Standing under glistening stars
I think of you
you the taker
you appeared to give charm
acknowledgement
support
love
but your true role was to take
and so you did
you took money
you took children
you took dreams
that we talked about
long into the night
cuddled under covers
the moon shining in observance
you shattered trust
you stole idealism
you took everything
you thought you could
I stand here now under the same night sky
and my thoughts linger on you
the loser of my life
the taker
the harsh life lesson of knowing you
I look up up where the stars reside
dancing in their merry pattern
that existed long before
me
and you
I once loved you
and then after the long convoluted tale
of me and you had ended
I hated you
I really did
but tonight
under a frosty sky
that blurs the stars as it does my remembrance
I think of you
I finally see your unforgiving heart
in the limitless infinity of night sky
your limitations stand in stark contrast
there were glimpses
even when we were together
but I laughed them off
so sure I was of the power
of my love for you
no longer!
I have moved past the jailed subjugation of knowing you
reluctantly I understand
your power lives only in my mind
so under this starry frosty sky
where millions of people must be gazing
their thoughts and prayers
winging upwards
just like mine
I release you
you fly out of my heart
like the inept captive bird
that you always really were.
My face is cold with the settling frost
but my heart is warm
You are doing the best you can
I know that now
But you were never meant for my world
and I was never meant for yours
and for that
I release you.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Friday, December 10, 2010
FIRE
There once was a girl who saw too much and ran far inside herself
And when she could run no more she stopped
and leaning against the wall of tiredness and defeat
she sank and huddled down
All was still
except somewhere deep inside was that little girl
Still looking
That kind of look that makes you stare at the screen when the movies over and the
screen has faded to black
The kind that makes you stretch your eyes wider to cross a room in a darkness like pitch
Even knowing that wont help you see
Into this infinite nothingness she stared as she curled against that wall waiting
In spite of the looking and waiting it still caught her unaware
when it came
this mind numbing joyous light
Gently surrounding her
changing her
It warmed her light dimmed soul
And she became it
this fire
Small and crackling
Soothing and warm
And then bigger
And irrepressible
Impossible to ignore
A long overdue conflagration
of thoughts and feelings and ideas
and love
And whether made uncomfortable by her heat or drawn
by its warmth
people gazed at her fire
And when she could run no more she stopped
and leaning against the wall of tiredness and defeat
she sank and huddled down
All was still
except somewhere deep inside was that little girl
Still looking
That kind of look that makes you stare at the screen when the movies over and the
screen has faded to black
The kind that makes you stretch your eyes wider to cross a room in a darkness like pitch
Even knowing that wont help you see
Into this infinite nothingness she stared as she curled against that wall waiting
In spite of the looking and waiting it still caught her unaware
when it came
this mind numbing joyous light
Gently surrounding her
changing her
It warmed her light dimmed soul
And she became it
this fire
Small and crackling
Soothing and warm
And then bigger
And irrepressible
Impossible to ignore
A long overdue conflagration
of thoughts and feelings and ideas
and love
And whether made uncomfortable by her heat or drawn
by its warmth
people gazed at her fire
Monday, November 29, 2010
WHY I WRITE
I write to explore.
Like a road that wanders
to where I do not know.
In this earthly shell of one body
lies the flitting thoughts of many other potential roads.
The knowing that all our lives
could/would/did take certain paths
but what if?
What if a different choice had been made in a different moment?
Where would that path have lead?
Who would I have been?
Or what about living in a different time?
On a different continent?
What about trying to survive in a world
that made no sense at all?
How would I have lived and navigated then?
Crossing the west in a covered wagon,
being a geisha with porcelain Asian features,
or a young woman in Auschwitz during WW 2
What would have been the motives, the hopes, the choices?
Those worlds all contained plots and the characters that imbibed them.
Writing brings them out of the shrouds of time
cancels the mystery of distance
so they can climb right off the page
live out the words you write for them.
Making choices both heroic and not.
Being superbly human all unfolds
if you let it.
The tumbling kaleidoscope
of thoughts and patterns
translating into words
lets a writer explore
as many potential worlds
as Livingstone or Maro Polo
could have only dreamed of roaming.
While I am gently tethered to this earth with a physical body
the mind knows no such constraints
can move across culture and borders
and transcend even time itself.
In the crafting of words both delicate and heavy
emerges entire worlds e
equally as rich as the physical moment of now.
Think of your favorite character from a novel
and how meeting that character within the pages of a book transformed you.
Added dimension to how you viewed your own world.
You can be assured it transformed the writer who thought of it also.
It is in this glorious quest
for exploration and transformation
that I write
Like a road that wanders
to where I do not know.
In this earthly shell of one body
lies the flitting thoughts of many other potential roads.
The knowing that all our lives
could/would/did take certain paths
but what if?
What if a different choice had been made in a different moment?
Where would that path have lead?
Who would I have been?
Or what about living in a different time?
On a different continent?
What about trying to survive in a world
that made no sense at all?
How would I have lived and navigated then?
Crossing the west in a covered wagon,
being a geisha with porcelain Asian features,
or a young woman in Auschwitz during WW 2
What would have been the motives, the hopes, the choices?
Those worlds all contained plots and the characters that imbibed them.
Writing brings them out of the shrouds of time
cancels the mystery of distance
so they can climb right off the page
live out the words you write for them.
Making choices both heroic and not.
Being superbly human all unfolds
if you let it.
The tumbling kaleidoscope
of thoughts and patterns
translating into words
lets a writer explore
as many potential worlds
as Livingstone or Maro Polo
could have only dreamed of roaming.
While I am gently tethered to this earth with a physical body
the mind knows no such constraints
can move across culture and borders
and transcend even time itself.
In the crafting of words both delicate and heavy
emerges entire worlds e
equally as rich as the physical moment of now.
Think of your favorite character from a novel
and how meeting that character within the pages of a book transformed you.
Added dimension to how you viewed your own world.
You can be assured it transformed the writer who thought of it also.
It is in this glorious quest
for exploration and transformation
that I write
Thursday, November 4, 2010
I AM THAT WOMAN
The one you overlook at first glance
Who appears world weary and drab
or
who seems to have a glint in her eye that makes you look twice
The one with veiled questions in her gaze that must be answered
Yes I am the sum of them all
I am that woman
My heart beats
My lungs sing with the new day
and my heart is alive
ALIVE
do you hear me?
I create your beloved home
The food that you eat
The child that you cherish
I am woman
As essential to life as sunshine to the earth
Do not count my voice as absent
as I am your wife, mother, sister, friend,
grandmother
and a million other wombs
all carrying the drumbeat of your male warrior hearts
Listen to me
I speak in the rain beating on your roof
The liquid falling silver of a full moon
and the promise of each new day
I am the one you hold in your arms at night
I am in your identity
guardian of hearth and of future
Do not pass by me in a hurried rush
Stop.
Hush!
Listen...
Who appears world weary and drab
or
who seems to have a glint in her eye that makes you look twice
The one with veiled questions in her gaze that must be answered
Yes I am the sum of them all
I am that woman
My heart beats
My lungs sing with the new day
and my heart is alive
ALIVE
do you hear me?
I create your beloved home
The food that you eat
The child that you cherish
I am woman
As essential to life as sunshine to the earth
Do not count my voice as absent
as I am your wife, mother, sister, friend,
grandmother
and a million other wombs
all carrying the drumbeat of your male warrior hearts
Listen to me
I speak in the rain beating on your roof
The liquid falling silver of a full moon
and the promise of each new day
I am the one you hold in your arms at night
I am in your identity
guardian of hearth and of future
Do not pass by me in a hurried rush
Stop.
Hush!
Listen...
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
While I Suffer
a complete writers block,
there is this...
Quotes that inspire me.
"Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself."--Tolstoy
"Be kind to unkind people...they need it the most." --Mark Twain
"Discovery consists in seeing what everybody else has seen and thinking what nobody has thought." -- Albert Szent-Gyorgyi
"You don't have to be anti-man to be pro-woman". ~Jane Galvin Lewis
"Men are taught to apologize for their weaknesses, women for their strengths." ~Lois Wyse
"Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself."--Tolstoy
and one last one to laugh at,
"To be is to do"--Socrates. "To do is to be"--Sartre. "Do be do be do"--Sinatra.
so there we have it.
Points to ponder. A lifestyle to live. A world to create.
there is this...
Quotes that inspire me.
"Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself."--Tolstoy
"Be kind to unkind people...they need it the most." --Mark Twain
"Discovery consists in seeing what everybody else has seen and thinking what nobody has thought." -- Albert Szent-Gyorgyi
"You don't have to be anti-man to be pro-woman". ~Jane Galvin Lewis
"Men are taught to apologize for their weaknesses, women for their strengths." ~Lois Wyse
"Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself."--Tolstoy
and one last one to laugh at,
"To be is to do"--Socrates. "To do is to be"--Sartre. "Do be do be do"--Sinatra.
so there we have it.
Points to ponder. A lifestyle to live. A world to create.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Once In Awhile
Once in a while
there are those times when
there are no words
nothing
to relay the absolute height of joy
nothing
to plumb the depths of sorrows
nothing to account for when you come home at night
knowing that all your struggles
dont matter
at least
that is what you think in the moment
sleep long
drink deeply of stillness and rest
wake up
a new day
one that will stun you with possibilities
where nothing is as bad as you thought
and along with the shining of the dawn
is a rising of knowledge within
you are capable
there are those times when
there are no words
nothing
to relay the absolute height of joy
nothing
to plumb the depths of sorrows
nothing to account for when you come home at night
knowing that all your struggles
dont matter
at least
that is what you think in the moment
sleep long
drink deeply of stillness and rest
wake up
a new day
one that will stun you with possibilities
where nothing is as bad as you thought
and along with the shining of the dawn
is a rising of knowledge within
you are capable
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Warning!
