Cry tears, heavy
laden like an army
tanker crushing the tundra.
Let them seep
into your innocence, your
untouched land buried with war.
reclaim your soul and
melt the darkness with their acid light.
Cry tears, heavy
laden like an army
tanker crushing the tundra.
Let them seep
into your innocence, your
untouched land buried with war.
reclaim your soul and
melt the darkness with their acid light.
There is a lot that could be said about this year. A lot has happened, but it feels like I’m back in the same place where I started. It’s just, I’m not too sure which “starting place” I’m speaking of.
Am I back where I was at this time last year? I don’t think so! I just can’t exactly remember where I even was at this time a year ago. I’m pretty sure I was too disoriented to make it a memorable occasion. I’m pretty sure things weren’t too great. I started blogging shortly after that time.
It was a last-ditch effort.
I guess sometimes last-ditch efforts are worth the effort.
I’m always hoping to make my life worth the effort it takes from everyone involved in keeping me afloat.
Maybe afloat isn’t too great a descriptor. It doesn’t really specify whether I am floating face up or down and in the case that I might just be staying afloat face down, my condition might not actually be so great.
Same with grounded.
Maybe I should just make it clear about my condition as I stand today and say my thank you’s to the world that I’m ALIVE.
I’m happy to be alive. Even on the bad days (95% of myself agrees with me.)
The other 5% is just a tantrum within me speaking of worthlessness, and I know it’s not really true.
I’m really 100% (at least!) happy to be alive. But I am always striving toward living my life better, purposefully.
I’d really rather never die. Not even ever.
But I’m ok with it whenever it comes….I just hope it doesn’t for a long time.
Wow, this isn’t really going where I was trying to go.
Such is living life as me.
My life takes me places I never could have imagined or planned.
I do make choices, I know, but sometimes me staying alive requires a whole lot of me letting go and trusting things I’m doing, even when I have no idea what I’m doing.
Like now, writing.
I wanted to say some words. But there will never be enough words, or efficient or sufficient enough ones. I guess that’s why I like making things that don’t rely on words so much.
I probably should get back into poetry. Where words are words but not words at all.
It seems to sum up where I am and where I have been this year, all that has happened on the private, personal and public level, there is just no way to do it.
No other way than to keep living since I am still here…Where I started.
Making note of it because a lot can change so fast.
I don’t know how darkness can be so invisible.
But sometimes it is precisely because of its invisibility that darkness becomes itself.
When I was a teenager I had a conversation with the darkness once. I suppose I was a little headstrong, a little unruly. The invisible darkness was the only real force I could rebel against. I definitely wasn’t going to try to rebel against my mother or father. In hindsight, that might have been the better path. (Not that I hope my teenager ever sees that sentence!) But for me, it might have been quicker path into light.
Instead, I stepped, unknowingly, deeper into the pits of emptiness in my effort to be good enough for them…and for me. Really, to be good at all, but mostly to be good-enough for anyone I though might love me if I performed well. Perfectly.
My hand was asked in marriage at 16. And I said yes to the man who was 15 years older than me. And so did my parents.
I bought my own wedding dress with money I earned myself. $300 at David’s Bridal.
I was a childcare worker. I made $8 an hour (I later realized taxes weren’t taken out so when I reported my wages I was taxed more than I ever earned, but that’s another story,) which was a huge salary (hourly) increase from my $7.25 I made at the dry cleaners and I loved children.
Except for later I learned I didn’t really love myself…and neither did anyone else. But not because they didn’t want to. Because they just couldn’t. I can’t entirely blame them. So I can’t entirely blame myself for everything that happened either.
But about that conversation with darkness. I remember it still. I remember laying on my bed in my bedroom in the apartment I was living in with my mother. It was after a fight. I’m not sure if it was abuse. I thought abuse only happened to children at the time, and I didn’t consider myself a child. It was just a fight, and probably my fault. I don’t remember the source of the fight that day. I only remember the conversation I had after it while I laid in my room where I could never bring myself to sleep. (I slept in the living room on the 2 cushion sofa every night with my neck propped curiously forward on the armrest.) I remember my mom telling me I should sleep in my bed because I was breaking down the couch. But I slept there for almost a year (the amount of time I lived there) anyway. So maybe I did rebel some.
I keep getting away from the darkness. Or do I? (Sometimes the question has to be asked.)
