If Only I Could

Mist Mother   Anders Krisar

As a mother with anxiety and depression, I cannot help but feel guilt as I watch my daughter go through the hurt and fight the same battle. I wrote this for her: 

The stars in your eyes have always been bright, the blue shows through to your soul
That soul that is endless, thoughtful, and vast, yet delicate and fragile as truth. The years you’ve walked with me along our path have deepened both love and regard
Your spirit, it wanders both in and out of our world. It sees and knows what’s intangible to us.
You are open and lovely and complicated and Touched. You're a light that illuminates and leaves small embers on everyone you touch

Within that soul though, there lies a darkness so wretched and strong. It can consume
your light and leave only bones. Your spirit fades and you cry
Its leaves are so brown, so black, and so heavy. They weigh you down, those seraphic blue eyes fade
The small annoyances others see, to you are monsters, malevolent with their force
You tremble and shrink into any place that feels removed. Away from it, away from me
I weep with sadness and anger, I want to take it away. If only I could.

That monster is mine and I shared it with you. The genetic darkness I could never control
My fears, the weight, the sadness, and hurt. I had no control and I am so sorry
Guilt steals my sleep, worry bleeds the moments and overtakes what lightness we have
I would consume all of yours so your soul can smile and your light continuously glow
I would lessen the force, I would fight the battle for you. You wouldn’t need to tremble
You wouldn’t need to hide. If only I could.

She won't every be alone in her battle. I will fight my way through hell to make sure she knows that.

One

Our beliefs and decisions are our own. Acceptance and respect should be the only thing we emanate.

Every single morning as the sun rises on new day we are given a chance to open our eyes to new things, take another step forward, learn from each other, find beauty in every moment, to love one another, to work together, to make our splendid and extraordinary world a better place.

Our hands, hearts, and minds should come together to change what isn't working and find ways to shine our light so that it becomes an magnificent warmth covering the entire world. 

There is not one of us alike, but we are all the same.
We can only do this together.
As one.

Life

Life is fleeting, is it not?

Each moment is a step closer to death. The profoundness of that statement haunts me.

There is a book I am reading where they young lady uses a daily mantra to remind herself to be present. She says “I am getting older. My body is decomposing. I am closer to the end”. She also happens to be suffering from leukemia.

Our minds carry tremendous power over us. Oftentimes a mind can create any sort of torment or illness built solely on what it is fed. If a daily mantra of this sort, however present it may make us feel, imparted on our bodies the nearness to death would the body then find a more efficient way to greet death? Similarly, if we fear death daily would that bring death ever closer? Are either of those actual living?

Life is heartbreaking.

Have you ever held the hand of someone you love dearly as they die? I have. 

I watched my mom’s soul rise leaving only a shell behind. Our bodies, as amazing and wonderful as they are, quite simply are hollow vessels that house our spirits.

Death changes you. It changes everything.

The life prior to the death of someone you love ceases and a different one begins.

When my mom died, my circle was broken. My heart was broken, shattered like old glass.

It was empty, I was hollow.

I think about my granny, she is gone and her home will no longer be the place we go home to; that constant no longer exists. Clothes hanging on the line, cedar Christmas trees, her sweetness so gently upon us; none of that will ever be again. The place where my roots were planted will all be dug up and gone.

It makes me sad.

Life is beautiful.
* Looking at sunlight as it streams through the window onto the rug, tiny dust particles floating in the air like fairies in a forest.
* Having my child look up at me with eyes that give me a glimpse all the way through to their souls, their innocence, it takes my breath.
* Walking through a mountain forest on a crisp morning, smelling the laurel and pine, listening to the rustling of some small creature, and a soft breeze breathing a winding path through the leaves.
* Sitting around a fire with people who mean the world to me as love and friendship floats around us like the smoke.
* The youngness I feel whenever I am with my sister – we won’t ever grow old.
* Standing at the ocean with the waves moving sand beneath my feet reflecting on how infinitesimal we are in the universe yet feeling the very wonder of nature as it moves around me.
* Watching the goodness of people in this world and how it overtakes any part of the unkind or hate.
So much beauty...

      
Life is a story.

We are telling our story with each breath and each minute we are here; creating a novel with well-worn pages of who we are. Some lines highlighted while others are too difficult to read; yet we do. Words are written with love, anger, shame, fear, wonder, and tears. Each page filled with notes, edit marks, eraser dust, stains, and illustrations of every single moment of our existence.

I want my book to be beautiful.

When you read it, I want you to understand my every emotion, feel the weight of my tears, and allow the lightness of my smile to linger upon you like a butterfly.  