Postcard from the edge of the universe
SO...
I had one of those days...have you had one?
One of those days where you wake up and your dreams were as rich as syrup and the colors and the feelings stay with you even while you rise from a deeply emerged state of sleep.
Its hard to shake those morning moments when the fairy dust residue of your nocturnal wanderings hangs over your head like Napalm making you gloomy and disoriented while you struggle to adjust your eyes to the morning brightness and banish your dreams to wherever dreams are stored.
It is further juxtaposed from reality if you have a to do list of chores written the day before that didn't allow or take in to account that you were going to wake up in a weird mind with the wrong lens on your mental camera photograph of the day.
You drink some stiff coffee and reconcile yourself to the fact that the dream world is far removed from the "real world" (thank goodness) and begin to tackle your list..the list that existed before you slept and dreamed....
The drinking of coffee and referring to the list worked for me on this particularly odd day where I found it hard to shake the dream state.
The reality is I have company coming and I needed to get the guest house ready. We recently refurbished an empty rental unit that we own and are using over the summer and fall for guests that visit. It is cleaned and ready except that the shower needs a shower curtain. I had that incorporated into a long to do list as these guests are "business guests" and even though I hadn't met them - I wanted them to be comfortable and to feel welcomed.
This explains my morning trek, sans breakfast to the local dollar store to find a shower curtain.
The dollar store is a wonderful place.
OH MY GOODNESS !
The things you can buy for a dollar!
I don't go there enough to get jaded apparently, so I was entranced with everything and finally filled a basket. When I walked up to pay, I saw out of the corner of me eye, a woman...
this was an Amazon women.
She was at least 6 feet tall and every bit as stunning as Cindy Crawford at her career height.
As we waited in line we listened to the cashier patiently ask each customer head of us it they would like to donate there change to a charity. Gosh I thought..how old would that get each and everyone all day long.. asking each person that.
so when I got to my turn in line I said
"I bet you get tired of saying that."
She smiled and said "yes."
Meanwhile, Cindy Crawford only better, behind me, proceeded to go off on a total rant about charities being rip offs. Because she was so tall and physically elegant and because I am so short and un elegant I was privy to her upper mouth and she was missing a tooth!
The one that is supposed to reside next to the 2 front teeth.
Wow.
She was so beautiful and so angry and yet all I could focus on was that gap.
She ranted on and on, this most beautiful Cindy Crawford look alike person.
I felt the heat of embarrassment creep up my neck. I felt like I got the cashier into something by my words.
I was never so happy as when I was rung up and could grab my bags and flee the crazy "Crawford" woman!
What gives?
I thought as I drove home...
what is it about passion losing itself, if it comes in a mouth with a missing tooth?
I hung the shower curtain for the guests and then I wrote this story
I don't pretend to know what it all means.
SO...
I had one of those days...have you had one?
One of those days where you wake up and your dreams were as rich as syrup and the colors and the feelings stay with you even while you rise from a deeply emerged state of sleep.
Its hard to shake those morning moments when the fairy dust residue of your nocturnal wanderings hangs over your head like Napalm making you gloomy and disoriented while you struggle to adjust your eyes to the morning brightness and banish your dreams to wherever dreams are stored.
It is further juxtaposed from reality if you have a to do list of chores written the day before that didn't allow or take in to account that you were going to wake up in a weird mind with the wrong lens on your mental camera photograph of the day.
You drink some stiff coffee and reconcile yourself to the fact that the dream world is far removed from the "real world" (thank goodness) and begin to tackle your list..the list that existed before you slept and dreamed....
The drinking of coffee and referring to the list worked for me on this particularly odd day where I found it hard to shake the dream state.
The reality is I have company coming and I needed to get the guest house ready. We recently refurbished an empty rental unit that we own and are using over the summer and fall for guests that visit. It is cleaned and ready except that the shower needs a shower curtain. I had that incorporated into a long to do list as these guests are "business guests" and even though I hadn't met them - I wanted them to be comfortable and to feel welcomed.
This explains my morning trek, sans breakfast to the local dollar store to find a shower curtain.
The dollar store is a wonderful place.
OH MY GOODNESS !
The things you can buy for a dollar!
I don't go there enough to get jaded apparently, so I was entranced with everything and finally filled a basket. When I walked up to pay, I saw out of the corner of me eye, a woman...
this was an Amazon women.
She was at least 6 feet tall and every bit as stunning as Cindy Crawford at her career height.
As we waited in line we listened to the cashier patiently ask each customer head of us it they would like to donate there change to a charity. Gosh I thought..how old would that get each and everyone all day long.. asking each person that.
so when I got to my turn in line I said
"I bet you get tired of saying that."
She smiled and said "yes."
Meanwhile, Cindy Crawford only better, behind me, proceeded to go off on a total rant about charities being rip offs. Because she was so tall and physically elegant and because I am so short and un elegant I was privy to her upper mouth and she was missing a tooth!
The one that is supposed to reside next to the 2 front teeth.
Wow.
She was so beautiful and so angry and yet all I could focus on was that gap.
She ranted on and on, this most beautiful Cindy Crawford look alike person.
I felt the heat of embarrassment creep up my neck. I felt like I got the cashier into something by my words.
I was never so happy as when I was rung up and could grab my bags and flee the crazy "Crawford" woman!
What gives?
I thought as I drove home...
what is it about passion losing itself, if it comes in a mouth with a missing tooth?
I hung the shower curtain for the guests and then I wrote this story
I don't pretend to know what it all means.
The old woman sits with hands crossed
she remembers back to a time when those same hands
younger
smaller
watched while others held the rough edge of a blanket
elders showing her the art of smoke signals
no longer used
now reduced to the stuff of old stories
fire, water, smoke,
blanket = communication
between far away people
a sort of primitive prairie binary code
if you will
one puff yes
two puffs no
now all of it taken care of by satellites
we gaze at them each night
their existence burns in the heavens
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Seashore
Water air and sun
with salty swoosh it beckons
Come and stand where wonder begins
To play
with sand pails and shovels
children leave their creations
gift offerings
for the tide to consume each day
the lost come here to find themselves
and the found to be reminded
of their infinitesimal smallness against the work of an eternal hand
civilization crowds with concrete and glass against its shore
the crush of man at lifes edge
the siren song calls them all
come here to die
come here to live!
Come!
you who seek....
and I will give.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
The Idea of Staying
When your boss has lost his mind
when your husband seems to have joined him
when the smell of your kids hair at night as you tuck them in
isn't enough anymore
and yet
you stay
Women stay when men cannot
Some biological wiring?
Perhaps
Whatever it is
we women are good at it
we have perfected it
The idea expressed as art
The art of staying
As Moses stilled the Red Sea by lifting his arms
We women still the sea of restlessness the world provides
we come home each day
we absorb the cacophony of a thousand voices
our husbands and children have heard in that day
and somewhere
between baths and bedtime
we make an inward decision
to reflect a calm we do not feel
and after "Goodnight Moon" has been read
the locked door has been checked twice
and the last load of laundry is humming in the dryer
we sink into bed
searching with questioning toes for the seam at the bottom of our sheets
and as we turn over and surrender to sleep
one more day has passed its test
as have we
we stayed.
when your husband seems to have joined him
when the smell of your kids hair at night as you tuck them in
isn't enough anymore
and yet
you stay
Women stay when men cannot
Some biological wiring?
Perhaps
Whatever it is
we women are good at it
we have perfected it
The idea expressed as art
The art of staying
As Moses stilled the Red Sea by lifting his arms
We women still the sea of restlessness the world provides
we come home each day
we absorb the cacophony of a thousand voices
our husbands and children have heard in that day
and somewhere
between baths and bedtime
we make an inward decision
to reflect a calm we do not feel
and after "Goodnight Moon" has been read
the locked door has been checked twice
and the last load of laundry is humming in the dryer
we sink into bed
searching with questioning toes for the seam at the bottom of our sheets
and as we turn over and surrender to sleep
one more day has passed its test
as have we
we stayed.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Now That I Know You Exist
Your presence in my life began much the way dreams do
a slow foggy half awake beckoning of the soul
it made the world seem calmer and more thrilling
all at the same time
that new found knowledge was like pulling a blanket up over my shoulders
on a cold winter night
The line of demarcation that had formerely defined me
no longer fell on such mundane lines
as day of birth
starting school
moving to a new house
or any of the other former measures
that had come before
the lines commmonly used to decide
when ones life takes a significant turn
now falls with great impact
on when I first knew about you
versus when I did not
that miraculous moment when I began to look at the world
through anothers set of eyes
peering out of me inwardly
your eyes
your thoughts
your viewpoint
as though it were mine
pudding proof that I had assimilated your world view in with my own
where it now rests on the puffed comfortable couch of my heart
beside my own unique thoughts and feelings
a space where I can have a running inner dialogue at any moment
an effortless free flowing stream of consciousness conversation
about anything at all
knowing all my thoughts are safe in your hands
the world may notice a new, crackling energy in me
or perhaps
a secret far away smile
as I wait patiently in a long line
seeming as though I have been transported far away.
It is true
I have
to that secret place inside of me where your spirit and mine
now reside
together
knowing you
has
changed my world.