The darkness and my conversation. It was a little one-sided with me doing a lot of the talking, but the darkness doesn’t always talk in words. The darkness isn’t always nearly as direct. It likes to be more like a covering over everything so it becomes a mass so encompassing it can be hard to determine where it ends and begins, or to see it at all.
In this conversation, in my contempt, in my teenage righteousness and belief that I could surmount anything if given the time, I told the darkness, “You will never win. You will never get me. No matter what you do to me, I will never give you my soul. You can beat me down, but you can’t have ME. Never. Never. NEVER. Over my dead body will you win.”
And so….I hadn’t learned yet….about the light…and about Life With Light.
I didn’t know what it was going to be about.
I didn’t know what was ahead of me.
I didn’t know all the…all the….things.
I didn’t know.
But as I look back on that “conversation” today, I sometimes feel like it was the first conversation where I was ever listened to and believed. And I figured if I believed the Light could see my heart that maybe the darkness could too, and it would be so clear that I was invincible. I already could feel so little.
But I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I didn’t know.
And so this head-strong, heart-strong girl spent a lot of time learning a lot of different things about what can be seen and what can’t.
And about how remarkably presumptuous I was.
I worked to make the right decisions. I always wanted to do the right things.
But what do you do when doing all the “right” things turns out to be wrong?
What do you do?
Sometimes you lose faith. But that comes much later, after you realize maybe you made the wrong decisions about which (or whose) faith to follow.
Oh so many things. So many, many, many many many horrendous things.
But the horror tonight should be about Halloween parties. Because that is where horror belongs.
And I am starting to put all the horror and darkness that has existed, that has practically been my life up to this point, where it belongs.
Off of me.
So tonight there is no covering over who I really am. This is me.
Sometimes it’s scary. Especially for me when I look into that magic ball and see where I have been.
I look toward and forward to the future, but I don’t look to know about it all ahead of time. After all, time does not like to be raced.
I didn’t know before, and even with all that I didn’t know about and the perilous journey I was on (but didn’t know I was on, at the time) I still work on just being present where I am in this day, in this moment. It is the only place I can be me. Right here with myself is the only place I can be good enough.
I was thinking about this tonight after me and my husband’s first couples session (for the 2nd time) (and this is my second marriage) with a new couple’s therapist. I was, more specifically, thinking about this after we returned home from our session and after the “fight” we had later.
I’m calling this phase of the journey, Operation Light. I googled it and it doesn’t exist yet 😉 Of course, now it does. So you can join this Operation of Light with me! 🙂
Life With Light: “Operation Light” ….I can see it in….lights, now. 😉
That proposes that it will work.
Operation Light is about infusing Light where ever darkness is even remotely suspected. There’s no danger is suspecting darkness to be everywhere. It is not possible to overdose on Light.
It will work….I’m talking to the Light about it right now.
I have had a little shift in my approach toward life. I am learning to address the Light. The darkness is not worth my time, and definitely not worth me. And it’s not worth you either. I just love people, and I can’t help it. I was well-meaning when I tried to fight against the darkness rather than focus on fighting FOR the Light….I was young and perhaps a bit ostentatious.
But the Light has helped me see that…ever so gently, of course. That’s the way of the Light. Because the Light actually did know what was inside me and behind my efforts.
So when it seems dark and insurmountable, don’t give up.
Don’t ever, ever give up. ” Operation Light” Lovers never give up unless they are giving it up to the Light. 🙂
(the unedited and unproofread version…proceed with caution and coffee if you’re the slightest bit tired and still interested)
It’s not that nothing has been going on. In fact, most people could probably attest that when they are most quiet is when quite a lot is actually “going in.”
…But how to define “going on?”
What is it I have been so busy with?
I could probably come up with a physical list only a few items deep: Being a family woman, a mother, a student….but then there’s something missing.
Something actually just a bit bigger than all of those labels, actually.
I have to admit I have mostly been busy being me. That’s right. Just me.
I know I fill those roles and they matter a ton to me, though I couldn’t individually weigh them.
But really, I feel like the biggest, most expansive, consuming thing that’s been going on lately is just me…living. Me living includes being married and those responsibilities, as well as being a mother and all those personal investments, but there’s been even more.
Life right now is filled with being created. I create along the way, I step back, I let things happen to me. I let this other force I feel in my life actually touch me. What I feel touching me is somewhat undefined, but there is no question of its presence. I’m being made into something/someone new…at least different. At the same time I feel myself returning to who I always was…who I was before my time ever even began.
