That Time My Younger Self Visited

I'm doing a project that is designed to foster a mindful beginning to the coming year. One of today's assignments was to draw a map of a neighborhood you lived in. As I was drawing my map, this memory floated to the surface and I wanted to write a bit about it all. It's still such a visceral memory/experience. 

We moved from this neighborhood the summer before my 4th grade year. They were buying everyone out so they could sell or tear down the small frame houses and build bigger homes. It was a move up for our family, to be sure. But my mother mourned this move deeply. We often went back by to see if our little house was gone. One day it was gone and there was an empty lot. Sometime later, a nice brick home stood in the place where our little frame home had stood. The home where we hung out on the porch to wait for my father to come home after work. The home that had a heater with a vent in the floor that kind of scared me. It could have swallowed any of us up if we'd stepped wrong and fallen. Maybe I thought the devil lived down in there? It was also the home that heralded the arrival of my younger sister and brother. My first "best friend" lived across the street. The place itself, the land where our house was, holds many sweet family memories.

The neighborhood is not that far away. One day I was in the area and had time to kill so I drove by. All but one of the older homes have been torn down and new homes are on most of the old lots.

I circled around to the back of where our house was. That lot was empty so I stopped there. I was in a meditative mood and looking across to the gully when a young girl appeared, as though she had crossed the gully from our old backyard. It was like seeing a young doe in the woods. We were both a little unsure of what we were seeing and maybe we were both a little wary. But our eyes met and I knew she was my younger self.  The vision lasted only a few moments longer. It was such a sweet communion. I felt so loved and at peace afterwards. I cried. Tears well up as I write this now.

Thresholds (and Horizons)

I go back to MD Anderson every 3-4 months for checkups. During the between times, I really don't think much at all about my history of cancer. But each time, as the time for the appointments gets closer, I do start to think and fret, just a little bit, over what they might find. I wonder whether or not the cancer has come back. I'm a realist, the return is always a possibility. I don't want to have a fatalistic attitude about the possibility, but I also never want to breeze in to my checkups with the mindset that this is a problem that has been completely and totally obliterated.

Sometimes I get aggravated about having to go back so often, about having to take so many days off work to go get checked out. It's just part of the process. And the times between appointments will eventually get longer, if I keep having clear scans. But right now, the 3-4 months seem to pass so quickly and I feel like I'm going again when I just returned from being checked! I'd like to put it all out of my mind and my sight and just move on with my life. Like it was before the cancer. Every time I go back, I am reminded of the vulnerable state of my health.

I've been thinking about thresholds this month. This past week, while I was in Houston, showing up for various tests and appointments, I realized, that's all this is--another threshold that I happen to be standing on. There is no need for me to fret or worry or resent having to stand here on this particular threshold. Every single time I stand on this or any other threshold, there is a horizon beckoning. I might not know what's waiting out there in the distance but it's always something and all I have to do is keep walking my path toward the beckoning horizon. 

We all have thresholds where we stand and look toward the horizon. I'm not the only one who has unpleasant and uncomfortable thresholds to cross (and cross again). I've decided I'm going to release the view of myself as vulnerable to my health. I am vulnerable to my health, to my own mortality, but so is everyone else so why should I whine about the vulnerability always being "in my face"? Lord knows I'm not near as vulnerable as some. I am more aware than some. But there is no need for me to whine and complain about it. The dang checkups are a part of my new normal now. I'll live with them and accept them as best I can. I decided early on that things like this can surely shape me, but they will not define me.

(All was clear this time around. I still have to go back in February for the breast cancer checkup, and return again in a few months for the colon checkup. I don't go back for a liver check until next January!)

"One never reaches a horizon...To move toward a horizon is simply to have a new horizon." James P. Carse

"Every horizon, upon being reached, reveals another beckoning in the distance. Always, I am on the threshold. W. Eugene Smith

More on "My Prayer for Me"

"Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all." 