I know love
because it defines you
and I
know
you.
a slow foggy half awake beckoning of the soul
it made the world seem calmer and more thrilling
all at the same time
that new found knowledge was like pulling a blanket up over my shoulders
on a cold winter night
The line of demarcation that had formerely defined me
no longer fell on such mundane lines
as day of birth
starting school
moving to a new house
or any of the other former measures
that had come before
the lines commmonly used to decide
when ones life takes a significant turn
now falls with great impact
on when I first knew about you
versus when I did not
that miraculous moment when I began to look at the world
through anothers set of eyes
peering out of me inwardly
your eyes
your thoughts
your viewpoint
as though it were mine
pudding proof that I had assimilated your world view in with my own
where it now rests on the puffed comfortable couch of my heart
beside my own unique thoughts and feelings
a space where I can have a running inner dialogue at any moment
an effortless free flowing stream of consciousness conversation
about anything at all
knowing all my thoughts are safe in your hands
the world may notice a new, crackling energy in me
or perhaps
a secret far away smile
as I wait patiently in a long line
seeming as though I have been transported far away.
It is true
I have
to that secret place inside of me where your spirit and mine
now reside
together
knowing you
has
changed my world.
I know love
because it defines you
and I
know
you.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Daydream From a Woman's Heart
Daydream From a Woman's Heart
In my most perfect daydream
my children would turn out exactly as I wrote the script
I would be beautiful
and thin!
my husband would be possessed of the singular ability to read my mind
(and like what he read)
my dog would behave
my cooking would be renown
my friends would adore me
my enemies would change their mind about me
my colloquialisms for life would be exquisite to all!
and finally..........
I would grow old and die
surrounded by
my loved ones both two and 4 legged...
screech...............
sound of record stopping!
How ABSOLUTELY boring!
How done already!
Instead....
I propose an alternate scenario for all us mothers and women out there who have hearts filled with dreams...
our children will abandon our script and we will be glad
(for how can they let go of the past in order to shape the future?)
We will suddenly realize that we already are beautiful in the minds eye of those who truly get us
what a relief
we can lay that beauty/thin/ thing down on the side of the road starting right now
a dog not behaving?
That is what makes blood to boil,
and laughter to bubble forth
and generates great stories to tell over dinner
keep it up pup!
More than likely our cooking is plenty renown - its just a matter of not serving it till after everyone is hungry - then make them wait 30 more minutes - its all about the perception!
as for our friends...
they already do adore us - that is why they are our friends
whereas our enemies never really knew us,
pity, really (for them)
and as for our colloquialisms shining in our clever use of superlatives...
the truth is it never was us at all.
Rather,
it has been life itself
all along
shining in its exquisiteness
our words are merely reflecting that glow,
thus decreeing every day a chance to shine
because it is all already there - waiting for us to show up.
As for dying, why think about it really?
Maybe I will die standing on top of a mountain I just climbed at the age of 100 just to see if I could.
Maybe I will die in bed
(I hope its in my sleep.)
Since none of us knows or can impact or plan for it in any way, why really care?
What we can plan, what we can impact,
is each day
right now.
We can love our children just as they are
and that goes for husbands too...
and friends be they of the two or 4 legged variety.
We can recognize that what nourishes best is anything that is real,
be it food,
words,
or glances...
and we can serve them up warmly and often.
Now that I think about it,
I like this plan.
I like this woman better.
I am going to go off the script of average and take the adventurous and unknown and embrace it with lifes arms wide open.
How about you?
In my most perfect daydream
my children would turn out exactly as I wrote the script
I would be beautiful
and thin!
my husband would be possessed of the singular ability to read my mind
(and like what he read)
my dog would behave
my cooking would be renown
my friends would adore me
my enemies would change their mind about me
my colloquialisms for life would be exquisite to all!
and finally..........
I would grow old and die
surrounded by
my loved ones both two and 4 legged...
screech...............
sound of record stopping!
How ABSOLUTELY boring!
How done already!
Instead....
I propose an alternate scenario for all us mothers and women out there who have hearts filled with dreams...
our children will abandon our script and we will be glad
(for how can they let go of the past in order to shape the future?)
We will suddenly realize that we already are beautiful in the minds eye of those who truly get us
what a relief
we can lay that beauty/thin/ thing down on the side of the road starting right now
a dog not behaving?
That is what makes blood to boil,
and laughter to bubble forth
and generates great stories to tell over dinner
keep it up pup!
More than likely our cooking is plenty renown - its just a matter of not serving it till after everyone is hungry - then make them wait 30 more minutes - its all about the perception!
as for our friends...
they already do adore us - that is why they are our friends
whereas our enemies never really knew us,
pity, really (for them)
and as for our colloquialisms shining in our clever use of superlatives...
the truth is it never was us at all.
Rather,
it has been life itself
all along
shining in its exquisiteness
our words are merely reflecting that glow,
thus decreeing every day a chance to shine
because it is all already there - waiting for us to show up.
As for dying, why think about it really?
Maybe I will die standing on top of a mountain I just climbed at the age of 100 just to see if I could.
Maybe I will die in bed
(I hope its in my sleep.)
Since none of us knows or can impact or plan for it in any way, why really care?
What we can plan, what we can impact,
is each day
right now.
We can love our children just as they are
and that goes for husbands too...
and friends be they of the two or 4 legged variety.
We can recognize that what nourishes best is anything that is real,
be it food,
words,
or glances...
and we can serve them up warmly and often.
Now that I think about it,
I like this plan.
I like this woman better.
I am going to go off the script of average and take the adventurous and unknown and embrace it with lifes arms wide open.
How about you?
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Quotes I Love
When I hit a dry well in writing or when I come across something I love, I will post it making sure it is clear that it is a quote - not written by me but enjoyed by me.
Here is one:
Believe while others are doubting.
Plan while others are playing.
Study while others are sleeping.
Decide while others are delaying.
Prepare while others are daydreaming.
Begin while others are procrastinating.
Work while others are wishing.
Save while others are wasting.
Listen while others are talking.
Smile while others are frowning.
Commend while others are criticizing.
Persist while others are quitting.
-William Arthur Ward
Now if only I could actually do all of that...
Here is one:
Believe while others are doubting.
Plan while others are playing.
Study while others are sleeping.
Decide while others are delaying.
Prepare while others are daydreaming.
Begin while others are procrastinating.
Work while others are wishing.
Save while others are wasting.
Listen while others are talking.
Smile while others are frowning.
Commend while others are criticizing.
Persist while others are quitting.
-William Arthur Ward
Now if only I could actually do all of that...
Thursday, June 24, 2010
WHO I WOULD BE
(If I Could Be Me...)
I would be a fairy princess
in a toddlers body
The undisputed champion
of the the 3rd grade spelling bee
If I could be me...
Adolescence would be my proving ground
popular,
thin,
smart
All the boys
would notice me
If I could be me...
Honor classes,
Prom,
Graduation,
marry high school sweetheart or
go to college
the right choice or the smart choice?
I would know this answer
If I could be me...
College or not,
marriage or not,
babies or not -
we all end up in the same place
Turning 30
Am I too fat,
too old,
too poor?
and who are all these people in my life?
and oh yes....
what about who I would be
If I could be me...
Life is so hectic I barely stop.
I am becoming,
a career woman,
a lover,
a mother.
A fixer,
divorced,
married,
single.
Living,
drowning,
in options.
Is this really who I would be?
If I could be me...
Unbelievable this ride of life
The choices.
the kids,
the men,
the self.
At night I sleep
and I am so far from who I would be
If I could be me...
Movie stars are now not "older" than me
and a couple of kids have called me Ma'am
The world seems to be getting younger
I am not.
But here is what I am getting,
more sure.
More graceful.
More forgiving.
There really is a rhythm and a flow to it all
And just as all who are young have to struggle?
I realize I do not.
Like a late Indian summer day,
I have an extra hour
To relax,
look,
reflect.
To smile.
To reach out gently to my time conscious self
and with no more effort than dipping a paddle steers a canoe,
realize...
I am in charge of what will be
I can be me.
I would be a fairy princess
in a toddlers body
The undisputed champion
of the the 3rd grade spelling bee
If I could be me...
Adolescence would be my proving ground
popular,
thin,
smart
All the boys
would notice me
If I could be me...
Honor classes,
Prom,
Graduation,
marry high school sweetheart or
go to college
the right choice or the smart choice?
I would know this answer
If I could be me...
College or not,
marriage or not,
babies or not -
we all end up in the same place
Turning 30
Am I too fat,
too old,
too poor?
and who are all these people in my life?
and oh yes....
what about who I would be
If I could be me...
Life is so hectic I barely stop.
I am becoming,
a career woman,
a lover,
a mother.
A fixer,
divorced,
married,
single.
Living,
drowning,
in options.
Is this really who I would be?
If I could be me...
Unbelievable this ride of life
The choices.
the kids,
the men,
the self.
At night I sleep
and I am so far from who I would be
If I could be me...
Movie stars are now not "older" than me
and a couple of kids have called me Ma'am
The world seems to be getting younger
I am not.
But here is what I am getting,
more sure.
More graceful.
More forgiving.
There really is a rhythm and a flow to it all
And just as all who are young have to struggle?
I realize I do not.
Like a late Indian summer day,
I have an extra hour
To relax,
look,
reflect.
To smile.
To reach out gently to my time conscious self
and with no more effort than dipping a paddle steers a canoe,
realize...
I am in charge of what will be
I can be me.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Halfway Point Of My Journey
On Turning 50
I'm turning 50. That's half of a century! Can you imagine? For some reason I feel like this is a momentous accomplishment on my part. But when I look back I can see I have always been fascinated by the things we call "old".