Other eyes

I was driving home today listening to NPR. They were talking about a book called Atlas Obscura. The book describes the weird, fascinating, mysterious marvels that are all around us. All we have to do is skew the way we look at things just a bit. I turned off the radio and thought about that. 
What all could we see if we observed just a bit differently? 
Much like how Robin Williams showed his students in Dead Poets Society that by standing on their desks the room is completely transformed or how a comic like Calvin and Hobbes can whisk us away on adventures in life and insightful meaning.  
As I drove through our lovely neighborhood I noticed a small brick wall around a yard and the moss that grew around it. I could actually smell the scent of the moss - it's damp, green, wet-dirt, earthy smell. It was lovely. Had I not been reminded to look a bit obliquely at what is around me, I would have missed that moment. 
Now, as I sit here an type the sun is softly glows around the room and shadows dance with every movement. It is beautiful. I think about today. What would I have seen or what did I see that was beautiful by tilting my perspective ever so slightly? I noticed the incredible pride and a smile that stretched for miles when I heard Lynora snap her fingers. She had been practicing for so long. I heard it and I shared that moment with her. Sophie told me that she stayed at school without going to the nurse even though she knew she had a slight fever and didn't feel well. I was so proud of her. She understood that she could control her anxieties and she did. I hugged her so tightly. My husband walked past me and looked at me with a silly sideways eye. I wouldn't have noticed had I not looked up. But I did and we smiled at each other. It was a simple, small, yet very delightful moment. And I was there; I noticed. 
I don't have to enlighten anyone on how marred and wicked life can be. Or how mundane and colorless its routine can paint our path. I would ask you to look up, look at a blade of grass, notice what a stranger is observing, really peer into the eyes of someone you love. 
The sky sees everything differently, as does the blade of grass. That stranger may lead you on a fated journey you didn't realize you needed, and especially take note of the soul's canvas your loved person is inspired by. Other peoples eyes are so very beautiful; so many different colors, so many different ideals and beliefs, so many thoughts and joys. Just like skin and body, we may be all the same in makeup, but each of emit auras of our own colors, we paint our own portrait, our tell our own story, and find our own meaning. And we are all beautiful. If only we could see. 

Stop what you are doing and look, tilt your head ever so slightly, pay attention to what you see.
There is so much beauty, so much there; the entire universe is seen with...
Other eyes. 

I Know

I know.

We all have dreams.
Ones that we wish, ones that we imagine, ones that we truly dream.
Do you ever want to share them?
Do you ever want to share what your subconscious reveals?
I do, yet I am unsure of what you will think or say.
You see, I hear things others don't just by watching your movements.
Just by feeling your emotions.
Because I can.
I was born more sensitive than most. I can hear your thoughts.
I feel what you may not want me to know.
I question what you tell me is truth.
Your emotions are loud. And I hear them.

Some people understand words, math, composition, codes, etc.
I understand those deep things that you feel like you need to hide.
Those things sing melodies in my brain and equate to language all my own.

So say what you will.
I need to hear it.
I need to hear your melody.
I want to find your song.
Because I can.
I was given that gift.
I have full comprehension and acceptance of what I am meant to be.

After all, it is all for you.
That is my predestination.
Call it divine decree or misfortune.
But I see you though you do not show.
I hear you, though you do not say.

Don't worry. I won't judge.
How could I?
I have both the benediction and misfortune.
But I see in my cards, I am mindful.
I honor your thoughts.
I make them my own so I can walk in your shoes.
So I can feel what you feel.
I need to.
It is how I work.
My mindfulness is my good fortune.
I think...

A Merry Go Round

A Merry Go Round

Boys are so different.
They ask too many questions yet never the right ones.
I find myself resenting your lack of understanding.
But I understand your lack of knowledge.
I can't ask you to get me.
I can't ask you to know.
I can't even ask you to really hear my words.
It it only what YOU want to hear.
We like the same things.
It's why we fell in love.
You made my heart race then jump right into your soul.
I have never left.
I am happy here but I wish you could still see and hear me.
I wish I could still be the girl that you loved.
The one who went to concerts with my hair crazy because you liked it when it dried by itself.
The one you kissed, just behind my ear, because you thought it was the very thing to do.
It was.
It still is.
Where is that girl whose hand you took everywhere we went?
When did my words lose their volume?
How did I get to a place where you choose not to see me?
I try to open you up but you close me off.
You don't know that girl anymore.
You don't want to.
You see a different person.
She is not me.
She is not me...

Practicing Life

Practicing Life

Each day I find myself in a sort of haze; a routine of movement.

A stagnancy that at times drags me down with its weight.


The trees seem as gray as the streets and the light in the sky is harsh.

Conversation is being spoken but I hear very little. I have retreated.


There is a hole inside of me, a deep dark abyss that I fight daily.


The gravity of life pulls and I am weakened from the adiposity.


The soft breeze turns to dust and I want to run away.

Mourning is not an option, I yearn to find the light.

Each day brings distractions that cannot be ignored.


A question, an assignment, an anxious child, one that thought she was big enough...they all take presedence over my choice.


My life.


I talk, I fuss, they ask, they presume, they say things.


I allow them to make me feel less than.


I am the one who decides.

Yet I let them.

Why am I so afraid of taking on my own life?

I honestly just want to be me.


All me.


The good the bad, the serious the funny, the writer with crazy dreams and thoughts, the girl who has so many parts, so much depth, so open to what is around her. So sensitive to every emotion and vulnerability.


The one who has within her all of the things I need and a lot of what others need.

I know that but I'm afraid to show it.

I don't want anyone to think I am boastful.


I just want to be the girl I was supposed to be.

Me.


Still, the one I want everyone to like.


But what if they don't?

What if they laugh at me or question my motives?

What if I am not the person I expected to be?

What if...

That is why I practice life.

Rather than truly live it.