funny enough, I think creating a blog made me stop writing.

I have a new sense of my boundaries now.  Turns out I don't really want you all to know.  Turns out I'd rather fill up journals with songs and poems and give my friends clear instructions to burn them when I'm gone.  Finally, something I can be consciously selfish about without feeling any pangs of guilt.

I'm going to slowly take all of this off of the internet.  I'll still share with you, maybe, if you ask me to.

sabbath rain

I woke up to rain, and my first thought was "I'll take it."

It's okay that my sheets are on the line.  It's okay that they've been there for three days.  It's okay that they are now wet again.

And it's okay that I can't keep up.  It's okay if I never catch up.

The sun porch is messy.  The rain is perfect.  So is my morning cup of tea.  The shimmering song is ancient, gentle and unrelenting.  The moment is fresh and poised.  Today I will let the rain be a comfort.  I'll let it wash my silly reasons into the meaninglessness and all-meaning silence.

someone somewhere

She made a pretty penny in real estate.
but never did fall in love.
She had a certain taste for fixer-uppers,
for sledge hammers and roller brushes
perfecting and moving on.

Pocket Guide to Grace: Lesson 76

When you find that the world is spinning, hold onto something stable and stop turning yourself around.

drunken daffodils

The daffodils clearly had also had too much to drink during the night.  They stood slouched and hung over the puddles and the sopping grass.  I felt comfort in their kinship, their rebellious vibrancy .  Though oppressively loaded with the evenings's storm, these daffodils were shining in chorus, singing gleaming hymns despite the fog, despite the burdensome grey of the morning.

I had no idea why I was awake.  The sun must of come up, I figured, though I couldn't see it.  I couldn't recall sleeping, but I also couldn't recall not sleeping.  As I pieced together the evening, I became pretty sure that I had still been awake and pushing words through my whiskey seasoned vocal chords long after the bars put us to the streets.  I was with the boy again, probably saying words I'd regret if i ever remembered them, probably talking myself right into bits of sleep caught on his shoulder.  But now I was awake, disoriented, (perhaps broken-hearted), and hanging out with slouched and singing daffodils.  We were all still intoxicated.

I had been sitting on my back steps for at least an hour, but I wouldn't go in until I had found whatever there was to be found in the morning.  The knuckles on my index fingers were smudged with my eye makeup, and all of my fingernails were black-tipped and gritty.  I  cleaned the salt-spots off of my glasses with my dress, and gave up trying to remember the evening.

The weight of the air comforted my weighted heart.  The fog in the back yard forgave the fog in my mind.  The daffodils seemed to say "Hey, we've all had it rough.  Be still, and shine."

This was the first day of spring.  Soon after, my life and the magnolia tree above the daffodils exploded into bloom.

exclamation

the short hand for my reflections on life these days is:

!!!

The end.

Digital Rain Drops

I just went for a run in the rain to put my laundry into a dryer.

I ran, did the laundry business, ran back.  

I've got no hat on, and open top shoes, and my forehead and socks are sopping it up.  And my glasses are all speckled with water which just make every light become a gigantic star in my face.   And it's kind of cold and that feels so good!  I've got this added bonus, a gifted pashmina scarf keeping my neck all soft and warm while the rest of me is tickled with big ol' sloppy April drops.  And theres totally an IPA in my belly and rain on my face and the speed of my jog reminds me that it's spring and that I can run and that I can move and life is so freaking good!

How glorious it is to run in the rain!

And then there's this thought that comes to my mind:

"'Running in the Rain, Running to Stand Still!' I should post that as my Facebook status when I get back."

At this point I can actually see my house.

What!?!?!   I'm running in the fucking rain, and it's AWESOME and I'm all chilled out on hops and spring and love of life, and i've got STARS like crazy in in front of my fucking EYES, and now I'm thinking about Facebook and status updates with U2 references!  "Oh, there's my house where I can (and have to) tell the world, on Facebook (because that's the world, right?), how I am So living up life.  

Living it up so much that though I resisted updating my status on Facebook, I did pause to write this blog.

Viva, friends, fucking viva. 

Impulsive Brain Consumption

I do hope that my friends here were all organ donors.

Just in case you needed a dose of Dianimal behavior.  Roar.

Loving Editor

Someone I trust says, "Don't touch it.  It'll hurt."  So I don't touch it (in this hypothetical scenario, at least).

That's because I've been hurt, and so I can recall the experience of being in pain.  I'm not looking for pain, so I'm not going to touch it.

If I had never ever been hurt, and therefor had no memory reference for the experience of pain, well, I'd probably touch it.  Why not?

Learning is non-linear.  I hope to remember that.  It allows so much grace.  

I haven't written in a while.  I've been seeking humility (and I do get so distracted!).  It's a non-linear lesson.  Is there any room for humility in the blog world?  

We shall see.

I went to Walden Pond Monday.  I was walking around the pond with a new friend, enjoying the peace.  Then just as I was about to open up my mouth, a gentle, silent, laugh stopped me.  "Not everything is to be shared."  I spend so much time trying to find peace from the words-words-words, and I was about to dump the chatter that I seek to free myself from into the ears of a man who seemed very peaceful.  Instead I found the gentle, silent laugh that devoured the need to speak, ate the words out of my throat.  The loving editor intervened.  Peace retained...silence...clear water...sparkling....now.

The funny thing about this blogging business is that since I've started writing and posting, I've become very conscious of how much bullshit comes out of my head and out of my mouth or onto the page.  So much chatter, and none of it real.  I've written about 50 unpublished blogs, and I've purposely shut myself up here and there for the first time in, oh, maybe, ever.  I am praying, walking, riding my bike past the buds turning to flowers right before my eyes, and asking the loving editor to remain, to help a sister out.  I may be her most difficult case, but i do believe she loves me and is going to stick around.

It's a silent, gentle laughter.  A jolly nature.  A soul's whisper.  A simple acknowledgement, "yes."

Pocket Guide to Grace: Lesson 28.3

Step one:  Create a to-do list.

Step two:  Add a few things at the end that you've already done.

Step three: Cross those things you've already done off.  Good Job!

Step four: Proceed with life (as in go ahead and get distracted)

Step five:  Lose your to-do list.  Just fucking lose it.

Step six:  Forgive yourself for losing your to-do list.  Really.  Fuck it.  

Step seven: Proceed with your day.  

Step eight: Catch yourself getting pissed at yourself for the things you didn't do.

Step nine: Forgive yourself again.  This may help:  "What are you going to get an award in Heaven for doing everything perfectly?  No!  So then, fuck it!"  (thanks, Tesia, for that one.)

Step ten: Proceed to bed time.  Go to bed. (I know that's two steps, but, again, fuck it. We're done honoring rules of to-do lists here)

Step eleven: Oops, you're thinking of those things again.  

Step twelve:  Let it go.  No one is perfect.  Isn't that great?  You're supposed to be, well, flawed.  Good Job!

Step thirteen: Let it go again.

Step fourteen: Again

Step fifteen: Repeat steps twelve through thirteen until drifting into a very peaceful rest.

Good Night.  Peace out.