I remember being ten... an awkward shy girl who read a lot and daydreamed her way through time. I came out of my introspective reveries one day long enough to notice my mother in a state of great excitement. Seems she had inherited a beautiful oak side board from her mother-in-law. After much laborious grunting on the part of two sweaty movers this wooden leviathan assumed a place of honor (in it's huge hulking way) in our dining room. It seemed to be quite the big deal that I of course, being ten, didn't grasp. So I asked, my radiantly happy mother "What's so great about it?"
My dear mother, oblivious to the naive density of her fledgling, exclaimed " Why this is 50 years old." This was said in the most reverential of tones while running her hands over the smooth patina of well rubbed and oiled wood. To that younger me it seemed like her version of MY excitement when I had found an arrowhead the summer before. With a shiver I had curled my fingers tightly, feeling the cold smooth center and rough edges of the arrowhead as it pressed its outline against my palm. I remembered standing there spellbound at the thought that some long ago person had shaped and used it as a tool, with their own two hands. Now, somehow, in the churning tempest that is the earth, the long buried arrowhead had found its way to me, to be held once again. I wondered about that long ago person. Lost to the shrouds of the past, but still having once existed, with no less validity than my own existence in that moment. The proof of this profound truth rested solidly in my closed fist. Recalling the solemn awe of that moment, I found myself running my hands over this beautiful wooden object my mother was so entranced with. Imitating and understanding her sense of reverence.
Over the years that have passed since that day, I have observed with interest the excitement that a 56 Chevy can elicit from a group of men. How far people will travel to view the architectural detail found in the splendor of the ruins of ancient Rome. Or how hard the normally unfazed New Yorker will fight to save an old building. Not to mention the highly esteemed culinary intricacies involved in the making of fine wines and gourmet cheeses. Recipes of which have been highly guarded and handed down for centuries. And then there are the treasures of nature, which cannot be hurried, diamonds, amber, silk and pearls. It has slowly seeped into my consciousness that all these things we collectively deem valuable, share one common element. That element is time.They take time.They improve with age.
In beauty, in substance, in value.
The woman of 50 is a defined woman. For better or worse she is no longer that fresh newborn malleable lump of clay that we all begin life as.The potential of youth has been bartered for the richness of life. As the moments tick on, her experiences, combined with her thoughts and feelings, have taken turns guiding, shaping and molding her. Life has focused her, much in the way a lens does a camera. Everything about her becomes more clear. Revealed in the shining light of time. Her joys her passions her loves and hardships, it's all there.
Her hands reveal what they have spent the years doing. Whether creating works of art or stroking the heads of babies. Working in an office, or close to the earth under a relentless sun, the hands speak of what they know.
Her feet too, say so much. Beautiful and well cared for, or gnarled by ill fitting shoes and long hours of standing. They bear silent testimony to having been shaped by the steps her own personal path has taken.
But the greatest story teller of a woman's life is in her face.
The joy, the sorrow, the contentment or lack of, on display for anyone who chooses to observe. Whispered in the gentle crinkles that frame eyes filled with frequent laughter. Or suggested in the soft wreath of smile lines that trace across luminous cheeks. Sometimes, the story is told in thinly drawn lips that have spent years pressed tightly in disapproval, judgment of others, the corrosive acid of bitterness doing its handiwork.
Regardless, its all there.
An exclusive story for each and every woman. We sculpt our own personal look by what we think, by what we feel, and by how we react to all that happens along our journey. How true then the saying that when we are born we have the face God gave us, and when were old we have the face we've earned. The woman who has lived for half of a century is possessed of a sage-ness that is strikingly observable to others. It as identifying as a fingerprint, as unique as a snowflake as solid as an arrowhead.
While a younger woman may dream of finding her "other half"? The woman of 50 is serene in the knowledge that she need seek no other half. Rather, she emanates the completeness she has attained with a beauty that is all its own. She is a survivor, she is wise and she is humorous. She has a story to tell, born out of a sophisticated wisdom that is now hers. She has an authenticity that cannot be faked, rushed or purchased, but rather, develops gently under the sculpting hand of time.
When a woman turns 50
she becomes.~
I'm turning 50. That's half of a century! Can you imagine? For some reason I feel like this is a momentous accomplishment on my part. But when I look back I can see I have always been fascinated by the things we call "old".
I remember being ten... an awkward shy girl who read a lot and daydreamed her way through time. I came out of my introspective reveries one day long enough to notice my mother in a state of great excitement. Seems she had inherited a beautiful oak side board from her mother-in-law. After much laborious grunting on the part of two sweaty movers this wooden leviathan assumed a place of honor (in it's huge hulking way) in our dining room. It seemed to be quite the big deal that I of course, being ten, didn't grasp. So I asked, my radiantly happy mother "What's so great about it?"
My dear mother, oblivious to the naive density of her fledgling, exclaimed " Why this is 50 years old." This was said in the most reverential of tones while running her hands over the smooth patina of well rubbed and oiled wood. To that younger me it seemed like her version of MY excitement when I had found an arrowhead the summer before. With a shiver I had curled my fingers tightly, feeling the cold smooth center and rough edges of the arrowhead as it pressed its outline against my palm. I remembered standing there spellbound at the thought that some long ago person had shaped and used it as a tool, with their own two hands. Now, somehow, in the churning tempest that is the earth, the long buried arrowhead had found its way to me, to be held once again. I wondered about that long ago person. Lost to the shrouds of the past, but still having once existed, with no less validity than my own existence in that moment. The proof of this profound truth rested solidly in my closed fist. Recalling the solemn awe of that moment, I found myself running my hands over this beautiful wooden object my mother was so entranced with. Imitating and understanding her sense of reverence.
Over the years that have passed since that day, I have observed with interest the excitement that a 56 Chevy can elicit from a group of men. How far people will travel to view the architectural detail found in the splendor of the ruins of ancient Rome. Or how hard the normally unfazed New Yorker will fight to save an old building. Not to mention the highly esteemed culinary intricacies involved in the making of fine wines and gourmet cheeses. Recipes of which have been highly guarded and handed down for centuries. And then there are the treasures of nature, which cannot be hurried, diamonds, amber, silk and pearls. It has slowly seeped into my consciousness that all these things we collectively deem valuable, share one common element. That element is time.They take time.They improve with age.
In beauty, in substance, in value.
The woman of 50 is a defined woman. For better or worse she is no longer that fresh newborn malleable lump of clay that we all begin life as.The potential of youth has been bartered for the richness of life. As the moments tick on, her experiences, combined with her thoughts and feelings, have taken turns guiding, shaping and molding her. Life has focused her, much in the way a lens does a camera. Everything about her becomes more clear. Revealed in the shining light of time. Her joys her passions her loves and hardships, it's all there.
Her hands reveal what they have spent the years doing. Whether creating works of art or stroking the heads of babies. Working in an office, or close to the earth under a relentless sun, the hands speak of what they know.
Her feet too, say so much. Beautiful and well cared for, or gnarled by ill fitting shoes and long hours of standing. They bear silent testimony to having been shaped by the steps her own personal path has taken.
But the greatest story teller of a woman's life is in her face.
The joy, the sorrow, the contentment or lack of, on display for anyone who chooses to observe. Whispered in the gentle crinkles that frame eyes filled with frequent laughter. Or suggested in the soft wreath of smile lines that trace across luminous cheeks. Sometimes, the story is told in thinly drawn lips that have spent years pressed tightly in disapproval, judgment of others, the corrosive acid of bitterness doing its handiwork.
Regardless, its all there.
An exclusive story for each and every woman. We sculpt our own personal look by what we think, by what we feel, and by how we react to all that happens along our journey. How true then the saying that when we are born we have the face God gave us, and when were old we have the face we've earned. The woman who has lived for half of a century is possessed of a sage-ness that is strikingly observable to others. It as identifying as a fingerprint, as unique as a snowflake as solid as an arrowhead.
While a younger woman may dream of finding her "other half"? The woman of 50 is serene in the knowledge that she need seek no other half. Rather, she emanates the completeness she has attained with a beauty that is all its own. She is a survivor, she is wise and she is humorous. She has a story to tell, born out of a sophisticated wisdom that is now hers. She has an authenticity that cannot be faked, rushed or purchased, but rather, develops gently under the sculpting hand of time.
When a woman turns 50
she becomes.~
Saturday, May 29, 2010
And So I Begin. Again,
My computer crashed and I lost most of what I had written.
For two days I wandered around hugging a pillow and feeling sick inside.
My computer nerd guy (ever compassionate those types huh?) merely said "if you wrote it once you can write it again"
well that rankled...I mean what am I? some kind of human back up disk?
my words are carefully chosen works of art
I love the line by Oscar Wilde, where he said
“This morning I took out a comma and this afternoon I put it back in again.”
writing happens in fits and spurts and is hard won
I cant believe I never made a back up of something I considered precious
so here I am
all my lost and (carefully crafted I might add) words are gone
all my favorite quotes and sayings. All my brilliant moments
gone
ok, maybe I am not a Michelangelo with words, but
It is like my words were road dust and I was put through an involuntary car wash
so I will start again
after all what does anyone do after a disaster?
they start anew
they build better
stronger
smarter
so AMEN to my expired hard drive
and HELLO to my new one
may I make you worthy of honesty and truth
Heaven knows there can always be more of it
so I begin again
For two days I wandered around hugging a pillow and feeling sick inside.
