You have entered the realm of a writer.

Welcome to A Writer's Landscape!

You have entered the realm of my mind where words play with the fabric of our existence. This is the map of my imagination: the very foundations of inspiration, musing, and thought splayed for your wandering eyes. Dive deep into the tides of these forces and experience my reality, my fantasy, my world; and if you should be so inclined, share your words with this land.

Peace and Love!

J Hart F

Thursday, March 10, 2011


How do I shelter my own heart? It's opened. It's shattered. It's free of boundaries while I rebuild the delicate forests of love, trust, acceptance, and balance which I so readily uprooted for what I believed was everlasting and unconditional. Little was my motion aware of the conditioning it harvested on the grounds fertile with growth, life... and love. And now I find the patterns of scars inlaid among the roots, the trees, the leaves falling gently from the ravaging torrent of earth shattering decisions.

Here a light has illuminated my work once more. Here my soul has reached an undeniable consequence of freedom; and in searching this trail my musings have offered another comfort and reality such that both sky and ground can uniformly heal without fear of conditionality. In doing so, the stars have fallen and gifted me with deeper, gentler, virile waters to endorse the spreading of beauty in the domain of my heart. Sun drenched warmth folded upon the darkness and revived such living jubilation among the trees like twilit demigods circling a glade filled with flitting fireflies and dancing flames. Unfortunately, the sun is in no control of the hands that tend this land.

I cannot hold the light; cannot declare or determine the stance it takes in my world. Clouds threaten and foresight preludes rain's drenching possibility. Time ticks by and warns of speeding the lanes across the heavens if chance permits. My possibilities of enchanting is to remain grounded and ensure the beauty of my own world. It shines as long as the earth remains beautiful, peaceful, enigmatic, and interesting. Here I plant myself. Here hopes flourish and sprout, grow and engage, manifest and entice.

But hopes are merely the surface of aspiration. I hope the mending covers my heart and spring gently into ever present love, everlasting happiness, togetherness evermore. But this sun, this orb of purity and life, has choices to make for itself, paths to discern, orbits to enter and proliferate... As I as a light must do for myself. But first I tend, I mend, I rend the soil of its scars and filter the views toward a future of belonging happiness and planted openness. Aide is appreciated, and the warmth of his smile helps in my healing.

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