Calming the Waves of Uncertainty

today.

Mon, 11 Apr 2011 12:59:38 -0500

a 7 year old can mysteriously take up most of a queen size bed.

Publix produce bags can be used in parafin manicures. apparently.

you’re never too old to go to prom. unless you are.

if it takes a corset, and losing 15 pounds, to fit…just leave it. you’re ass is hanging out anyway. unless that is your goal. then, you’re all set.

asparagus, fried eggs and olive oil are better on quinoa than toast.

parmesean cheese makes everything delicious.

no one likes a man who hits women.

no will is stronger than a girlfriends will.

there is a good reason all those diet books are at goodwill.

ditto on self help, exercise and relationship books.

love is easy, relationships are hard, but they should never hurt.

orange hair in the mirror. shocking.

oh, to be a dog and laze around all day.

we’ve all been there. learn from us. let us love you. heal you.

the road to seattle is both long and short. I’m thankful for both.

daily inspiration in texture.

time to begin anew.

monday funday.

lego stickers can entertain for hours.

I miss him.

can’t sleep without him.

that’s when the dreams start.

determination can only get you so far.

I still love starbucks.

…

a personal love letter.

Mon, 21 Feb 2011 11:45:32 -0600

inspired by her and this.

no one ever saw you. but I see you.

I see your rust speckled eyes full of doubt and determination.

I see those hands, like your granny’s, so soft and so strong.

I see that back, so slumped from the tears, straighten with dignity.

you are me. I am you.

love from within.

you are a woman who has endured and come out stronger and braver.

you are the girl who cried herself to sleep each night, never knowing what tomorrow might bring, who might be there to hurt you next.

you are the writer, under the shade tree, looking for some solace. some release.

you are the mother, so grateful in your heart for the knowledge of what not to do.

you are the lover, shy, bold, all or nothing.

you are the cook, seamstress, painter, writer, farmer, lover, mender, fixer, dreamer, daughter gone missing.

you are alone.

but you are never alone.

I am passionate and fearful and inspired and curious.

I will overcome my past and become my future.

I will be known for my love and my respect and my gentleness with mankind.

I will instill love and confidence in my child.

I will be quirky and sporadic and uncaged. forever.

I will never wear pink, always be a gypsy, smell like sandlewood and go barefoot whenever possible.

I will drink in the knowledge that I can and wing the rest.

I will hold hands and sing songs and bake the best damned chocolate chip cookies you’ve ever tasted.

I am a woman. there are not enough compartments for me.

unclench that fist.

Mon, 21 Feb 2011 11:13:45 -0600

it’s all so much. the information blasted on you like spraypaint. rallies and war cries. permission to rape.

what is happening?

it’s like, we’re on the eve of a revolution. of a great world war.

but, there is nothing great about war.

the people want change. everywhere. but at what cost?

how much are you willing to sacrifice to get a better tomorrow? how many should die? what is the price you are willing to pay for your beliefs to become a reality?

is it worth it? is it really worth it?

as the chants get louder and the respect dissipates, someone one should yell “stop”.

“STOP!”

look at the person next you you, they are your neighbor, your brother, your guru.

are you really going to kill them because they want left and you want right? is that the human way? is that what we are all here for? to rule each other? to kill each other?

because, we can never rule another completely. even the weakest have resolve.

and because, we will never all see eye to eye. even the poorest have dreams.

when will you realize that? when will you accept that and work on yourself enough to love one another…

no matter what?

love that person standing next to you, because they deserve to be here too. love that homeless, that poor, that woman, that druggie, that Hindu, that republican. love them. because without that love, you are hate.

and hate never wins.

it happened last night.

Fri, 18 Feb 2011 22:55:09 -0600

in the background, music plays.

guitar. acoustic. beginner.

a child’s laughter envelopes the cords, making F extra sharp.

momma chops the evening feast, her knife adds a whacking to the music that no instrument can recreate.

outside, a bonfire. stoked from across the garden. heat that no flame has ever been able to touch. jalapenos, for additional warmth.

soft silken hair grazes momma’s soft embraces. english kisses fall upon her lips.

lullaby and goodnight. you are my family.

Just found your writting blog. Ugh. As if I wasn't in love enough. You're amazing. I hope one day I can pull off all that you manage to do so wonderfullty. You are my all time favorite follow.

Fri, 18 Feb 2011 22:39:58 -0600

probably my most favorite message ever. thank you. <3

Your latest post "The Dream" was so beautiful... it made me cry. What a very lovely dream! :)

Fri, 18 Feb 2011 22:39:26 -0600

such a sweet comment. thank you!

the dream.

Tue, 18 Jan 2011 00:03:47 -0600

it is a white farm house with enough land for a garden. and some hens. because those farm fresh eggs cannot be beat. it is wooden floors and dusty rooms, covered in cobwebs so old, they probably knew your great-grandmother. it is large trees. an oak. it is bushes dripping with flowers so heavy, in purple and blue and pink. it is cracks in the walls and doors and floors, that allows the cool to creep in when it isn’t wanted. but there is enough warmth within these walls to reach out and hug everyone who enters.

it is a child. a boy. smiling with golden hair and a glint in the eyes he shares with me. it is that giggle, that laugh, that takes his breath away. and mine. it is the thought, the imagination. the possibilities of it all. it is the way he buries his little blonde head in my long dark curls and inhales deeply. every time. it is the way he still lets me kiss those squishy cheeks of his…the only thing left from the baby years. it is the way he asks why. questions constantly. proposes “what if…”. the way he whispers his love to me. and blows me kisses from the hallway of his school each morning. it is the way he asks me to stay and cuddle with him each night after stories. and the way he sneaks in to cuddle with me in the middle of the night.