My computer nerd guy (ever compassionate those types huh?) merely said "if you wrote it once you can write it again"
well that rankled...I mean what am I? some kind of human back up disk?
my words are carefully chosen works of art
I love the line by Oscar Wilde, where he said
“This morning I took out a comma and this afternoon I put it back in again.”
writing happens in fits and spurts and is hard won
I cant believe I never made a back up of something I considered precious
so here I am
all my lost and (carefully crafted I might add) words are gone
all my favorite quotes and sayings. All my brilliant moments
gone
ok, maybe I am not a Michelangelo with words, but
It is like my words were road dust and I was put through an involuntary car wash
so I will start again
after all what does anyone do after a disaster?
they start anew
they build better
stronger
smarter
so AMEN to my expired hard drive
and HELLO to my new one
may I make you worthy of honesty and truth
Heaven knows there can always be more of it
so I begin again
Monday, May 24, 2010
The Worm Has Turned?
Today was spent being alone and mellow with my thoughts. All without benefit of a bong or a joint!
I never did do the bong or joint thing, even in the 70s, truth be told...
No,I was the girl over in the corner with her nose shoved in a book.
Or doing some football players English homework for him.
Yes that was me. A nerd girl in the 70s. Always just left of center but it just sounds so hippie-ish to talk about hanging out with oneself on purpose and without chemical help doesn't it?
A shame actually.
I think before we were constantly bombarded by friendly fire (the media) we had to (gasp) think for ourselves. A man out building a barn or hunting in the woods has a lot of time to think, especially thoughts about cause and effect.
Me bring home food= GOOD me miss my shot = BAD om gah wah
A woman similarly, stirring the campfire tending children and a forgetful old crone of a grandma positioned within watching distance, each had time to think their individual thoughts.
A simple, immeasurable, priceless, commodity in our communication driven world.
Solitude.
Time to think
Time to interpret the input from the world around you into your own personal data base of experiences and thoughts without a brightly shined media "face" telling you not only what the news is but how you should "interpret" the news.
When I was a little girl back in the 60's (ouch I know) Kronkite delivered the news as dry as a brown industrial paper towel that you would pull out of a rack at grade school.
Left to form their own thoughts, we the public did just that.
So at what subtle point did we start letting journalists not just inform us but interpret for us? Because that is were we are now and I suspect it is not all their fault but rather our own. We got fat and lazy intellectually speaking. WE got busy with the details of our life and looked at these brightly glossed people as saving us time from reading the paper and framing our own thoughts.
Well that is over and the backlash is tremendous. People are taking the reins back into their own hands. The free wheelingwild wild west of the Internet is their main source and magazines and news shows via television networks, are fighting for their lives.
Women consult their iPad while they wait for the timer to go off on the modern day cooking fire of the micro wave.
Men scour the concrete jungle of the city with a Blackberry or iPod in hand - weapon of choice.
And they each weigh their information and consider their options.
Maybe we are starting to think for ourselves again,
maybe...
The worm has turned.
I never did do the bong or joint thing, even in the 70s, truth be told...
No,I was the girl over in the corner with her nose shoved in a book.
Or doing some football players English homework for him.
Yes that was me. A nerd girl in the 70s. Always just left of center but it just sounds so hippie-ish to talk about hanging out with oneself on purpose and without chemical help doesn't it?
A shame actually.
I think before we were constantly bombarded by friendly fire (the media) we had to (gasp) think for ourselves. A man out building a barn or hunting in the woods has a lot of time to think, especially thoughts about cause and effect.
Me bring home food= GOOD me miss my shot = BAD om gah wah
A woman similarly, stirring the campfire tending children and a forgetful old crone of a grandma positioned within watching distance, each had time to think their individual thoughts.
A simple, immeasurable, priceless, commodity in our communication driven world.
Solitude.
Time to think
Time to interpret the input from the world around you into your own personal data base of experiences and thoughts without a brightly shined media "face" telling you not only what the news is but how you should "interpret" the news.
When I was a little girl back in the 60's (ouch I know) Kronkite delivered the news as dry as a brown industrial paper towel that you would pull out of a rack at grade school.
Left to form their own thoughts, we the public did just that.
So at what subtle point did we start letting journalists not just inform us but interpret for us? Because that is were we are now and I suspect it is not all their fault but rather our own. We got fat and lazy intellectually speaking. WE got busy with the details of our life and looked at these brightly glossed people as saving us time from reading the paper and framing our own thoughts.
Well that is over and the backlash is tremendous. People are taking the reins back into their own hands. The free wheelingwild wild west of the Internet is their main source and magazines and news shows via television networks, are fighting for their lives.
Women consult their iPad while they wait for the timer to go off on the modern day cooking fire of the micro wave.
Men scour the concrete jungle of the city with a Blackberry or iPod in hand - weapon of choice.
And they each weigh their information and consider their options.
Maybe we are starting to think for ourselves again,
maybe...
The worm has turned.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
On Friendships
Friendships are a fragile and beautiful thing
A thread felt not seen
wraps mysteriously around you
drawing you both together
you explore your commons
and admire your differences
the veneers of your outer self peel away
replaced by layers of trust
one at a time
until what you have in common
is more than what you don't
you now exchange thoughts with a glance or a laugh
maybe a raised brow or a shrug
thus is the language of friends
the level of trust flowing as deeply as iron ore
you are my friend
and I am yours
A thread felt not seen
wraps mysteriously around you
drawing you both together
you explore your commons
and admire your differences
the veneers of your outer self peel away
replaced by layers of trust
one at a time
until what you have in common
is more than what you don't
you now exchange thoughts with a glance or a laugh
maybe a raised brow or a shrug
thus is the language of friends
the level of trust flowing as deeply as iron ore
you are my friend
and I am yours
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Maintenance
Have you ever noticed that the older you get the more effort it takes to look good?
In my 20's all I had to do was get a tan and comb my hair -
and wear tight clothes.
In my 30's I was still doin ok...I could stay up all night with my girlfriends watching movies and eating chocolate and drinking wine and still get up just a little later the next morning.
Maintenance consisted of shaving my legs and underarms, keeping my eyebrows plucked and getting a good tan every summer.
My hair looked good up or down. My skin was finally through breaking out (maybe?) in retrospect this was my one shining moment between pimples and wrinkles! Who knew?
In my 40's life got a little bit more complicated.
While I waited in line at the Taco Bell drive thru, I could see all of my gray hair in my side mirror as I leaned out to shout my order....
"I'll have a Nacho Grande and OMG what is that stuff in my hair!"
*****crackle over loudspeaker**** "what's that ma'am?"
Did he just say "ma'am"? Am I "sounding" old too?"
"I'll have the taco salad...hold the meat and cheese...and also a diet soda, umm...on second thought just make that a water...."
A pair of tweezers has now become my best friend in my diligent search for the grays, a plan I only abandoned when I realized I could quite easily pluck my way into pattern baldness.
So now I am 50...
I wake up after one dinner at a restaurant, swollen and puffy.
A blooming onion makes me "bloom" for 3 days...
in the meanwhile I am facing "veins" and "age spots" and what's up with the chin hair?
You know, that one lone solitary hair that can grown 3 inches in the time it takes you to check your email.
A magnifying glass has become not a luxury but a necessity, since apparently my eyes are becoming myopic so fast I cant even SEE the aforementioned now 6 inch long solitary chin hair.
The magnifying glass also mirrors my need to get my roots done again in my attempts to angle it so that I can see my chin...
I need a highlight job on my roots again? Didnt I just do that?
Of course I do! I need that about every 3 weeks appperently.
As I stand in my kitchen popping vitamins by the mouthful I remember the words of a neighbor I adored that has since moved away. She and I used to walk every day. She was turning 50 and I was turning 40. She said,
"I had a deep massage today so I hurt all over. I had my hair dyed and highlighted and my nails done."
I said, "well you look great!"
"Yes" she replied tiredly and with a rueful grin, "I can still look great but it is taking more and more effort to do it."
I listened to her and I thought that was interesting but I didn't really identify.
Now?
I GET it!
I wake up with a cranky hip.
I run with a faulty bladder to the nearest bathroom.
My allergies are in full bloom and my hormones tell me I should kill someone.
Too bad I am not in Iraq. I'm sure once I quit sneezing and peeing, I would be a human death machine!
"Fear THIS! Ha!
I am hormonal and have nothing left to lose!"
I probably wont offer myself to my country though...
I don't want them to tell me I am too OLD!
In my 20's all I had to do was get a tan and comb my hair -
and wear tight clothes.
In my 30's I was still doin ok...I could stay up all night with my girlfriends watching movies and eating chocolate and drinking wine and still get up just a little later the next morning.
Maintenance consisted of shaving my legs and underarms, keeping my eyebrows plucked and getting a good tan every summer.
My hair looked good up or down. My skin was finally through breaking out (maybe?) in retrospect this was my one shining moment between pimples and wrinkles! Who knew?
In my 40's life got a little bit more complicated.
While I waited in line at the Taco Bell drive thru, I could see all of my gray hair in my side mirror as I leaned out to shout my order....
"I'll have a Nacho Grande and OMG what is that stuff in my hair!"
*****crackle over loudspeaker**** "what's that ma'am?"
Did he just say "ma'am"? Am I "sounding" old too?"
"I'll have the taco salad...hold the meat and cheese...and also a diet soda, umm...on second thought just make that a water...."
A pair of tweezers has now become my best friend in my diligent search for the grays, a plan I only abandoned when I realized I could quite easily pluck my way into pattern baldness.
So now I am 50...
I wake up after one dinner at a restaurant, swollen and puffy.