This sounds mystical. A little off?
It sounds, even to me, like I could be having some kind of psychosis or delusions…..
But I’m pretty sure that if that is what I am experiencing then life exists squarely in the mix of it and that I am not alone in it either. The fact that you, too, are here verifies that you are in this with me also, does it not? Sorry, no exemptions. You’re here or you’re not. Are you here? That can be a challenging question at time…I know for myself.
But then, life is not always so clear-cut. Sometimes it is possible to be two places at once. I know this, also as fact, for myself.
Everything has been in a wild sort of shift. Motherhood, my student body, and wifedom. My three most prominent schedulers right now.
But then, there’s that other player…Me. And while “Me” is made up of those other things, ”Me” is defined as one with spirit….
And so I have grappled with my spirituality.
Spirituality, which for me, is so closely tied to every cell within me. And every cell, which is so closely tied to memory. And memory to history…and history to, well….everything that has ever existed, seen or unseen.
Wow, I’m not proofreading and editing as I go so this could be a long, wandering ramble.
Probably the more people get to know me, the more strange I seem. Or maybe I’m just flattering myself with that thought. Suppressed egotism. It’s got to be in there somewhere.
Besides, I’m just talking about all of this nonsense because I’m deathly afraid of sharing my real feelings.
Like the pains and the loneliness. The everyday defeats and how even triumphs sometimes pang me.
This is part of “Me” and all the busyness, I know…but I’d rather come off as completely crazy than talk about these potentially understandable feelings.
Lately, I’ve been more present in my life, though it wouldn’t seem like it probably in this “letter.”
Some days I handle it better than others.
Today is kind of a rough one.
But I’m here, so this could, perhaps, be counted as a panged triumph, for an example of that pang I just spoke of.
Last night, which I suspect was actually very early this morning, I had a most odd of oddly dreams. (But then, everything has been a bit odd seeming lately.)
It’s definitely one of those dreams to write to your therapist about (which I may well do, for good measure.)
I was in this house, and it was supposedly a house I knew somehow, but I’m not actually sure of the details. But anyway, I was in this house of sorts and it was like at some point I was in this house with other people and we were all being led on a house tour. And we got to this part of the tour and there was this passageway and it was so very, very, extremely narrow and all that could be seen was dark inside of it. There was no way of telling what was in this passageway. But to get through the tour and to eventually exit the house you had to go through this tunnel. I saw someone else go up the tunnel. They just walked up the steps and continued up through the covered passage (step were going up like a ladder) and disappeared. No sounds or noise. No commotion or cries for help. They simply disappeared as if they had never been there. And the guide for this tour was leading me to this spot and I neared it and felt my hands around the opening and I stopped there, not going further. People were behind me talking amongst themselves, seemingly unconcerned about this passage. (It had a very Johnny Depp, Alice in Wonderland /Charlie and the Chocolate Factory feel to the atmosphere…dark, strange, otherworldly) And the leader finally addressed me and said for me to go through this passage and I voiced my concern that the passageway was too small and tight for me and that I would get stuck (um….yeah, I am an artist, but NOT a fiction writer…I swear I am not making this up!) He said it would be fine and to just go.
***This ends my account of my dream***
Except, I think I went into the passageway and I don’t really remember the rest.
I’m not sure, but I’m a bit uneasy about sleep tonight, as if I am ever really easy about it!
I want comfort. I want something or someone to come hold me and assure me that it really isok and that it really IS going to be alright, and I really am not too fat. Because I’ve been dealing with extreme body feelings along with everything else too.
But right now it seems there is no comfort. There’s just this narrow passageway I have to go into alone. It seems like a place to experience every fear I have ever had. Alone.
And maybe that is the biggest fear of all…Abandonment? Death?
For sure the feeling of Loneliness has been consciously tantamount. So why would I need a dream about it??!
Maybe this is about something else entirely different, after-all.
I just wish I could figure it out so I could move on to a different dream….
And on the subject of dreams….Being a dreamer can be lonely…and now maybe I understand that just a little bit better/deeper/differently.
One of the first papers I ever wrote in college for Composition I nearly 12 years ago (I was something like 21 years old) was titled “Dream’s Reality” covering Freud’s Interpretation of Dreams. What can I say, Ambition is not just a fad for me.
All these years later and I’m still not a professional therapist. I went the professional client route, I’m selfless.