it is a man. a husband. who looks at me like no other has. who takes my hand in his and says the things that no one has said. who eats like a herbavore, but has the heart of an omnivore. who always encourages. who always questions. who tried quinoa three times, just because I asked him to. who gets excited over things I don’t understand. who likes to chop wood. and build fires, whose warmth I get to benefit from. who will try anything once, but please don’t ask him to eat pumpkin pie. or okra. again. enough is enough. who is the storm chasing, photo taking, bourbon drinking man I love. and the accent doesn’t hurt…

it is a girl. a woman. a strength finder. a fighter of evil. a peace maker. a knitting, sewing, painting, singing, writing, cooking, dancing, loving, three dimensional way of life. it is barefoot and linen. white cotton. dogs not cats. vegetables. Buddha. downward dog. thinking. dreaming. questioning. it is not pink or purple or even red. but shades of grey. it is raw and wooden and textural. it is summer, spring at best, fall in her heart. but rarely winter. because winter brings about the deepest. it is hopeful. and loving. and inspired daily. it is kind and patient and never bitter. it is here and now and real and true.

it is not a dream. not always. sometimes, it’s today. or tomorrow. but in my heart, it is always a reality.

Searching.

Sat, 08 Jan 2011 10:39:00 -0600

I’m constantly searching. For what? Well, it depends on the day. Mostly, I search for the answers. Such as, how to live a peaceful life when those around you are not peaceful themselves. Or, how do I fulfill my own desires without being selfish and demanding? How do I teach my son how to be kind to others when I struggle with it myself sometimes?

Always searching for answers.

I’m peaceful in my heart, but in the midst of a conflict, I find it hard to stay centered. I search for the peaceful thing to say, but often, it makes things worse. Why is this? Are others so indignant that they cannot hear the truth when it is spoken to them?

I dont know. but I would really like to have a conversation that was mutually respectful and honest.

Before saying anything, ask yourself-

Is it necessary?
Is it truthful?
Is it kind?

Only when all 3 answers are yes, should it said.

inspiration.

Tue, 28 Dec 2010 23:08:40 -0600

I was told I was inspiring the other day. it took me off guard because I honestly had no idea how I, of all people, could be inspiring. so I asked them to elaborate. they said that I envoked peace and calmness in them. that was inspiring to hear. I don’t set out to inspire anyone intentionally, but to hear that something I’ve said or written has made someone feel better is very nice.

my goal in life right now is to live in peace. within myself (obviously). but also, with others. I have spent a lot of my life judging others, on many levels, and I don’t like that about myself. I have tried to be more gracious, more aware of my thoughts, but I should do more. I would hate to have a negative thought about someone, knowing that they would be hurt if they found out. I would rather be the person who uplifts and encourages, rather than focus on negatives.

I’m very close to some people who put negativity forward into the world. and it’s hard for me, because the first thing I want to do is tell them how horrible they are being. but isn’t that just as bad? so, I try to put a spin on it, make them see things differently, ask questions and give options. and my hope is that over time, the negativity will fade away. because it’s not helpful to anyone. (see, judging. again.)

let’s all try a little more forgiving and a little less judging tomorrow. how about it?

the peace within.

Sun, 26 Dec 2010 20:21:24 -0600

sometimes hard to find, really. my head and heart struggle with feelings and thoughts and plans and expectations. I’m not a religious person, not in the “normal” sense of the word anyway. I was raised in the church, southern baptist mostly, and was expected to serve my god until he called me home to glory. but it never felt right. it never felt like they said it should. I always felt like I was lying, believing in some mythical creature who could cause me the greatest pains if he so chose. it was about shame and guilt. and that never feels good. I couldn’t let my heart feel those beliefs.

so I did some thinking. quietly. for several years, I talked to people, gathered beliefs and feelings toward religions of all kinds. I tried to make sense of it all. it still never made sense. until it did. one day, I just realized that all of these religions were the same. in good ways and in bad. and that there was no “god” but rather we are each our own god and we hold the power within us all to make the world a better place. to make ourselves do-gooders in this world. we all hold the power. we just have to believe in ourselves.

so, where does that leave me? a woman with a family and a career? that doesn’t exactly leave much time to traipsing off to Tibet to find myself. so, I’m trying to do some research. I’m studying Buddhism. I’m doing yoga, which is a religious experience in and of itself. and for the longest time, I’ve put off meditating. but not anymore. I’ve been afraid of what meditating would show me. I’ve been scared for a long, long time. but I’ve come to realize that meditating may just be what I need to overcome the fears within me. to bring me peace. within.

I've forgotten how to write.

Sun, 26 Dec 2010 17:37:18 -0600

I’ve forgotten what it feels like to sit down with paper and pen and just let it all out. not caring what the words actually said, never stopping to check punctuation and spelling. I’ve forgotten what it feels like to write through the pain, the frustration, the loneliness, the happiness, the tears and the joy. and to just keep going until you got it all out in one giant heap of college ruled paper. I miss that. I miss getting it all out and feeling like I’ve just had a therapy session with the best damned shrink in town and now, now I can conquer the world.

so this is my place. to learn to write again. to let things out, good or bad. to grow. closer. with everyone around me. but mostly, with myself.

it won’t always make sense. it won’t always be good. but it will always be me.