Alfred Lord Tennyson

I used to joke and say I'd rather play it safe and avoid the possibility of being hurt. It wasn't all a joke. I was, deep inside, always a little wary, and sometimes, loved with reservation. But when my son died in 2011, I knew my deep love for him was worth far more than avoiding the pain of my heartache over him being gone. That's one of the reasons I say I learned so much about love from loving him. The loss of my son and a few other things in my life from the last few years have opened my heart in a way that it has never been opened before. The wariness has diminished greatly.

In the comments on the "My Prayer" post, Rach said, "I love how this is all about risking to open your self up but at the same time being cautious. That feels true to me." There is something in her words for me. We live in a world where people are going to hurt us, disappoint us, occasionally totally betray us. I think I lean towards being Pollyanna-ish at times, but beneath that is always the awareness of the possibility of being hurt. That's why I need those warnings in my prayer, or my creed, or my manifesto, to remind me that there is no magical way to avoid being hurt. It's going to happen. But that doesn't mean I need to live closed off and afraid of being hurt. 

Love, trust, faith, openness, allowing one's self to be seen--they are always going to be risky propositions. But if we can approach these choices thoughtfully with our eyes and heart wide open, the risks are so well worth it. Just don't go at it blind. Know that you are taking a risk. Know that you might get hurt. Perhaps that awareness will keep bitterness at bay. But also know that your risk might lead to a very satisfying and life-giving relationship. 

Maybe what I'm trying to say is that I have had a shift in my thinking. Maybe, in spite of what I've written here about risk and pain, I'm come to a place where I am less focused on avoiding pain and more focused on taking the risk of loving and being open? I don't know. What I know is that I am grateful for the teachers and healers in my life who have helped proved to me that, many times, the risk towards love is well worth taking.

Reminders (For the Dark Days)

I'm in a mood. And when I'm in this mood, I need reminders.

Reminders to be gentle with myself.

Reminders to be present. And to breathe.

Reminders that things can be better, hope that things will be better.

Reminders that I have ancestors, living family and friends who support me, who love and care about me.

(I have a photo I did with this quote on it, but I could not find it this morning. I have probably posted it here on the blog but I'm not taking the time now to look for it.)

Reminders that life is not a straight progression of easy things we live through well and get our little check mark saying that lesson is done and over with.

Reminders that, while joy can be slippery, there is light, and life is a sacred path (and walking that path is a privilege).

I've been thinking some this morning about how often the path does narrow, and how there are those times when we must walk ahead into darkness alone because the path has narrowed.

I'm grateful for the imagination to be able to picture those who are with me in spirit.

I will admit, I am a nervous person, afraid of many things, but I'm not afraid to be melodramatic! 

What does happen at the end, other than the path narrows,

and squeezes the life out of us? 

There is another photo I saw while looking through my files, and now can't find it. It is a photo of my hand, to which I've added a hugely important reminder: "I shall not hang myself today."

When I feel overwhelmed and bullied by life, I often have this childish reaction to want to decide to get mad and quit. Knowing that I can have that option somehow helps me not to want to choose that option. It helps me keep my values in proper order. Ultimately I am tenacious and persevering but for some odd reason, it just helps me very much to stop and consider that I could choose to allow myself to give up.

My strength is that I choose life. I know this now, with thanks in large part to having dealt with cancer. My first instinct was to fight. And to fight hard. I'm still willing to fight. And I'm doing it. Fighting. Even when I'm damned well sick and tired of it!

To turn inward, to be introspective, this is one of my ways of getting myself to "snap out of it" when I feel a bit overwhelmed by what I perceive to be the darkness in life. I'm smart enough to know the darkness will be with us always, as will the light. I'm an idealist at heart and I keep having to remind myself that life will not always serve me up the ideal days and times I think I desire (because if we always get the "ideal" in life, and never have to struggle, how will we learn and grow?)

Don't anybody worry about me.

"I shall not hang myself today."

