I cannot quench this aching bloom in my heart
with spilled tea

or words but I never want to stop touching rocks
like when I went camping and came home with pieces of the river

or when I crawled in ancient caves and all I wanted was the earth,
more earth in my pockets and in my soul

like the people who have nothing to feed their children, but the soil they are dying on
still holds them,
their bodies wasting, buildings crumbling, and the land stays still and deep,
more patient than any of us.

We have earth and god, but god is too hard to touch, to smell
so we cling to stones and lie our bones down in rivers

on sand

in grass

and we drink the breath of the trees and we scream that it isn’t fair it isn’t right
but still we are here
and we collect stones.

I belong to me. 
Heart pumping bold, strong blood. 
Lungs fill, diaphragm expands. 
Here I sit. Here I walk.
Here I dance.
Here I run. Here I sing.
I belong to me. 

there are 2 things i know for sure, but i seem to have forgotten them both.

and so, i’ll dream for both of us.

but where do they exist? these beautiful terrible things. I feel them. I see them. I can even taste them. I almost even know them. Here they seem to be – and yet so distant. so intangible. so … vacant. lost and existing somewhere else. Too close. Too deep. Way too Far.

breathe me in and tell me it’s ok.
because how shall i know.
and when i hear these 2 sounds
in my heart, which one pulls
further?
tell me you live to love.
tell me.

and i think how far it is.

– a younger me, 02/25/2004

Shapes.
Colors.
Space.

…I’m unexpectedly back on a nature trail by an ancient cemetery. And another. In another cemetery. They are peaceful, the dead. No chatter. No needs. My sister used to take solace in a graveyard and I then thought it so strange. Something at which to raise an eyebrow. Yet, now,…a peaceful sun-filled stroll near those resting souls…This is what I wish for today. But they have closed the cemetery. A virus is killing people and we are even shut out from the already-dead. It is tiresome, all this shutting and closing. Hiding and protecting. None of us want to discuss it any more yet we cannot stop. It overtakes every conversation and infiltrates every thought. Each hope. See? I always circle back to it, of course. When I took that magic breath in this rare quiet home a few moments ago, the last thing I wanted to be thinking about was the Coronavirus. It only took a few sentences. Wearying, this. All of this.

I will pick up my writing where I’ve left off. As if I’ve just paused in the grassy trail to attend to some things…check my pockets, look around. Hold the small creature who needs. Needs and needs. But a breath, a step. Towards the sun. Towards the light. Or maybe the sun warms my back this time. What time of day is it? I never seem to know. Always seem to be a few minutes or hours behind. Behind what? The world as it marches and spins it’s frantic rhythm. Steady, unrelenting. My child always needing me a few moments ago. Wanting to find my own pace, yet pulled in directions that make it difficult to hear my own clock. Sun, moon, guide me along this earthy route. Remind me to look East.

Hello, 2021, let us be friends.

Our garden down by the lake grew wild and untamed…occasionally watered by someone permitted to enter…while the rest of us wondered what unchecked tricks our plants were performing. When we were finally allowed in, the favas and radishes were taller than my child, in our tiny little plot. A small patch of wilderness, easily tamed by plucking – and tasting – the peppery pods and spicy sweet delicate flowers of the radishes long past harvest. A bite of a newly sprouted kale leaf; a pinch of mint. And then we neglected to water and most of it died.

And then we replanted and remembered to water, and it thrived.

And then the smoke came and we hid inside and it died again.

We planted strawberries on our balcony and – miracle! They thrived! No squirrels to pillage our fruit. For weeks, nearly every day there was a new ripe berry. We also planted a few peas, and they grew tall and green and then…as the first flowers came, they slowly began to die from the bottom up – withering curiously until the dry yellow death reached the newly ripe peas and halted all growth. Luella and I had left town by then, so Derek got that first and only harvest. When we returned, we waited until the chill came and then we planted more. And then the heat came back, so there’s no telling whether they will grow. But this week there are sprouts. Promising. Hopeful.

This wretched gray sky stirs
All fears. Memories.
Terror of new remembrances yet to knock me.
Flings the pathetic little fragile pieces lined up on the shelf.
They are nothing.

They are something.
They are everything.
She is your everything.
You have it all.
Love is all. Sweet tragic soul.
Let it be enough.
And let the rest go.