A blooming onion makes me "bloom" for 3 days...
in the meanwhile I am facing "veins" and "age spots" and what's up with the chin hair?
You know, that one lone solitary hair that can grown 3 inches in the time it takes you to check your email.
A magnifying glass has become not a luxury but a necessity, since apparently my eyes are becoming myopic so fast I cant even SEE the aforementioned now 6 inch long solitary chin hair.
The magnifying glass also mirrors my need to get my roots done again in my attempts to angle it so that I can see my chin...
I need a highlight job on my roots again? Didnt I just do that?
Of course I do! I need that about every 3 weeks appperently.
As I stand in my kitchen popping vitamins by the mouthful I remember the words of a neighbor I adored that has since moved away. She and I used to walk every day. She was turning 50 and I was turning 40. She said,
"I had a deep massage today so I hurt all over. I had my hair dyed and highlighted and my nails done."
I said, "well you look great!"
"Yes" she replied tiredly and with a rueful grin, "I can still look great but it is taking more and more effort to do it."
I listened to her and I thought that was interesting but I didn't really identify.
Now?
I GET it!
I wake up with a cranky hip.
I run with a faulty bladder to the nearest bathroom.
My allergies are in full bloom and my hormones tell me I should kill someone.
Too bad I am not in Iraq. I'm sure once I quit sneezing and peeing, I would be a human death machine!
"Fear THIS! Ha!
I am hormonal and have nothing left to lose!"
I probably wont offer myself to my country though...
I don't want them to tell me I am too OLD!
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Every Day Is Mothers Day
I actually wrote this last May but for some reason, never posted it.
No time like the present though, right?
~~~~~~~
With the coming of spring mothers day is every day on a farm and in the wildlife around us.
A little bird saga was going on this weekend and I thought that this winged mothers story was fitting for the day.
I feed my dogs at night. One last time for the day as they basically eat all day long but feeding them at night encourages them to stay close and not roam far away in the fields and woods, following whatever fascinating scents and wild calls they may hear and smell late at night.
When our cat was still alive we had no problem with birds or mice. Since her death at 23 yrs of age (who can blame her?) the mockingbirds have gotten more and more bold.
I know they are the state bird (whose dumb idea was that?) and they are "protected" but after a couple of years of them nesting in our chimney I grew rather disenchanted with the whole process.
I remember it was late one night and the house was quiet when I first heard that strange fluttering sound in the fireplace. Oh look! A baby bird!
I got a lid from a mayonnaise jar, washed it and filled it with water along with a small plate of bread crumbs in the fireplace to feed this little accidental house guest.
Little did I know there was nothing accidental about this. Mockingbirds are the Gambino family of the bird world. They take over. No other birds can stay. They run the place. Once the cat died they were home free in bird speak. They were here to stay....
We (I mean me) fed the little fallen fledgling there in the fireplace, while listening nightly to his brothers and sisters practice flapping their wings somewhere deep within our chimney. After a day or so we took the little feathered thing out of the fireplace. This involved a brave 21 yr old son putting on an oven mitt and diving into the fireplace along with a small degree of fluttering and chirping. Once the gray feathered chirpling was within grasp he was tossed (gently) out the front door near a big bush which he fluttered to. His parents chirped and flew back and forth nearby. A mother and child reunion. So be it. I closed the front door.
Imagine my dismay when it happened again the next year!
I mean I love animals as much as the next guy but give me a break!
We put an iron grate on our chimney top. Problem solved!
No.
They pecked through it (apparently there was one weak spot that rusted) and once again I try to watch TV with the accompanying tempo of the magnificent beat of rehearsing wings in my chimney.
Tonight when I went out to give the dogs their last of the day food, I heard an unusual thing.
The mama mockingbird was perched up in the tree and was pathetically running through some serious stage lines. First she was "dying" with soft little chirps. Then she was singing in a voice like an angel that drew you to her. The beating of wings in the chimney was so strong, gathering momentum so that for the first time I could hear it while standing outside of my house.
She was calling her babies! Oh my!
After a few minutes she changed her song to a soft whimper. The sound that a puppy makes late at night when it is alone.
In a few minutes she was joined by her mate. They both began to make soft whimpering helpless cooing sounds together.
Simply amazing.
There were answering coos form within the chimney along with much beating of wings.
The babies will fly tonight.
Out of the chimney where they have practiced their stattaco calls on feathered pinions.
Out into the night world of a full moon, a waiting tree
and their mothers voice.
~
No time like the present though, right?
~~~~~~~
With the coming of spring mothers day is every day on a farm and in the wildlife around us.
A little bird saga was going on this weekend and I thought that this winged mothers story was fitting for the day.
I feed my dogs at night. One last time for the day as they basically eat all day long but feeding them at night encourages them to stay close and not roam far away in the fields and woods, following whatever fascinating scents and wild calls they may hear and smell late at night.
When our cat was still alive we had no problem with birds or mice. Since her death at 23 yrs of age (who can blame her?) the mockingbirds have gotten more and more bold.
I know they are the state bird (whose dumb idea was that?) and they are "protected" but after a couple of years of them nesting in our chimney I grew rather disenchanted with the whole process.
I remember it was late one night and the house was quiet when I first heard that strange fluttering sound in the fireplace. Oh look! A baby bird!
I got a lid from a mayonnaise jar, washed it and filled it with water along with a small plate of bread crumbs in the fireplace to feed this little accidental house guest.
Little did I know there was nothing accidental about this. Mockingbirds are the Gambino family of the bird world. They take over. No other birds can stay. They run the place. Once the cat died they were home free in bird speak. They were here to stay....
We (I mean me) fed the little fallen fledgling there in the fireplace, while listening nightly to his brothers and sisters practice flapping their wings somewhere deep within our chimney. After a day or so we took the little feathered thing out of the fireplace. This involved a brave 21 yr old son putting on an oven mitt and diving into the fireplace along with a small degree of fluttering and chirping. Once the gray feathered chirpling was within grasp he was tossed (gently) out the front door near a big bush which he fluttered to. His parents chirped and flew back and forth nearby. A mother and child reunion. So be it. I closed the front door.
Imagine my dismay when it happened again the next year!
I mean I love animals as much as the next guy but give me a break!
We put an iron grate on our chimney top. Problem solved!
No.
They pecked through it (apparently there was one weak spot that rusted) and once again I try to watch TV with the accompanying tempo of the magnificent beat of rehearsing wings in my chimney.
Tonight when I went out to give the dogs their last of the day food, I heard an unusual thing.
The mama mockingbird was perched up in the tree and was pathetically running through some serious stage lines. First she was "dying" with soft little chirps. Then she was singing in a voice like an angel that drew you to her. The beating of wings in the chimney was so strong, gathering momentum so that for the first time I could hear it while standing outside of my house.
She was calling her babies! Oh my!
After a few minutes she changed her song to a soft whimper. The sound that a puppy makes late at night when it is alone.
In a few minutes she was joined by her mate. They both began to make soft whimpering helpless cooing sounds together.
Simply amazing.
There were answering coos form within the chimney along with much beating of wings.
The babies will fly tonight.
Out of the chimney where they have practiced their stattaco calls on feathered pinions.
Out into the night world of a full moon, a waiting tree
and their mothers voice.
~
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Streaming Thoughts
It has been an interesting week here. I always feel that life runs somewhat like a river or maybe something smaller like a creek or a stream. You have things that are standing still in the moving water like the rocks and pebbles for instance. Then you have things that are moving along in the water at their own pace....like a floating leaf or a little bug. Then there are things that shift sometimes and remain immovable at others such as the sand at the bottom of the stream.
Life seems like that to me...always moving on so many multi dimensional levels. Some things are stagnant, some fresh, some bogged down, some churning up. Some good some bad. It has always been the biggest of head shakers to me how grief and joy are allowed run through our lives in such a concurrent way. It seems to me that there should be some universal rule requiring that they be separate. If we are having a time of great joy say, maybe, when we are falling in love with that perfect person...we should not have to experience a parent dealing with cancer or our siblings divorce. If it worked that way then our joy would transcend itself into a bliss that we could just float on and everything we looked at and thought about and did would just radiate that happiness pouring out of us.
But I guess if I flip this particular coin of thought over then it would also mean that when we walk through those dark times it would truly be very very dark. Dealing with illness or death or loss of any kind with absolutely no little moment of joy or the tiniest ray of hope would be soul crushing to say the least. The pain might just be outside the human scope of endurance.
So perhaps the universe has it right after all and all of life flows in this inextricable, inseparable and yet glorious mish mash of love and joy and pain and suffering along with all the surreal moments that can and does bring with it.
So we live. And we live with that steady current of time streaming around us. Sometimes we stand still, sometimes we float and sometimes we swim madly. Just like all the other things that are in the stream with us. Our joys and our triumphs, our failures and losses all swirling simultaneously.
There most be a really good reason why life functions this way. Maybe there are several reasons.
Life seems like that to me...always moving on so many multi dimensional levels. Some things are stagnant, some fresh, some bogged down, some churning up. Some good some bad. It has always been the biggest of head shakers to me how grief and joy are allowed run through our lives in such a concurrent way. It seems to me that there should be some universal rule requiring that they be separate. If we are having a time of great joy say, maybe, when we are falling in love with that perfect person...we should not have to experience a parent dealing with cancer or our siblings divorce. If it worked that way then our joy would transcend itself into a bliss that we could just float on and everything we looked at and thought about and did would just radiate that happiness pouring out of us.