This evening me and my husband had a luscious conversation about our spirituality and beliefs about life, religion and the journey of it all. I am using the term “our spirituality,” but actually we each are quite different on our individual paths. It’s a bit crazy that we actually even ended up married because we see things so differently, but then there are times when we meet in the middle. We met in the middle enough to have a baby together and start a family anyway.
A lot of spiritual stuff has been on my mind, but that’s because my whole life has kind of been a strongly spiritual kind of journey, even though I didn’t necessarily pick it to be. It kind of just happened…like being born.
I don’t know what to say about it because there’s so much to say about it. And I’m a little scared to say some of the things I think because I don’t want my thoughts to be misconstrued as propaganda. As if the world needs more propaganda these days. (I think that and I don’t even practice watching the news.)
But if I remember right, I think our conversation got started because I was talking to my husband about motherhood. Specifically, motherhood and the expectations on mothers in our society (we’re in Midwest USA), and even more specifically (or possibly more broadly) the “Christian ideal picture” of motherhood.
I’m not sure I belong in the midwest, and at this time I don’t identify with any organized religion. Just saying, because I do have a lot of thoughts about both of these things. I also don’t not (and I do mean that, this is not just bad grammar) identify as a Christian. It could be a confusing thing to try to categorize where I am. It is for myself, sometimes. And I guess I should also preemptively say I’m not looking for me and my family to be “saved” and that doesn’t mean I want us to go to any literal or figurative hell. It just means that I have faith in the journey so please let me be on it. If I’m meant to find your cabin in the woods, I will.
I’m just sharing. Pretend you have found my journal at the base of a tree, perhaps, with clear signs I will be returning. For example, chocolate and coffee are nearby. And pretend there is a little message beside my journal that says…”Read this if you want…at your own risk.” But the risk part is not a threat. It’s just the understanding between us that I actually have no idea where I’m going with all of this talk at the moment.
A little insider info about me…because I’m being just so private here, I know:
I wear a (small, and not clearly recognizable from a distance) cross around my neck. Right next to (or on opposites sides of it, depending on how the charms lay on any particular day) are the words “grace” and “patience.” This is where I am. This is the most definitive place for myself I have come to on my spiritual journey, recently.
I would tell you what pieces on my necklace symbolize or refer to exactly, but I’m not sure exactly. It’s just part of me right now, and I accept that. I’m generally an open and accepting sort of person.
But anyway, back to the motherhood thing. The motherhood thing. It’s such a “thing” isn’t it? It’s like one of the things you’re warned to not talk about with anyone else, lest you need to defend your life. Everyone knows not to raise the subject of Politics, Religion and above all…Motherhood in uncertain company.
But I’ll just say it.
I don’t vote (usually.) I’d probably be considered Agnostic (if forced into a box,) and I’m on the fence about my place in the world (particularly what my role as a mother should look like.)
I’m not sure how I turned out to be such an opinionated person, but I might see myself as opinionated just because I have many thoughts about a lot of different, and sometimes potentially volatile, subjects.
I’m just not imposingly opinionated.
After looking into it, since I am writing about this here, after-all….I’m actually probably a Gnostic Christian,not really A-gnostic. Which just opened up some trail for me, as I speak. (I have a sneaking feeling I knew this about myself once before, but got lost in trying to fit into a cabin that didn’t have space for me, or something, because the term “gnostic” is suspiciously familiar to me.)
Have you ever known or seen a chain smoker? Perhaps you are one yourself, even. Well, then you would understand me right now. I am a chain gum-chewer and I’m at the end of my pack so I’m really trying to get somewhere with this post quick, because even the a-b-c gum is soon to be out of date for usefulness if I don’t somehow get to it.
Oh that’s right! I was getting to something!
I don’t remember it now.
I think I’m scared to let it out now, and I actually want to research gnostic Christianity for the rest of the night instead! Ha.
So I was saying about this luscious conversation with my husband-no fighting, no yelling, crying or hurt feelings, nobody being left stranded on the side of the road or running out the door before remembering to to get fully dressed to save themselves from the other. A true gem of a discourse is what we had.
But I’m procrastinating here, now.
Maybe I’m not ready to speak about this publicly. But I want to. Because it’s a big deal, but that’s also why maybe I’m not ready yet.
Ah, I’ll get there. But it might be 3am. before I do….and it’s only 9:20pm here.
Ugh, I guess I better save my energy for what I feel coming on…..