Grief, you guys. It’s not only about someone dying. But yes, that. And also, letting go of a dream. Or just...change. Something changes to replace something else...and something is lost and something is gained. Moving on is always a loss. But...such opportunity. Such hope. I’ve learned (or at least, I hear) that eventually it is possible to drop the pain...memories intact. Get to a place where you can think about, or remember...pain-free. I don’t know. I know some of us have sensitive souls. Tender hearts. While life may be full of joy and life and love...lately it seems impossible to imagine ever escaping the up down up down cycle. And have I always been trying to escape? Maybe. At least climb higher. But I guess a better strategy is to notice and embrace completely each season. Each day. Each moment. I flopped on the bed last week with a sigh, as I surrendered to this fact, yet again (I’ve surely revisited it many times throughout my life).

As an old friend always used to say: “There have to be downs to be ups.” Man, that feels trite sometimes. But sometimes it feels like profound wisdom. And hope. 

So. Mindfulness. And presence.  

Always.    

And maybe a pumpkin spice muffin.  

Oh, to be inside her pure, sweet mind, noticing dust for the very first time and seeing it as something magical and beautiful. Something to bring joy and delight. Something to be seen "Again! Again!" I found myself shaking blankets, stuffed toys, and smacking quilts to bring back the magical "bubbles." Noting, each time, that I should probably wash - or at least smack, shake - that particular item outside (and then vacuum). She began shaking her beloved bunny in an attempt to make it rain dust. 

What world is this? The concept of judgement or assigning (a negative) meaning to such a thing as gathering dust...it doesn't exist for her, in this wonderful world of "first everythings." When does that creep in? How is it learned? She is still interpreting things purely, through observation and original joy. She is safe. Loved. It is (is it?) inevitable that the magic will fade. But why? How? She will become bored of it first. Seeking the next shiny new experience. Could it be because mom and dad tire of doing the same thing again and again (and pass along that message)? Or something else. Maybe far deeper. Innate. At some point, she might learn to associate the presence of dust with a need to clean, and cleaning with something unpleasant. Oh, how...if only...I could keep her from all the unpleasantness of this world. If we could only keep our babies safe and happy and trusting forever and ever. And also, I want to feel that same thrill of seeing bubbles where there is merely dust. The way the particles float gently through the air, observed by crossing a radiant beam of sunshine...the otherworldly pace of each tiny speck's movement...as if we are all under water, or in a dream...

There is magic in it. Dust.

She also squeals with joy when I do vacuum (a testament to how infrequently I care to do so, though she's also started sweeping the floor for me...a testament to how frequently I insist upon swept floors) and begs for more. Perhaps I should tell her it will destroy all the bubbles. And I wonder what other extraordinary mysteries can be found in my un-spotless home? I have so much to learn from her.

Today I have a boundary. It was not self-imposed and I fought it a bit. But here I am, with no car, and no simple way to get places. Except to walk. And suddenly all the "shoulds" that require a car just fell away. They aren't holding me captive or even perched on my shoulders. They are irrelevant. There is such freedom within parameters. A wild untamed mind like mine will generate hundreds of ideas for activities, sights, adventures, experiences, errands, tasks, visits - within the span of a day or an hour. But today, they don't matter. I can relax into this moment. This space. This time. A prisoner freed.

Oh, to carry this presence with me – can I, will I do it? Help me remember. 

I sometimes long for the energy, excitement, adventure that presented itself with ease, and almost no effort when I lived in New York. So much to see! To taste! To explore! To hear and, always, to feel. But somewhere along the way, all those delicious, magical "coulds" morphed into "shoulds" and "wish-I-hads" or worse, "I'll-never-get-tos." Future and past sadnesses. When the NOW was always exactly enough. Hadn't I seen it? Can't I now? 

I just learned something amazing this week that I'm holding fast and close: emotions last (flow through us?) for only 90 seconds on average. It is only when we douse them with the kerosene of our thoughts that they become fiery and big and too much to handle. I am noticing them. Feeling them in my body. My heart, my gut, my eyes. I can sit with any feeling for 90 seconds. It is entirely possible. I merely need to summon the discipline to gently swat away each thought that hurries to this small flame...anxiously hoping to leap upon it and become a part of the oh-so-seductive bonfire. No thank you. I am allowing this flow. Feeling and watching as they dance around, generating the sorts of sensations that emotions do to the body (heat, tears, flutters, knots, pain), and then moving on. Out of the body. Into ... where? Dissolving into the vastness of the stillness surrounding each of us. Or the flow of life. I don't know. I don't have to.

