The Edge

In life we walk.
We choose our own paths.
There are times the path is clear,
And times we must clear our own.

Decisions.
They are so difficult to make.
Because what if you're wrong?
What if you are lead to a cliff?

Then what?

I have making my way down those paths.
All leading to a cliff.
One that there would be no coming back from.
It terrified me.

I stood there so many times.
Looking over, wondering.
Do I go back and find another way?
Or do I jump?

I have processed and pondered.
Imagined and wondered.
Dreamt about and longed for
That edge. That jump.

One day something made me stop
I turned to look back
It was a single gesture, a single moment
With intense relief, I walked away from the edge.

Discard and Gather

Discard and Gather

When we are born we learn to gather.

We gather mother's milk, her love...every one's love.

We gather language, expressions, understanding.

Muscle tone, movement, balance, control.  

Emotions are the hardest and take the longest. 

As parents, we hope to help our children understand and manage them.

What a job that is...

Emotions will always be with us, and govern us. 

How we control them is how we earn our wings in life right?

Learning to understand another human is integral; yet one of our hardest lessons.

When you learn to understand and accept another human being - as-is -

That is when you understand everything else in the world.

Acceptance, not judgment. 

That is what we were put here to do. 

We learn to discard other's opinions.

Those who wish us nothing more than hurt

The simple misuse of human or animal affinity.

Or easily the apathetic human nature stored deep inside all of us.

You grow and learn and accept.

There is never a moment that isn't a lesson.

Take from others and obstacles what is best. 

Discard what wasn't good. 

It wasn't meant for you anyway.

So many people argue; so many postulate, so many mindsets. 

Where is the concession?

I want to admit something...

You think I am talking about the world in general?

No, I am asking personally. 

When you find yourself with little to gather, 

When do you allow yourself to discard?

Where is earthwork in your garden that separates the growth from the walkway?

Some choose to, or are taught to - directly or indirectly, 

to allow some sort of detached control.

These long suffering wounds are free to fester.

The damage, of which, disseminates everything within reach.

Misery does seek company. 

As does insufficiency.

As with any disease, you must learn to identify indications.

Where did it begin? How did it spread?

If it rooted in your own infrastructure, you must face it.

Accept it and heal it. 

From your heart to your mind. 

If outside of that, you find counter-agents and or medicament's to heal.

You can't blame it on the okra growing happily beside it. 

Or the spirited little weed that sprouted alongside. 

You look directly at the issue that is apparent.

That is what you repair.

It is the only way others will be able to gather your goodness. 

And be able to discard what isn't. 

I walk the garden of my life every single day. 

I gather the fruit of which is viable,

And satisfying.

I am learning to discard what is not.

To discard what is afflicted and irreparable.. 

Then, and only then, can the bountifulness of life 

fall into your basket.

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.  

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.

Life

Life.

It is amazing.
And awful.
And magnificent.
And unyielding.
And incredible.

Having a four year old in your life is nothing short of beautiful. "Mommy, I ate my vestibools (vegetables)!", Upon seeing a photo her sister drew of her, she replies very sternly and quizzically - "I don't have any wegs". Sister - "That's ok". Four-year-old (holding her leg in the air) - "They awyah wight heeyuh". Sister draws the full body - with wegs. "Mommy, I wuv you mo-wuh than Fwozen".
That sweet baby, yet a little bit girl, who makes my heart evaporate into lightness and sparkles. I love her.

It gets so troublesome sometimes, Dreadfully heavy. Don't get me wrong, my gratitude for every new morning my eyes can open to a sunrise, is quite immense. But, some days "life" can sink you. You feel like you've been buried by all of the weight it can bring: refugees fleeing incredible suffering, sickness and decline, personal pain - both physical and mental - that constantly seems to interweave thorns throughout my being, guilt and disfavor that have managed to barnacle themselves on what should be a confident human, and weariness, whose definition need not be defined, for it is inherently felt. Life is most certainly a very arduous path.

That marvelous moment you find exactly what you need. Right this second - in something that could have very easily been overlooked had you not permitted wakefulness. I treasure these moments. I only hope that I allow that open-eyed mindfulness to remain alert. Otherwise, I cease to live in this world.

My four year old's school lost their tortoise mascot this week. Djembe roamed their playground, allowed moments of gentle play, and trumbled (my own word) right through those very children to explore at will. He drowned after escaping their playground. When we started this new school last month, he was the most exciting thing in her/our world. Lynora didn't even seem to mind going to a brand new place with brand new people because Djembe was there. He became a meaningful part of her world before she ever knew him. Every day we grew to love him more. I have known that (sort-of little) sweet, bumbly thing for only a month, but he made a very big impact on our lives and we will miss him so so much.

The bounce back: this is when your children forgive you after a bad-parenting-moment, seemingly unfazed or damaged. As a parent and a coriaceous creature of this world, understanding this extraordinary bounce back is both inexplicable and invaluably precious. The fact that they do it on a regular basis makes you feel that life is the cat's pajamas and all is right with the world.

Y'all, I can't say that I am okay at all times, nor can I say that I am not. What I can admit is that I rather like life. I am here for a reason and I am meant to be exactly where I am at this moment. I will try to forgive my shortcomings, yet I will never apologize for who I am. I will remember that, though I may be nothing but a passing thought to most, I am an entire chapter to others. Things get difficult. We all ride the hills and valleys and it is fucking hard. We can't control the struggle, but we can certainly control our reaction. Given the divine sanction that is life, we are free to assess the value we put upon it. Let's make it high.

The summation of our entire lives comes down to one word.

Love.
It makes ALL things work.