But I guess if I flip this particular coin of thought over then it would also mean that when we walk through those dark times it would truly be very very dark. Dealing with illness or death or loss of any kind with absolutely no little moment of joy or the tiniest ray of hope would be soul crushing to say the least. The pain might just be outside the human scope of endurance.
So perhaps the universe has it right after all and all of life flows in this inextricable, inseparable and yet glorious mish mash of love and joy and pain and suffering along with all the surreal moments that can and does bring with it.
So we live. And we live with that steady current of time streaming around us. Sometimes we stand still, sometimes we float and sometimes we swim madly. Just like all the other things that are in the stream with us. Our joys and our triumphs, our failures and losses all swirling simultaneously.
There most be a really good reason why life functions this way. Maybe there are several reasons.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Quote of the Day
"A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently and die gallantly. Specialization is for insects."
--Robert A. Heinlein
--Robert A. Heinlein
Thursday, April 29, 2010
On Dreams...
I am the brisk wind that blows through your soul
I am that new thought that skirts around the edges of your waking moments
I am your dreams
But dreams are meant to be realized not thought about
So rise
take them in your hand
forget fear
go forth and just do
the worst thing that can happen is you will fail
that is it
just like a baby falls over and over again
and still learns to walk
so will you
just take the first step
into responsibility
into your self.
I am that new thought that skirts around the edges of your waking moments
I am your dreams
But dreams are meant to be realized not thought about
So rise
take them in your hand
forget fear
go forth and just do
the worst thing that can happen is you will fail
that is it
just like a baby falls over and over again
and still learns to walk
so will you
just take the first step
into responsibility
into your self.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
OMG I AM ORDINARY!
This just in,
I wear ordinary clothes and I put on ordinary makeup
I order easily off menus and rarely confound the waiter with my eclectic choices
I can be tracked easily in the "norms" range during a yearly physical in my height, weight and eye color
Even the DMV (Dept. of Motor Vehicles) lady yawns when she enters my stats in her computer and takes my picture
No one will ever feel compelled to write my biography based on my scintillating "different ness"
I pride myself on being different but really? I am never the first to
name my child after a fruit
or buy the latest style
or own the newest cell phone
new shoes?
purses?
I'm there!
Oh wait a minute....
so is everybody else
I am only one cow in a large stampeding herd of fashionistas
We all end up following the same colors and skirt lengths and buttons and well, never mind...
I am never going to be popular by writing about this.
Apparently my eccentricities are mundane except to me!
Women need their "fashion cloak" like birds need feathers...I guess its all part of identifying and belonging.
I would love to fit in with that concept. I love new clothes and beautiful textures, but alas, when you get right down to it, I am a fashion flunkie.
I commit the ultimate sin
I buy off the shelf
I need to further confess that I am not really sure who
Manolo Blahnik is...
There isn't a poster on the wall at Shoes R Us that covers that
I shop at outlet stores and thrift shops and only feel I am in deep disastrous fashion waters if I catch myself in a Dollar Store looking at a blouse and saying "well isn't that cute!"
So as unique and wonderfully "individualized" I may find myself in my own head. The truth is sigh, ..
my distinctiveness isn't bubbling to the surface in any jaw dropping kind of way
I'm not sure but this may be a good time to go ahead and confess that I subscribe to Oprahs RSS feed to help me find my best life, I let Dr Phil solve all my emotional problems, "The Doctors" show gives me and a hundred million other viewers health care answers
AND
I also watched the Bachelor oh and um...the Greatest Race.
Wow. I am
(crazy)
(normal)
( a misfit)
(all of the above)
i.e.; ordinary
and in today's far out and freaky world...
could that qualify as extraordinary?
I wear ordinary clothes and I put on ordinary makeup
I order easily off menus and rarely confound the waiter with my eclectic choices
I can be tracked easily in the "norms" range during a yearly physical in my height, weight and eye color
Even the DMV (Dept. of Motor Vehicles) lady yawns when she enters my stats in her computer and takes my picture
No one will ever feel compelled to write my biography based on my scintillating "different ness"
I pride myself on being different but really? I am never the first to
name my child after a fruit
or buy the latest style
or own the newest cell phone
new shoes?
purses?
I'm there!
Oh wait a minute....
so is everybody else
I am only one cow in a large stampeding herd of fashionistas
We all end up following the same colors and skirt lengths and buttons and well, never mind...
I am never going to be popular by writing about this.
Apparently my eccentricities are mundane except to me!
Women need their "fashion cloak" like birds need feathers...I guess its all part of identifying and belonging.
I would love to fit in with that concept. I love new clothes and beautiful textures, but alas, when you get right down to it, I am a fashion flunkie.
I commit the ultimate sin
I buy off the shelf
I need to further confess that I am not really sure who
Manolo Blahnik is...
There isn't a poster on the wall at Shoes R Us that covers that
I shop at outlet stores and thrift shops and only feel I am in deep disastrous fashion waters if I catch myself in a Dollar Store looking at a blouse and saying "well isn't that cute!"
So as unique and wonderfully "individualized" I may find myself in my own head. The truth is sigh, ..
my distinctiveness isn't bubbling to the surface in any jaw dropping kind of way
I'm not sure but this may be a good time to go ahead and confess that I subscribe to Oprahs RSS feed to help me find my best life, I let Dr Phil solve all my emotional problems, "The Doctors" show gives me and a hundred million other viewers health care answers
AND
I also watched the Bachelor oh and um...the Greatest Race.
Wow. I am
(crazy)
(normal)
( a misfit)
(all of the above)
i.e.; ordinary
and in today's far out and freaky world...
could that qualify as extraordinary?
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Today's Thought
I have observed
that people know who is real and who is faking without you telling them
That life is full of amazing chances
That the people who love you are the ones that really know you
That every day begins again with chances and opportunities to change what happened in the past
That the past is dead, the present deserves some thought and that the future is totally up to you
That life goes in cycles and if you are really down, the nice thing is you are headed back up again
That when you smile you change everything around you
That love is, quite simply, powerful
That no one means to hurt us, people are just driven by what they fear
That anyone can change at anytime
It is the beauty of life.
that people know who is real and who is faking without you telling them
That life is full of amazing chances
That the people who love you are the ones that really know you
That every day begins again with chances and opportunities to change what happened in the past
That the past is dead, the present deserves some thought and that the future is totally up to you
That life goes in cycles and if you are really down, the nice thing is you are headed back up again
That when you smile you change everything around you
That love is, quite simply, powerful
That no one means to hurt us, people are just driven by what they fear
That anyone can change at anytime
It is the beauty of life.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
I am big on starting things on the first of the month or the first of a week (don't ask me why it makes a difference but it does so I go with it) SO I decided last month that the 1st would be exercise day for me! Way back in the day I used to run 4 miles a day. I felt and looked great. I worked in a hospital and was a single parent and was busier than I am now. I should be able to pick up where I left off right? So in the interest of extremism I decided that is what I would do.....I woke up the next morning feeling puffy from having had wine and chips the night before(a condemned woman's last meal I suppose) I made a cup of hot tea and stood there thinking when?????
When do I go out and run? I decided I would be better off to just do it rather than have it hanging over my head like some aerobic sword of Damocles all day. Besides if I wait till later and somebody has a flat tire or I have some other distraction then I will use that as my "reason" not to fit it in, and I will miss my first of the month deadline and will then have to wait until next month.
So I sat my tea down (it was too hot anyway) and went to dig out my jogging shoes. I still had the pair from my last attempt at walking with a neighbor about 4 years ago (she moved and that ended that) those shoes are the kind that are "engineered" and cost the same as one semester of my sons classes at college so I really needed to find them. I finally did find one (we have a new puppy so lets just go ahead and blame her) and it was missing the shoelace. Not to be out witted by that I DID discover my hiking boots which predate the tennis shoes and are leather and comfy and well structured and should work just for today. I can interrogate the puppy and buy shoe strings later.
Now on to my attire...too cold here this morning for black bikers shorts and my big black T shirt. I don't have any of my fat pants left because of all the "experts" telling me to get rid of them when I lost weight, so I did that months ago. Haven't bought any new ones except one pair of dress slacks and one pair of Capri's. Even I know the dress pants wont work so on with the Capris! My hiking boots are brown, my Capri's are black, I found a black tank top (and since I'm nothing if not fashionable I dug out my brown and black herringbone sweater) and I'm off!. I didn't dare look in the mirror I just went with it.
When I hit the front door my very startled old dog Sasha waited till I had laced up my hiking boots to get up and stretch and yawn. She couldn't believe her eyes but was too polite to say anything. SO off we went! There was pretty much trouble immediately. I was out of breath from jogging by the time we got to the edge of the yard and the road stretched out ahead of us...so I decided to amend things to a very fast walk.
My knees were feeling very creaky which I guess is only fair giving the fact that they are very small compared to what is packed on right above them...see I am one of those women who is shaped just like a pear. From just above my knees to right around my waist things are very bad. From my waist up there is someone else's body who is several times smaller. This has its advantages and its drawbacks. MY sister says at least your face is never fat in pictures. This is true (and the main reason you can always find me in family pictures standing in the back behind my sister) but have you ever noticed what happens when you put something small next to something LARGE??? Well yeah....the large thing (in this case my butt we are talking here) the LARGE thing looks even Bigger. Its just wrong to mislead someone with my skinny face and then turn around on them! OMG! Their eyes could fall out from the shock! It really only would work out well if I got a job involving being seen only from the waist up. Like maybe a television anchor or the ticket taker at the movies. That should keep everyone's eyes safe. But I have neither job and so I just walk around menacing the eyes of society right and left which IS one more reason WHY I am jogging! It's practically a community service! Hooray!