So maybe what I'm saying is ... thank you, me. This presence provides a safe space for emotion to release and flow free. And dissolve. And it is cleansing. 

I see stars.  

I see sky.  

And that could be all. 

I’m an observer. A questioner. A seeker. A wonderer. An appreciator of beauty. I enjoy asking questions, and seek others who do, as well. Let’s be curious together! I feel very vulnerable around people who are not seekers, because when I ask questions, (in my head, at least…this could be projection) they perceive me as incompetent or unknowing. I value wisdom. I have an inner knowing. But it’s never complete. I ask because I am curious. I want to know what you think. Not because I want you to tell me what I should think. (Or what, definitively, “is.” Eyeroll. Come ON.) I also ask because sometimes I forget to trust my sweet self. My incredibly wise inner guide who already knows. I forget. But I need seekers and questioners who will help me to remember. Not “knowers” who will pounce on this “weakness” and use it as an opportunity to boost their own ego strength as an authority. And it’s a delicate balance to write this stuff…because I love to guide others. Answer questions. Encourage, ask, suggest, and help. (You need encouragement? Put me at the top of your list!). But it comes from a place of seeking. And sometimes knowing. But not facts. Instead, feeling. A deeper knowing. Experience. Intuition. And, sometimes, guessing I suppose. I’m human, after all. We all have to guess sometimes, and try and wait and see.

But I’m seeking you. More of you. To laugh and play and explore this beautiful world together. With our babies, perhaps. Or maybe not. (Though, mine is here to stay.) To taste and enjoy and read and share and walk and listen and feel and appreciate. To dance and write and talk and cry and love and hug and live in awe of each moment. 

Help me remember these feelings when I lose them. Help bring me back when I forget my appreciation. Share your life with me and let’s grow together.

Seeking place and space and love and home. (Still a fish out of water on the West Coast).

Seeking friends.

Today. Now. Why doesn't it feel like enough? And...

How do you measure it? Do you count the pieces of mangled food that have been flung to the floor? The number of paper towels it took to clean them? The belly laughs that truly brought a smile to your face, and perhaps a laugh to your own? The snuggles and hugs. The times you lifted and lowered. Lifted and lowered. Held, put down. Held, put down. Your body is aching. Your wrists are in pain. You feel broken and drained. How to refill? Do you measure today by how dry your hands are? How many times you washed and rinsed and wiped and rinsed again? How many nails are splitting and broken. How many times your eyelids fell shut. How many blocks you didn't walk. How many art projects gone untouched. How many pieces of drying clay? Do you count the checked boxes? Completed tasks? Maybe add a few more to check off? What if there are no checked boxes?

The sweet tiny books you read with another small human...for the one hundredth time. Did you find something different on the pages today? Did you take a deep breath before...any of it?

And what does it mean when you don't want to do the things you do want to do? How to make sense of it? To forgive it? To forgive yourself. To forgive the tiny human. Your partner. Your choices. When love is overflowing...and then muted. Just soft. Hard to access. Blank. I must be so tired. Time is tapping my shoulder and ticking. I seek presence to escape the ticking, yet seeking implies action or movement and I am still and stuck. So tired. I just can't.

It will pass. It always will pass. Energy awaits somewhere.

I’ve been looking directly into my own eyes. My reflection. What do I see? What don’t I see? When I stare directly into my own smiling eyes in the mirror I literally cannot see the flaws on my skin in my peripheral view. They fade away. Cease to exist. Am I the only one who used to look at them anyway? 

Where is the line between advice and judgement? Wisdom and opinion. Observation and thought. How can we perceive the world through a lens that is unbiased? Impossible, of course. Questions to savor as I continue to welcome wisdom.

I will listen more. 

Oh, these days we are living. These times. Do we all know too much? Too little? Where does our power lie? Have we caused it? Ignored it? Can we still move mountains? Is possibility alive? Is all the green dying everywhere? Replaced with mud and ashes and blood and brown and gray and black. We will see it again when all the ice melts.