though devastated; though destroyed; there is an unmistakable echo in the heart of one who loves. Words may be garbled and feelings may be crushed; nevertheless the echo is there in a still quite Voice.
“You Love. Love is the greatest gift given by the heart of a living soul. You Love. That which you have planted in tears will be reaped in joy because you LOVE.”

The beating heart, which yields to Love in the smallest of ways, will never be the same. The unabashed heart which yields in totality may be trampled and yet; Love changes that which it owns.

Why love then? Why love when the heart may be broken and the offering may be trampled as dirt, and blown by the wind? Why love when offering love may not produce glorious, solid, observable beauty?

Love for the eventuality. Love for the possibility. Love for love’s eternal harvest; the increase of Love.
Why love? GOD is love and when we love we are like Him.

Why love?

Love for LOVE’S sake then.

Fiery Fleck (Around the Fire)

Find joy in a moment gazing at a lone fiery fleck

sacred solitude;

reflection in a sensory speck.

Sit in silence peering in wonder at the roaring pyre.

The universe collides with thought, around a blazing fire.

Yellow, orange and deep blue burn consuming both wood and thought.

Soul simplicity emerges; artistic renderings wrought.

Hearts melt in the dancing fire.

Churning flames; fanning desire.

Insipid reason slips from mind, challenged by warmth and light.

Sacred silence, oh fiery fleck, love profound, darkest night.