Musings
I read somewhere that if I was prettier then….
The “then” is irrelevant as I can not even begin to live into the small of that beginning…
I can not be more beautiful because I am already as beautiful as the nubile green of spring bulbs poking through muddy soil
I am as beautiful as winter sun streaming through the woods or sparkling on snow and ocean
I am as beautiful as late summer wildflowers with faded colors and textures
I am as beautiful as a gold hillside in the fall or Christmas candles in windows that welcome you home.
I am this beautiful….. and so are you.
We need the faded thistle next to the Dahlia or the depth of earth to set off the color and bring forth the hope and joy of spring.
We are a part of something, a bigger portrait being painted and I am made in the image of God…..and so are you.
Beauty is how I live in to THAT.
I take my gifts and reflect Gods light and that is my illumination.
My experiences can sometimes bring forth my shadow and pain, but they add gravitas to the landscape of my being.
To stay wanting because I am not thin or young or pretty enough is to waste life. It is to say “God you did not do your job. I don’t trust you.”
To say anyone would be more deserving of their life if….is simply human…. and I don’t subscribe to that.
BELLS
Two years ago my cousin and I spent a few back breaking days digging out lilac bushes, Lily of the Valley, Tulip bulbs and Black Iris from our family land. Our Great Grandmother, Grandmother and my Aunt had been planting on this spot for the better part of a century. Now it had sold, and literally was being scraped to put up a parking lot. Retail and gyms were replacing homes that my ancestors had built. My uncle died in WW 1 and my family bought that land with the government compensation to raise homes and families. It was where I first understood the phrase “bought the farm.” It was also, by the way, where I discovered the delicious magic of the creamsicle. My grandmothers ice box was always full of them. While we could not save the homes that stood there, and we actually tried to figure out how, we could save the gardens. We took truck loads of plants to her house and mine and began replanting in our yards.
This last few years have been tough. I have heard the siren song of no all around and began to wonder where I belong.
But God is good and I often find the answer in nature. I was in the garden early one morning with my cup of coffee thinking of moving on and starting again somewhere new. Maybe there I would make less bad decisions. Maybe there it would be easier. And then I looked closer, and my Great Grandmother’s Lily of the Valley had bloomed. I had honestly thought it did not live because it didn’t bloom last year.
My Lily of the Valley did what I realize I need to, and sat quietly, rooting into home until it was ready, and then suddenly, it bloomed…… Magic. I leaned down and moved away the weeds and Vinca that wanted to encroach on their delicate bells. I gave them room to breath and be seen. With my hands in the morning mud I realized I am already home. I looked at my puppies bounding around the yard tumbling all over themselves, and listened to the creek, and inhaled the Lilacs. It was as if my anscestors were letting me know that the answer was in the stillness. Don’t run or change or move, you are ok, we are with you and this is your land filled now with history and memories of days and lives gone by. Let go of the old stories of not enough. You are here, you are free.
Dear Man On The Bicycle
I was just wandering in the park having a soulful conversation on the phone in the rain.
I never saw myself as seen.
I was too busy wondering about the why’s and losses of the world.
I was busy wondering about less magical moments when you stopped.
And that stopped me.
From hurting, or missing,
From negligence
From tears.
The dark thoughts passed away as you produced a bouquet of hot pink roses from your jacket.
Hot pink is my joy color.
It was suddenly spring,
And the discussion of endings became beginnings.
Suddenly the park was a romance.
Suddenly my heart was lit.
Suddenly, I was, again.
Dear Man on the Bicycle,
She may not have been home to receive your bouquet but I believe you were used today by a twinkling of starlight to change the direction of my heart.
To remind me of all the love I still have.
I hope she opens the door for you soon,
But in the mean time I am in the park under an umbrella holding roses and smiling.
Completely lit in the rain.
Magical Thinking
I am learning to see the in between. The space between breaths. I am learning that gone is not gone and all the conversations are not always over.