It occurs to me, as I look through my files, that I have an enormous (and not well organized) body of work (excellent work, if I do say so myself). I also think I have more work in me. I have plenty left to do. I want to do that work.

I want to let my light shine.

(These are the things I needed to hear today. Sometimes you just gotta set yourself down and have a little talk with yourself. I feel sorry for folks who can't do this. I'm off to look for the sunshine and to work, again, at dispelling the darkness that seems always to hover at the edges of me.)

Upon Beginning My 61st Year

A note to my 60th year:

I spent considerable time thinking about what all I'd do for my 60th year. Imagine my consternation when, sometime in October, I realized I'd been living my 60th year all year long and it was almost finished! I had to wrap my head around the fact that come today, February 8, I'd be finishing my 60th year and would be beginning my 61st year! My bad, 60th year. But let me tell you, I really didn't do you too shabby, all things considered.

Want to hear a little of it, 60th year, in no particular order? Here's an incomplete summary, 60th year: I survived chemo! After 5 years of not having a car, I got another car. Her name's Li'l Jade. I got a pair of red cowboy boots. I made prayer flags and gave some away. I made a quilt top (which I still need to finish). I started walking for exercise again. I got afraid to eat and lost a considerable amount of weight. I went to San Antonio to see my blog sister friends. After over 20 years, I began again to play tennis. I made an origami paper crane (and made ne'er another one!). I read a sci-fi book. I went back to swimming lessons. I returned to my spiritual book club.

I continue to learn: to accept myself as the authority on my life and how to live it, that often, in spite of my best fretting, things tend to work out, seemingly little things often mean so much to others, life is not always easy, or fair. I do want to live. Occasionally I've thought I might rather not, but all that changed when colon cancer arrived again. I wanted to survive!

Another thing, which I already knew, I have loved ones and friends who shine much light into my life, particularly when my times seem the darkest.

And now, in beginning my 61st year, my advice to myself is to be steady, stay calm, breathe, look for the joy, and be grateful.

A Convoluted Prayer of Thanksgiving

For all the people in my life who remind me

(who gently admonish me?)

to "Breathe!"

I must really need the reminder because it is a common thing for me to hear.

Or maybe it's just a good thing to say 

when there is nothing else to do.

Still, I am grateful 

for friends who can be present

with me

and breathe with me

when there truly is not much else

that can be done.

To sit in that rather helpless place

with another

is not an easy thing to do. 

Those who can do it well

are a balm to the soul.

Note to Self: Before I Die: Live

I've spent my whole life trying to stay out of trouble with people, some people more than others.

I have scurried around trying to guess what I should be doing, or should have done, so that I am not in trouble with anyone. And sometimes, there are precious few clues as to how to avoid being in trouble.

It is a pitiful way to live.

On the "before I die" board I wrote "live."

I walked an outdoor labyrinth when I was visiting my friends this weekend. I'd only previously walked the canvas labyrinth laid out in the gym of a local church. While walking the labyrinth I was given, among other things, the word "freedom." I felt guilty because I'd told my friend I'd come to the kitchen to visit while she did her thing. She didn't need any help. That's what she said, and I trusted her enough to have meant what she said--there was no need for me to try and find some hidden message in her communication (and that's a related blog post for another day). But the labyrinth called me. My mind was quieted as I walked to the center. Still, on the way out, I fretted because I was being gone so long. Thirty, forty minutes, what is that in the whole grand scheme of life?

And yet, that is how we waste our lives, a minute here, and a minute there.

But I digress.

While walking out from the center of the labyrinth I discussed with myself the option of skipping the path laid to complete the labyrinth and to just stop the walk and go to my friend, like I said I would.

And my spirit told me I, and I alone, held the freedom to choose. Feeling the tautness of freedom placed like a graft in hopes of creating new skin, I breathed a sigh of gratitude and chose to continue the walk.

(And I was in no trouble at all with my friend.)

Today I bless myself with the hope that I will feel the weight of my own (hard earned) freedom and may I truly live before I die.

