It's been a while...

It's been a while since I sat down to write on this blog. Perhaps I was was hiding from my own words, or simply tired of hearing my thoughts rattle around on the screen.

Still single, still underemployed, still seeking, still finding wonder along the way.

Currently I'm feeling the depth of my grief at the loss of my body, the beautiful one. I grieve at the loss of my breast as the pair were perfect and full and hungry. Now one is gone the the other not quite right after the touch of the surgeon's knife. My arms, legs, belly, and chin are soft - the kind of soft that speaks of indulgence and neglect. And now, another scar running across just above the furry line of pubic hair - a gash creating a lopsided fold.

Men no longer gaze when their eyes fall on me. If there is no gaze will one ever look long enough to see the beauty inside this wear-marked exterior? And me, when I gaze at it I feel the desire to apologize both to it and to myself, and perhaps the collective universe.

There was too brief a time when I felt full and luscious and ripe in my skin. Such a long journey in to my body for such a short time to revel before the crumbling. How can I gracefully move into a new sense of sensuality when I still ache for what I had so briefly? I don't know.

If I cannot find it myself, surely no man will see it in me.

Ancient Eyes

ancient eyes watch
they look out from the stillness
from the silence
from the great heart
from the time of oneness
from the mystery
they look out at the madness

watching
as the gentle being of this life
seeks to be, to love
to make sense of the madness
to remember the oneness
to find the stillness
to feel the great heart

ancient eyes look out from the stillness
ancient eyes look out from the wounding,
the shame, the knowing of madness
and the heart weeps
crying out in the memory of oneness
for a gentle soul to look back and say
“I see you. I know who you are.
Do you remember me?”

The Gap Between Knowing and Doing

How is it that we can "know" what is right for us, "know" that our lives would be better, healthier, fuller, easier, more fluid if we did this particular thing or that specific thing, and yet stand and the gap between "knowing" and "doing" as if we were paralyzed?

If I ate better, if I got more exercise, if I got out more and socialized, if I saved more money, if I made better choices I would have a better quality of life. Some things I do not know how to attain, others are clearly attainable and yet I still stand here at the gap, looking over the edge.

No, I don't want someone to push me over the edge. I want to step, or leap, or jump that gap myself. I look for that muscle, the switch for movement and find myself looking into and murky pool of disappointment. I've jumped before and landed on my face, alone and feeling lost.

I don't have an answer, yet. I'll keep you posted...

Hurricane Charlie

I just spent 28 hours with my soon-to-be 11 year old grandson, Charlie. It was both a delightful and a stressful experience.

It was a delight because Charlie is creative, intelligent, curious, and enthusiastic. He makes me laugh out loud (even if I try not to). He amazes me with sudden insights. We both like animated and action films. And, he truly appreciates my time and attention. He told me (during the 28-hour period) that I was like a friend. This pleased me, greatly.

It was stressful not because I am distressed by his presence but rather because he is like a hurricane. He blows into my space (energetic, emotional, and physical) and stirs up the sedentary dust of my solitary life, commands my attention like headlights do a deer's, and his interest shifts directions more often than a ping-pong ball. Oh, and he's always hungry.

Being present, aware, and engaged with Charlie is important to me. My own grandmother was a huge influence on me and I treasure the time we spent together. It was far less than the time I spend with Charlie (grandma lived out of state) but what it lacked in quantity, our time together made up for in quality. Grandma was my center. I knew I existed as an individual because Grandma related to me as one; she affirmed me. Grandma died in 2000 and I miss her very much. I find I return to memories of her when I am low or life seems hard. And, I smile often when I remember her wit, humor, compassion, and understanding.

So, when Hurricane Charlie, blows into my space. I revel in the disturbance as a chance to be for him what my grandmother was for me.

The Well

Some days when I write, it feels like dropping words
into a deep well... but there is no echo.
My words fall into the darkness; I imagine them creating ripples
that drift gently into shadowy places,
making sweet splashing noises that I can't hear.

I guess that's why I keep coming back.
Maybe that's why I drop words into the well,
the taste of the water is sweet on my lips and refreshing to my soul.

I would like to lower myself down, into the darkness,
into the stillness and dance in the water.
I would like to hear my voice echoed off the walls,
creating vibrations that make the well sing.
Then surrender to the water,
lie back and baptize myself in the song.

Today I am dropping words...

... imagining what it would feel like
to be immersed in the well, the water, and the song.