Sorry about tricking you into reading the preface…(I really didn’t mean to!)
Well, it happened. Today I dropped my first class of the season. And what do you think it was? None other than Photoshop. My first and last class for Photoshop was last Thursday morning. Sad. Very sad. But more than sad, I’m happy because it means that I’m not going down a short and fast path of ruin. I stepped on it, felt the ground shake and quickly, but not too quickly, but fast enough to not get a permanent “W” (for Withdraw…(or how I fear it’s looked at by administration in big colleges, “Took the W because the F was coming?”). So…still breathing, I got out of there. I only went to the first class and the instructor is the same teacher who taught my Adobe Illustrator class and I actually signed up for his classes on purpose because I’d heard such good things about him.
It turns out he is very good, but good is so vague and relative. I don’t have a high aptitude toward graphic design and am only really taking Illustrator and Photoshop because they are prerequisites for a couple of other design classes I am required to take for my art degree. This teacher is first-rate if you’re into Graphic Design and that’s your major…but for the girl (woman, uhem) who likes to get her hands-up-to-her-armpits-dirty in clay, taking his class was about enough to make my head spin off my neck. It’s purely miracle and kind-heartedness on my teachers part that I was blessed out of Adobe Illustrator alive and with an “A” for effort.
So anyway, his class wasn’t the “Photoshop for Artists” I was looking for. Today I saved myself by clicking on a sweet, sweet drop button that, praise the Lord, still read “0% with no W on transcript.” when pressed. My husband asked if we’ll get a refund. I said “No, I only get to not self-destruct. Want me to reinstate my class?” Smiley face. (He asked me through a text message.)
I’m still living.
In fact, I’m so alive after I officially dropped Photoshop I stepped outside and realized an abundance of wildly growing flowers in a little corral next to our garage (which unfortunately has no animals in it because we actually live in the suburbs and only can pretend we are farmers.)
But still, when we bought this house I wouldn’t let the guys tear it down. I love my corral, and talking about it reminds me I need to get my bull’s head tied up out there again for lasso practice! It had to be taken down when the enclosure was painted. I’m digressing. (At least I’m not regressing. Digressing doesn’t seem so bad next to that possibility!)
All of this is to say…I was inspired to take some photos! 🙂
I’m pretty sure my neighbors were curious what I was doing bouncing around the corral for no clearly apparent reason today, but you know what they say about keeping good neighbors. Well, some say the best neighbors are fences, but we don’t really have fencing, so the next best thing is to feign insanity within their line-of-sight. (No doubt, you’re convinced, right!? )
So here are my photos of the day. Enjoy…I did!
This evening I came to a crossroads. I was at Old Navy trying to use up a coupon set to expire today. The intersection between me and me was in the changing room.
I will try to explain:
The summer stuff is on clearance, so I decided to try on some $5 shorts to preemptively save some money and beat the rush for next summer. (Or maybe I decided to try them on as a plea to the weather for it to stay warm a lot longer than September usually allows around here. )
Anyway, I was standing there. Having tried on the shorts and seeing that they fit me, the debate began. The “What now!?” debate. Should I buy them?
I’m always much more relieved when things actually don’t fit so I don’t have to go through the list of scenarios that might arise if I do buy something vs. if I don’t buy something. I walk tall out of the changing room because I’ve escaped (or won?) the battle once again. But not tonight.
Tonight started up the “Will I regret this later?” thing. The “What’s the return policy?” thing and the “Can I justify this purchase to my husband?” thing. ( There are these questions among others….I’m the person occupying a changing room concerningly motionless for at least 30 minutes, lost in debate, before facing the world again.)
So, shortly before closing tonight at an Old Navy store in Midwest USA it dawned on me…the acceptance between me and me. The understanding is this: I have no idea what size I will be by next summer, and more importantly than even that… I have no idea who I will BE by next summer.
I stood there looking at these shorts…shorts that I would wear today. I looked at my hair…the color, style, length so suburbanish. I looked at my body…a body that’s begged to be covered in far more tattoos. I looked inside me…changing. But changing into what…into WHO?!
I was standing there in the changing room actually changing before my eyes!
I realized my need to live and be present in the moment, and maybe it’s something that I’m acquiring now that won’t change about me later. Maybe it’s the beginning of becoming who I am…who I am meant to be!
