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.

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.

Window

We are going to take a visceral journey tonight.

There is a place in all of us; beyond conscious everyday thought. We find it when we are quiet and can listen to the internal conversation of our heart. The voice is smothered each day with errands, distractions, calendars, dinner, work, feeding the dog, laundry, meeting a friend, crying children, worries, guilt, and so on. 
There are many things that I work on. Most I am doing with passable acceptance, others I thought were on a forward path. As it turns out, I was wrong.
The window I was using to see life through was muddled by what I thought was the dust and sadness from what was missing or wrong in my life. It was difficult to focus and terribly straining to examine. One night, on the many where my sleep is encroached upon by the wide owl eyes of worriment and contemplation, it occurred to me to try and wipe the window panes. All I could manage was one little area but oh, the difference it made! An image became so clear and distinct that it was a bit startling.
That image was my own face.

 We all have windows.

As children, they were big open windows with ethereal sheers blowing from the garden breeze.
As adults, we have dust, dirt, sadness, anger, resentment...haze, but it is there because we put it there.
You see, I listened to that soft voice telling me I could wipe it off. That voice whispered to me softly saying I could make things better. It said I was worth making that first move - because it was mine to make. Even if it is just a small little speck. There is peace in that.
You know what happened when I started to wipe things away? I let go. It is a beautiful feeling to truly let go.
That sadness I thought was caused by someone else not giving me what I needed? The anger I felt because something wasn't going my way? The resentment of life because it is fucked up and unfair sometimes? That is weight I carried on my shoulders, or more importantly on my heart.
On that night, my tears filled with old built-up regret and hurt cleaned that spot. I let them stream down my face into the pillow. Out of me. Out of my soul.
That lightness of life I am supposed to have and crave with every fiber of my being, it is there. I can't quite see yet, but I know it is there. I'll keep loosening the grime and look forward to the sunshine finding its way back in.

That window is still open, I just need to tidy up a bit.