Thinking about this right now, I know my thoughts are partially influenced by a sermon I had not yet heard when I walked the labyrinth on Friday. The pastor was speaking of troublesome times and referred to the strength of trees, admonishing us to "feel the weight of your trunk" in times of struggle. She also said to "trust your roots." Those two phrases will remain with me for a while. And will eventually show up in one of my thangs, I imagine.

One of the things I loved about the idea of "feeling the weight of your trunk" is that we talk all the time about feeling the weight of negative things (depression, loss, grief, cancer), so why not focus on feeling and being aware of, and grateful for, the weight of more positive things (strength, growth, healing, love)?

Life Is Too Short For....

Lately, I’ve been thinking of my friend Denise, who often said that life is too short to drink the morning’s leftover coffee in the afternoon, so make a fresh pot (I’m sure she still says that, though now she says it from a distance, and I sure do miss her)!  Our current coffee pot does not have automatic shut off and so it will cheerfully boil the coffee all day long if we don’t remember to turn it off. 

I hear Denise’s sentiment in my head as I serve myself the charred remains of the morning coffee in the afternoon. And I’ve been wondering: What else is life too short for? What is my post-cancer life too short for?

Everyone’s list would be different, I suppose. I have a lot to be grateful for. But still, I’ve let so many things crawl in through the years and settle down that I would not have allowed if I truly believed I was entitled to choose based on my values, and not on the basis of the many “shoulds” I have allowed to consume my life.

I spent time working in my flower beds in the country this past weekend. Honestly, they are flower beds by default. We had to do something with the area because it had an old stump in it with roots all around and they would get caught up in the lawn mower blades. They were hard to mow over. The stump and the roots are hard to remove. So we dug up what ground we could in that area and started planting flowers. My parents came several weekends ago and weeded many of the weeds and planted new plants. There was a rose bush that could not be planted in the first location we chose because of the roots so we adjusted our plans and moved it to the other side of the bed (where it now seems very happy and is blooming its little heart out).

Anyway, this past weekend, I pulled weeds and a couple of small trees out by the roots in an effort to further define the bed and to make room for more plants. It seems to me the flower bed and my life have a lot in common—many things have happened by default, with no real firm plan in place. I guess one could argue that it worked out okay for both of us. Okay in a raw and organic and occasionally a little wild and beautiful way?

But still, I am left to wonder, what are the things that my life is too short to tolerate? What are the things that need to be pulled out by the roots? What are the things I want to make space for in my life?

There is something else I want to say, but my sense of "should," or maybe, "should not" makes me hesitant to say it.

(Clean up is a bitch, but it is an important part of our life's work.)

Note to self: Life also just seems to work better when clean up is done in a regular and timely fashion.

Loose Heads and Rocks

This is what I started with, a photo of two heads and two rocks in a pottery bowl:

This is where I ended up:

My nephew sent me a text with this quote in it on the morning I was waiting to have my port put in.

It was a reminder to me, that I was still alive, in spite of the battle I was entering. And it continues to remind me that I am still alive. I have, at times, taken that fact for granted, and have not appreciated the life I have.

It's a strange thing, though--let the life you take for granted be threatened and see how quickly your whole attitude toward your life can change.

Suddenly, I see love in my life. I see people who care and offer their own particular brand of support and encouragement. I always knew it was there, but now there is a new appreciation for the connections and the feeling of being somehow held up by the love and kindness of others.

And from somewhere, there comes a new motivation to live better and healthier, and to take care of things in my life that have been too long neglected.

I'm writing this post now on my laptop while sitting up in my bed and looking out on a bedroom that is closer to being a sanctuary than it has been in years. A shelf in the closet has been fixed and clothes that were once stacked all around the room are now hanging in the closet. Clutter is gone, bags of clothing that was too large have been brought to the goodwill store, furniture has been dusted, there is a new coverlet on the bed, and there is a new to me love seat on the side wall that is ready for sitting. 