My size has changed in the last quarter of a year so that a lot of my clothes don’t fit me anymore. I’ve always been a jeans and t-shirt sort of girl, but now that I’m faced with needing to pick a few things up I’m finding myself drawn to wanting a more definitive style. A style that says…”This is ME.” Recognizable. One with personality.
And I’ve thought, “Wow, this would be a lot easier if I knew who I was.” I could go into a store and know what to look for. I would know my style and go right to it. I could streamline things and do a way less psychotic seeming mix and match. Then I think about being 32 and still figuring out this stage most teenagers are in. I think about being the mother of a teenager myself, now, and I get really freaked out about the state I’m in.
I’m 32 going on 13!
(My teenage daughter is 14. She’s already ahead of me.)
So…I didn’t buy the shorts tonight. It’s only the beginning of Fall. Winter is still to come and next summer is a long way off. (Anyway, didn’t I write a post a while back about my irritation about the 2013 calendars being for sale already?) I said, “Nice knowing ya,” and gave them back to the woman putting away clothing people had tried on that didn’t fit…
Sometimes things fit and you’re not sure if you want them to fit…in a life way.
Sometimes you get to choose what you’re going to wear like you get to chose who to be.
I’m in a state of evaluating and making decisions.
The cool thing about this life is that, at least to some degree, it can be changed. It’s an evolving creation. A malleable gift.
It feels like this process of finding myself is a gift that got inadvertently pushed under the Christmas tree skirt only to be discovered once the festivities have passed. I feel like I am unwrapping (and being unwrapped) and shaping (and being shaped) all at the same time. And some kid (me), after thinking she was forgotten and left-out, is finding the experience of life redeemed.
I know this song is about other things, but now it keeps popping in my head now…
Somewhere along the way I became jaded, even though it’s just a dark synonym for hurt.
I have images to share, but…I’m jaded. (So my world is blank.)
What is up with that? I used to not even know what jaded meant. I remember asking and having to look it up in the dictionary…back before Google.
I looked it up again, though, since it seems so definitive of where I am right now. I wanted to be sure about it.
It turns out that “hurt” is not actually mentioned within the definition I found.
So maybe I shouldn’t mention about the hurt aspect of my jadedness.
I know this is a phase.
Things will change. I’m looking forward to when I’m back to being some other color. Pink maybe. Not Pepto-pink. Instead, more like something most people like. Ice cream or cotton candy…baby blankets. Strawberry milk? (Maybe most people don’t like strawberry milk…)
I am so tempted to gloss over the green.
It would be so easy to just not put it here. Nobody really needs to know about it. I wouldn’t even have to acknowledge it. It could be like it never happened.
Sometimes the light kills gross green stuff…like mold.
I will move through this. I will.
Or I will be moved through it.
A couple of days ago I made a connection with someone who left me asking, “What if…?” The “…” are representative because there are so many endings to that question. I guess the “What if’s” are different for everyone.
I feel full of possibilities. “What if…everything?”
In my life I haven’t always been sure that staying alive was the right thing to do. And I mean “staying alive” in a more of a way than just the mechanics of breathing. Even breathing in a way that keeps the body going can be a challenge sometimes, but I’m really talking about keeping my heart alive. Passion, hope, love. There is risk in living with light. The body can die, but the heart can be devastated when something important goes wrong.
Things have gone wrong before. I’ve had opportunities to give up at times when people might not have even judged it as a weakness, and I would have liked to have taken my break.
Somehow there’s always been something keeping me going. A resuscitation, I guess. Maybe that’s when the light has taken the driver’s seat. Admittedly, on the really hard days I haven’t always been grateful for that force so dedicated to my continuation.
But then there are days with connection, mystery and magic…that grow my spirit enough to help me feel I can support the energy of life again on my own. But never, of course, completely on my own since those are the days I am most lifted up.
Those days are the ones with rainbows. That unexpected gift of communication when I’m looking for convincing evidence that it’s safe to come out and interact again even though the clouds are still foreboding.
So…what if I am safe?
What if…my life matters?
What if…I have something worth sharing?
What if…I’m not alone?
What if…everything has a reason?
What if…I can’t find a reason, but it all matters anyway?
What if my story was meant to be heard?
What if the beginning really is a very good place to start?
If you’re wondering who this someone is who inspired these questions this time, it is a film maker named Mary Trunk who is now editing her most recent documentary titled Lost In Living…Here is a brief description of this film I’m so grateful for and link to a generous 10 minute Trailer which I found on Kickstarter. This is a film filled with passion and honesty which I feel privileged to be a backer for (and is still open for funding, so check it out.)