By the first 40 feet (hope you all don't mind me reporting this first "run" in feet instead of miles...will work up to that later...) my knees were joined in their protest by my right hip and it was a little hard to breath. I decided to call my "run" a jog just for now and I started walking....I DID walk real fast though! Like the hounds of hell were after me! Really it was just Sasha and she was actually ahead of me, but you can picture how fast I was walking right?
I got pretty warm pretty fast for some reason and I had to shed the herringbone fashion statement pretty much in the first block. Fortunately for me I didn't care anymore I just wanted to draw a complete breath. I didn't stop moving though and when I saw an ever so slight downward incline in the road I broke into a jog again. Well it was kind of a sloooww jog maybe a SLOG??? But when each hiking boot hit the ground I felt the ripple effect of jiggling fat up my thigh and around my butt. Fat cells under attack! Just thinking of how startled they must have been made me laugh. AHA! Take that! I said as they jiggled around in a panic.
I SLOGGED a little farther than I intended just because at some point I was able to breath less painfully and to noticed the absolute brightness of the sun and the clear cold sky. The combination of warm sun and cold air made my face tingle (or maybe it was an artery unclogging but I prefer to go with the first thought)
I almost hated to turn around...Ok that is a lie. I have never been so glad in my life! On the way back I did notice that my knees didn't hurt anymore, I guess they either went numb or decided to get with the program. I actually made it home without encountering anyone at all except my son on his way to work who said "Mom what are you doing?"
"I'm jogging silly" I gasped, as I clung to the side of his truck window for a second to catch my breath. Since I know him so well I know his look of skepticism masked how impressed he REALLY was and on that note I said "well have a good day at work, I have to keep my momentum going!"
I slogged back all the way across the front yard..BIG FINISH and up the front steps. According to the clock I had three more minutes and I would have been exercising for a HALF hour! What to do???? Cross training I thought! So I jogged into the dining room and grabbed two wine bottle off the rack and did some presses while I jogged around the dining room table.
It took another 45 minutes before I felt cooled off... I sure hope that was a big ole metabolic hint to my body! It has now been 90 minutes and I have NO hunger although I did force down a cup of hot lemon water.
So all in all I view today as a huge success.
Marathoners look out, here I come!
Friday, March 12, 2010
I love the way old houses shift and creak at night.
The wind blows on a cold night and the floorboards and walls shift slightly
everything gives way just a bit
With each bit of pressure on the top of the floor the wood shifts. It bends. It accommodates. The paint shrinks and expands as do the walls.
Imagine if we all shrunk together when life was "cold" and we all expanded when life was "warm"
if wood and plaster and mortar and paint can do that - why cant people?
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Blackberry Hill is a magical place. Here, where the land is mostly flat it rises majestically and lets you look at the surroundings from above. You see things from a different perspective. Kind of like writing does for the writer. True to its name, this gentle hump in the land grows the most delicious deep purple berries in the summer and gives us a great place for fires and wienie roasts in the fall. This hill is where my children came, pails in hand, to pick berries when they were young. Now I bring my my little grandchildren here to do the same.
This is the place I feel drawn to when I am sad or need to contemplate my small part in the vastness of all that is life and its out workings. I guess then it could go without saying that Blackberry Hill is my spot to come and write. To pour out what ever thoughts seem to be most tangled up in my head, and the ideas that are sticking close to my heart. Up here on the hill on this day of gray and mysterious weather, I lay back in the grass and watch the clouds moving in their apparently aimless fashion. Pushing and bumping against each other, then drifting apart and away. Where do they go next, these clouds? Little gusts of wind blow a whistling symphony in the grass around my ears and the clouds seem to hear it and respond. I feel so a part of it all and my heart soars.
Even though I don't understand much at all about this universe, I am here. It lets me be a part. I share the mystery. I get to experience this while I roam around inside my own head. I am reminded of the words of Tolkien... "Not all those who wander are lost."
Recently on Blackberry Hill we had a wonderful memory building moment. My son got married in one place on the farm (a hay field) BUT he and his bride had their pictures taken guess where? Why Blackberry Hill of course!
The bridal party was moving down the hill to catch the light for more pictures. The bride is way out in front in the light colored dress. The father of the bride carries the flower girl in his arms. Others lift their long skirts to walk in the tall autumn grass.
I love this one picture the most because it caught the happy and spontaneous mood of the moment. To have planned this shot would have been next to impossible. It just had to "happen".
Monday, March 8, 2010
Is Being Worthy Synonymous With Being Real?
On Being Real (Worthy)
I love real butter
Fresh fall air beats out the best air conditioner for sure
And there is no fruit flavored gum candy or syrup that tastes anywhere near as good as the actual fruit itself.
I know I am not alone in this. Everyone, given a choice prefers the real to the fake. The genuine to the knock off.
Real costs more, is desired more, and carries more substance.
So why is it then that as women who know the value of real, we settle for less in ourselves, our friends and our relationships?
What creates that climate?
Is it fear?
Maybe we wont be liked (or loved) if we are real?
If not fear then what are the other possibilities?
Is it conforming? Does who we sense that we are seem out of step with what we see in the world around us thereby driving us to become our best imitation of ourselves instead of being real, as we strive to carefully fit in with societal expectations?
That begs the question, who is it exactly that originates societies expectations? Who is behind the news or the fashion and currently admired humans that over saturate our eyes, minds and ears via the TV, movies, magazines and the Internet?
What is the fascination with holding other humans up to emulate rather than being what it is we admire in them in the first place.
So if its not fear or the desire to conform what is it?
There seems to be one more reason why a woman cant be real.
Because she doesn't know who she really is.
Like it or not, we are all products of all that came before us to a certain extent.
Be a good girl, sit up straight, eat all your food, behave. Those are all powerhouse subliminals that inadvertently work against realness aren't they?
Its not that those time honored parental phrases are wrong but they were perhaps in many cases the only defining message that got through to our "child" ears.
No matter. The adult ears and eyes we have now are the ones that are in charge. What do they tell us about what is real and what isn't?
On this walk through life we carry inside all the stages we have ever been. Little girl, teenager, woman....its all still there inside so the capacity to know who we are isn't unattainable even if it does seem just beyond our grasp at the moment.
It just requires a determined reach that's all.
Wether our suppression of our own realness comes from fear of failure or the need of conformity of the lack of self knowledge, the solution appears to be the same.
What if a woman took a week to explore this?
Would the world stop spinning?
We know the answer to that.
So what's to be lost in trying.
It doesn't have to be in a scary drastic way.
A woman does not have to chop off all her hair or go braless to work to begin to be authentic. It doesn't have to be big or external at all.
It can be as small as stopping yourself in one moment to really look at the person in front of you.
Or doing something you want to that you fear might seem silly if someone was watching...like walking in the rain.
The world wants to claim your childlike enjoyment of life. Your innocence and authenticity. It wants to leave you jaded and bitter.
The universe wants the opposite.
The universe is an impressive and explosive mixture of unique and varied forms all working in perfect harmony.
Why should we as women have to be any less?
I love real butter
Fresh fall air beats out the best air conditioner for sure
And there is no fruit flavored gum candy or syrup that tastes anywhere near as good as the actual fruit itself.
I know I am not alone in this. Everyone, given a choice prefers the real to the fake. The genuine to the knock off.
Real costs more, is desired more, and carries more substance.
So why is it then that as women who know the value of real, we settle for less in ourselves, our friends and our relationships?
What creates that climate?
Is it fear?
Maybe we wont be liked (or loved) if we are real?
If not fear then what are the other possibilities?
Is it conforming? Does who we sense that we are seem out of step with what we see in the world around us thereby driving us to become our best imitation of ourselves instead of being real, as we strive to carefully fit in with societal expectations?
That begs the question, who is it exactly that originates societies expectations? Who is behind the news or the fashion and currently admired humans that over saturate our eyes, minds and ears via the TV, movies, magazines and the Internet?
What is the fascination with holding other humans up to emulate rather than being what it is we admire in them in the first place.
So if its not fear or the desire to conform what is it?
There seems to be one more reason why a woman cant be real.
Because she doesn't know who she really is.
Like it or not, we are all products of all that came before us to a certain extent.
Be a good girl, sit up straight, eat all your food, behave. Those are all powerhouse subliminals that inadvertently work against realness aren't they?
Its not that those time honored parental phrases are wrong but they were perhaps in many cases the only defining message that got through to our "child" ears.
No matter. The adult ears and eyes we have now are the ones that are in charge. What do they tell us about what is real and what isn't?
On this walk through life we carry inside all the stages we have ever been. Little girl, teenager, woman....its all still there inside so the capacity to know who we are isn't unattainable even if it does seem just beyond our grasp at the moment.
It just requires a determined reach that's all.
Wether our suppression of our own realness comes from fear of failure or the need of conformity of the lack of self knowledge, the solution appears to be the same.
What if a woman took a week to explore this?
Would the world stop spinning?
We know the answer to that.
So what's to be lost in trying.
It doesn't have to be in a scary drastic way.
A woman does not have to chop off all her hair or go braless to work to begin to be authentic. It doesn't have to be big or external at all.
It can be as small as stopping yourself in one moment to really look at the person in front of you.
Or doing something you want to that you fear might seem silly if someone was watching...like walking in the rain.
The world wants to claim your childlike enjoyment of life. Your innocence and authenticity. It wants to leave you jaded and bitter.
The universe wants the opposite.
The universe is an impressive and explosive mixture of unique and varied forms all working in perfect harmony.
Why should we as women have to be any less?
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