This was one of the things I wanted to do in the new year. There is still work to be done, but there has been a lot of progress made, and for that, I am grateful.

In writing that about there still being work to be done, I recognize a habit that needs to be broken. I have a strong tendency to look at what all I have not done, or how what I have done is not perfect (and in this case, not exactly pristine designer home quality improvement) and to bemoan that "failure," while forgetting all about appreciating (and celebrating) the progress I have made.

(Note to self: Notice and appreciate your progress first, then decide what else you want to do, or decide you have done all you really wanted to do. Stop making the undone things in your life out to be failures.)

It's weird. I'm in the middle of a major storm in my life and yet I feel more alive than I have felt in a very long time.

How to Bloom

I pushed myself and walked five miles tonight! My longest walk ever! And there was a perfectly good reason for pushing myself.

I found myself in a situation where I wasn't getting something I wanted when I wanted it (attention), and I felt the desire to push to get it. The story I attached to the situation was that I was never going to get the attention I wanted, that all was lost, and that simply is not true. But the story made me want to push and possibly attempt to manipulate things so I could have what I wanted.

I've been thinking about this particular situation for a couple of days now and my instinct was telling me that I didn't need to push, that I needed throttle back and let the situation unfold, whether I was happy about it or not. As I allowed my imagination to envision the story of my throttling back and relaxing into my own feelings (fear of loss) and into the situation, my trust returned that the situation would work itself out and was not at all the catastrophe I had manufactured in my head.

But here's the deal: I still had that urge to do something, that desire to push, and I did not know what to do with that. I was annoyed with myself for being so stupid as to worry about the situation and I thought to myself, "Well, this will be a good night to push yourself to walk five miles." Now, at first I was seeing this as a way to "punish" myself for being so danged needy and getting upset, but as I walked, I began to realize it was a great substitution for my desire to push another human being and it truly relieved some of my stress with the situation!

Let me go ahead and expound a bit more. I told myself I needed to face my fear, which is always a fear of loss, and probably, abandonment, in this case.

I've been working on reading Pema Chodron's Living Beautifully With Uncertainty and Change. She is one of the ones who writes about how we attach stories to things, and get the idea that we HAVE to have things a certain way, when true acceptance is not predicated on whether or not we are happy with whatever it is we are accepting.

I'm smart enough to also figure out that the harder we cling to some things, the more damage we do. My pushing would have been a form of clinging. I didn't want to do that.

And that's another of the advantages to getting out and moving your body. You can expend the energy you might be tempted to spend on pushing other people in an attempt to get what you want when you want it and it really does help to relieve the tension. I "wore myself out" and came to terms with the idea of just riding things out and observing what will happen.

STIMULUS- (my power to choose) -RESPONSE

I am trying to make some changes in my life. My area of focus is very scattered. Because, well, maybe because if I keep my focus very scattered I will actually hit something on my target. But if I don’t, I won’t feel so bad, because I can tell myself it was because my focus was so scattered!

I am bumbling back and forth between (at least) three self-help type books. One that I finished was a very old, very sexist book about how to live on 24 hours a day. In spite of the archaic language I got a lot of good out of the book. This quote happened to be in that book. I want to read Frankl’s “Man’s Search for Meaning,” but that is a story and a desire for another day.

So here’s the thing: I want to become more aware of that space between stimulus and response. I really do believe that when I am more conscious of that space, and become more aware of the fact that I have the power to choose my response, I can (maybe) make some of the changes in my behavior that I want (and desperately need) to make. 

Let me just tell you, it is not as easy as it might sound. 

One recent evening, we waiting to be seating at a local Mexican restaurant. We had been told the wait would be 20-25 minutes. I am usually extremely patient about things like this. But (in my defense) it had been a while and I had not eaten lunch that day so I was hungry. I decided I would go and check to see how close we were to being seated. The nice little girl at the hostess stand told me we were next on the list. “Well,” she said, “there is one group ahead of you but there are 17 in that party and they will call you first.” I went back to my waiting spot in the vestibule to sit with my family. 