“Behind the domestic curtain of motherhood, where the creative impulse can flourish or languish, are four women determined to make a go of it. Filmed over seven years, Lost In Living, confronts the contradictions inherent in personal ambition and self-sacrifice, female friendship and mental isolation, big projects and dirty dishes. The complex realities of family life unfold in this documentary film about the messy intersection of motherhood and artistic expression.”
A couple of weeks ago we had a brief storm in my city during the middle of our midwest drought. I was lucky enough to be out in it. If I hadn’t had to run to the store with my daughter for essentials while my husband was out-of-town I would have only heard the rain. When we arrived at the store the clouds were beginning to break and the sun was coming through. I saw a man across the parking lot taking an iPhone pic of the sky. And, of course, I had my phone too. I took a picture of the sky and clouds facing the opposite direction. It was magnificent.
When I left the store the sky was still filled with brilliant form and light. I took out my phone again for more pics, shooting away, when a guy with his daughter walking in motioned to my left and said, “There’s a rainbow over there.”
There I was, looking right at the sky and missed the rainbow entirely! I was a little embarrassed, but grateful for the direction! It actually turned out to be a double rainbow, so quite a treat! It was large so I couldn’t get both sides in with one shot, and naturally, the photos don’t nearly do the experience justice. It was warm and cool, wet and sunny with the most amazing light. A wordless beauty, for sure.
Don’t forget to look for the rainbows…
I’ve been in a place with no words lately.
When will I learn that not having words, or really, not being able to express them, does not help one (me) to escape?
I hadn’t planned on writing this.
But then something brushed past me and I felt like maybe I could get something out.
Now I’m not so sure again.
This is a frustrating battle.
I want a poem.
I want significance if I’m going to have to stutter through these mutilating stops and starts.
I want something to show for the scar tissue from all the rips in my chest.
I haven’t had much time to paint.
Or maybe it is energy I have struggled with.
With vacation and all…
I did take some iPhone photos while I was gone…and my phone never got close to dying.
I did though. We were nearly involved in a potentially fatal crash on the highway on the way to the airport, coming home.
The tire on a pickup in front of us blew and sent the pickup bouncing and swerving into a concrete partition barrier under an overpass and then tossed it back across to the other side of the highway for another concrete kiss before it finally came to a stop. The highway was filled with traffic, including a speeding semi directly behind us (and we were the first car behind the pickup that lost control). Miraculously, there was nobody in the lane beside the out-of-control pickup and so it kept the snowball effect from happening, and we were miraculously far enough behind the pickup that when the tire blew and the actual crash(es)/impacts happened we were able to avoid contact.
I know at least 10 drivers had to have seen the accident happen, and sadly, us and one other single male driver were the only ones to pull over to make sure the driver of the pickup was ok. It’s pretty horrible to watch a vehicle crash right in front of you (or behind you, I’ve experienced that before on the highway too…and I wasn’t involved or hurt,) but what made me sick to my stomach and clench up my throat was that amount of people who sped right on past without even attempting to stop and help.
The driver of the pickup was an older gentleman and was pretty shook up and, I’m sure, in shock, but thankfully not critically injured himself. We were in a dangerous spot ourselves when we stopped, and on the opposite side of the highway from the pickup, so we continued to the airport after making sure the driver was safe and able to wait for police and ambulance and that the other citizen who stopped was able (and willing!) to take care of the rest from that point. It didn’t appear the driver of the pickup even had a cell phone…I felt so bad for him. : (
Can you imagine if nobody had stopped??!
That’s the question I thought about the rest of the way to the airport.
Which quickly led me to thinking about how many times I’ve been the one involved in a life wreck.
It put me into a place of deep thought (but with a well-activated nervous system) …about how we could have seen someone killed in front of us, one or more of us in our car could have gotten seriously injured or killed that morning, or we could have seen and been involved in a compounded highway mass tragedy if the speeding cars had been spaced within even a car length’s difference at that particular time and place.
But life went on.
We got into a plane that morning to sit by an old man holding an iPad and stock report papers who was quite consumed with things that obviously mattered, who didn’t want to sit by or have anything to do with us (and he really didn’t know how close his luck was to not having us there) especially our baby.
But there we were. All of us in a row.
And here we are today, still living this life.