After about five minutes, they called the party of 17 (stimulus!).  I was fine at that point. I figured they would be calling us next (response!). But, no, they called a party of 14 (2^nd stimulus!)! For some reason, that lit my fire. I got up and marched myself to the door (2^nd response!). I could hear the shocked voices of my family behind me. Believe me when I say I am not usually the one who gets upset in public. Honestly, I am practically a saint. 

I shoved on the door and it dared not open! I know I stiffened up and got this crazed look on my face as I shoved the door again. My head was trying to tell me the door was not locked, that they were not “out to get me,” but I was not listening. I know it was not too long before I figured out I needed to pull the door to get it to open but when I did figure it out and opened the door, I noticed a woman on the inside giggling to herself. At me, I am sure. I would have giggled too, had I clearly seen myself. In fact, I am giggling now. But I also hope not to get myself into such a wild tizzy again anytime soon. 

I was really stirred up. I got to the hostess stand and told the little girl what had happened. She was beginning to explain (they must have had the group tables already set up and she didn’t know) when they called our names. Thank God, because I might have been almost ready to give that little girl a piece of my mind, and I really didn’t have any pieces to spare!  Instead, I said, “oh, okay, thanks” as I gently touched her arm (it’s a wonder she didn’t flinch, given my body language) and walked off, deeply humbled, to my table. 

Obviously, that is not the better part of me. Obviously, I missed the space between stimulus and response, where I could have chosen to behave in a better manner. Yep, that’s part of what I want to work on.

One of my many targets right now is a place where I really do need to respond with a righteous anger, and stand up for myself. Another target is in the area of taking care of my health. Yet another is in my own personal time management. And always, I could do with being a little less scatter-brained and a little more focused.

(I work in the Psychology Department of our local university. There are professors there who have spent their careers looking at various behaviors and how they are shaped. This is something I knew nothing about before going to work there. It's interesting stuff, but like many other things, it ain't magic. It takes work to make personal changes. One of the other books I am reading says that the brain fights change, but if you make slow changes over a period of time, you can fool the brain into not fighting the change. Or at least, that is my interpretation of what was said! It's a complicated battleground I am walking.)

Thoughts on Darkness

(And Things We Don't Know About Ourselves)

"The dark night of the soul
comes just before revelation.

When everything is lost, 
and all seems darkness,
then comes the new life
and all that is needed."
~ Joseph Campbell

I saw this quote on Facebook a couple of days ago and it has haunted me ever since. I don't know if the "average bear" is smart enough to know how much tenacity and courage it takes to hold on "when all seems darkness."

I've got some friends who are going through some tough times in this moment. I want to affirm and admire and encourage their bravery. It ain't easy, I know.

He has other annoying quotes :)

"It is by going down in the abyss that we recover the treasures of life. Where you stumble, there lies your treasure." ~ Joseph Campbell

I know there is light, I know Light. But darkness is part of the equation too. It is inevitable. I tend to get into times where I embrace the darkness. Maybe it is because I know from experience there are valuable things hidden in darkness. I am there now. I am not without hope. I am not flailing about or blindly running about trying to escape. I am (mostly) sitting with the darkness, waiting. Surely a time will come for action. Maybe the time is now, I don't know. In retrospect, I seem to have been sitting in darkness for long enough now and it feels like maybe it is time for action. But I am not sure what to do.

And yet another annoying quote :)

 "The privilege of a lifetime is being who you are." ~ Joseph Campbell

I ran into a girl I worked with back in the late seventies. When I introduced her to my oldest daughter, she told her how I had looked out for them and took care of them (we worked in a family owned sporting goods store where they hired a lot of college students, I was a full time permanent employee). She said that was her first real job and she was kind of scared. I never saw myself as doing that! But it was a good thing to hear.

Of course, me being me, I had to ask myself if my looking out for them was really me being me, or was it me doing what others expected me to do? Who am I? And am I being me? These are a couple of the questions I face in the darkness.

I'll get it worked out again, or at least worked out enough that I can get back to moving along the path with acceptance and purpose (and maybe a little less introspection). Eventually. Life might be too short for so much introspection!

I can't do a post anymore without also including a photograph. Here is one from my son's birthday celebration (which went quite well, if I have not already said so!). The light was so pretty on the morning I took these pictures. I went out with my camera hoping to catch what I saw.

One of my favorites from that day, darkness and light.

Mystery

I heard a priest say he tries to leave room for mystery when he preaches. I like knowing there is room somewhere for mystery.

The reason the "still small voice" says "Chill" is because I heard a preacher say that he often senses God telling him to chill. Some of those preacher types can be rather intense! Sometimes, I think if I'd quit fretting long enough about what it is I am supposed to be doing, I might also hear God hinting around that I too need to chill!

I was in a lecture on the Serenity Prayer with a Cajun priest who interspersed his talk with common Cajun terms that I vaguely understood, but could not spell here, and he said, "Some of y'all need to lighten up" and while he was saying that he pulled his shirt up to show us his t-shirt with the bright yellow smiley face on it and a Bible verse!

I don't know what direction I am going with this blog. It most often seems to work best when I just open the window and start letting words flow.

I've been thinking again about putting my blog "out there" on Facebook. It seems like a growing thing for me to do. When I do it, I will certainly have to get over worrying about what people think about what I say or do here. I'll simply have to get over myself, won't I?

Joy and Sorrow Giving Birth?

Joy and sorrow, they are never far apart, but sorrow keeps pushing joy further and further away, not out of sight, but just out of reach (like my son—not out of sight of my mind’s eye, but out of my reach).

It was the rain pecking on the metal roof that called me out to the patio. The noise was like a thousand chickens pecking hard ground that will not surrender sustenance. I was sitting on my glider, the one we finally got fixed after nearly four years of it sitting useless on the patio. I was gliding back and forth. It was twilight, my least favorite time of day, that time that is neither daylight nor dark. It is the neither-ness of it all that gets next to me. Be daylight or be dark but don’t be neither that’s how I feel about it all.

I’ll tell you a little bit about joy. Joy is gliding in the glider watching the drips hang tenaciously from the cross bar on the old metal swing set. Joy is finally getting the chains back on the glider and the nuts and bolts tightened. Joy is sitting there feeling the temperature drop. Joy is feeling that cool breeze brush your face and imagining that it is the hand of God and not long after that imagining that it is my son breezing by to check on me and to reassure me.

But is it sorrow that makes me sit slumped down on the glider breathing deep as though I am about to give birth to something? Maybe I am about to give birth, to something. Sometimes it feels that way. It’s not a totally unpleasant feeling.

And the rain keeps falling and the tears pile up on the swing set cross bar.

When I noticed the mosquitoes biting my elbows and my ankles that is when I came in and tried to right what I felt out there. When I closed my eyes time felt like a dust storm in my head. Part of me was not there with myself. Part of me was whirling around in that dust storm. Was it subliminal that I wrote that I came in and tried to “right” what I felt out there? Maybe not.

At any rate, as I was experiencing my time on the patio I kept thinking I will not be able to come in and sensibly explain these feelings and so I am right, it is indeed difficult to write what it was I felt out there.

And I remembered this that Annie Dillard wrote. It cracked me up when I read it. I’ll tell you, I still think I very much need to sit still for a little while, and leave the dusting and sweeping and wiping for another day. And yet, the time will come again for movement for I think I am not yet ready for burial. There are still things in me that are waiting to be birthed.

“Earth shifts over things. If you stay still, earth buries you, ready or not…

Quick: Why aren’t you dusting? On every continent, we sweep floors and wipe tabletops not only to shine the place, but to forestall burial.”

This is not new work, I did it in my journal sometime in the beginning of February, but it seems related to what I have written. Maybe it was a premonition of some sort...