The bear in the yard, the string of songs on the radio. A lighting storm so impressive it’s impossible to ignore. A stranger handing me a bouquet of my favorite flowers in the middle of a park and then biking on.
There is always something to learn in the moment between breaths. If it is magic we seek - we can be knocked off our feet at any moment in time.
on memories
I carelessly tossed a bouquet of dead leaves, still in water and wrapped in a ribbon. They needed to go. My mother came running, visibly upset, and said, "What are you doing? Those are MY memories...you don't have a right to throw them away."
Stepping back, I realized this is not about flowers, dead and sour; this is about joy—the joy of receiving, being thought of, loved, and I am sure, ultimately, God...and she was not done yet.
She is not done with joy and other delicacies of the human spirit, no matter what it may look like to others.
Just Love
It’s a simple gesture. Food and water in an unexpected moment.
Just answer yes.
A woman with a black eye asked for dinner, later a man wanted to carry my bag in a storm for the exchange of a dollar. I carry my own bag but he can have the dollar and she can have the dinner and tell me her story. Stories and reasons of how she got here, how her eye got black. Drugs and bad men. She is more insistent on carrying my bags and talking. When I get to the corner I take my bag, give a hug and a kiss on the cheek. On I go, off she goes, but then I hear it....”I Love you Miss Sue, I love you!” I turn and like a romance she is yelling with heart felt gesture in the street.
Is it me? No, it is salve. Like me or you she needed to be heard, seen. It’s amazing really, the euphoria of visibility. If only we all had the courage to stand in the street and yell I love you. God love surrounding you. Seeping in your pores. Pouring out your mouth. You are not forgotten, you are not abandon. And Suddenly you are not you. You are just love.
Called To Be…….
Are we standing on a landmine singing hallelujah? I wonder.
I had a meeting in Manhattan yesterday so was thrown into the chaos and celebration of Times Square on New Years Eve. I watched people strain for a closer look at idols and listened as resolutions were formed. I wondered personally what would I strive to change or make better about myself this year....Nothing. The fire of last year was enough.
I thought about purpose and that God did not call me to be a hero, savior or celebrity, he called me to be myself. The one and only me. He did not call my thighs to be thinner or my bank account to be larger. He called me to be me. I know that is less interesting and has less headline but its motherfucking powerful if you really invest.
I do wonder however what shape mature authentic humanity takes in everyday life. I might like to keep my eyes open for the true adventure of goodness as we move through a time where so many are distracted and may have forgotten that we are limitless. I once asked my Grandfather what the most amazing thing that ever happened in his life time, as he lived through almost the entire 20th century.
“When they put a man on the moon.”
It is time to define ourselves maximally.
Are we standing on a landmine singing Hallelujah? Dicey question. But step off, let a few things blow up. We were meant to scale mountains, we were meant to run with horses. We were created to hold each other’s hearts, its the only way this works. Hallelujah.
My Father’s World
It was early and the sun was shining through the mist in the woods. Coffee was already percolating on the stove when I threw on my galoshes and headed outside. The earth smells fresh and beautiful things are starting to poke through the soil. I have over 1500 bulbs planted in my small yard and I am never around to watch them bloom. Each spring life is so occupied by what it takes to survive. Each spring I am almost glued to the ground not wanting to leave . Not wanting to miss things of promise grow. Right now life requires that to survive I stay put and watch things of promise grow.
I admit my excitement as the natural world turns green. It conveys a sense of freshness and renewal; tranquility. Green also signifies prosperity and progress. So I wonder…… Is there an underlying message? The joy I feel married to the promise of tranquil prosperity… So many times we separate usefulness from beauty, the necessary and the elegant. I do not need to plant almost 500 flower bulbs each fall. But that is the moment my imagination runs wild. It is where hope begins, the longing for something better that stretches through the winter to spring. Flowers awaken me from my dull moral habit and literally make me want to dance. Like the power a crocus holds as it is born in the cold of March, each of us is created with a part to play. It is impossible to separate us from the crocus. We are necessary to carry hope forth….
Sentinel
I leave a candle burning in the window for you.
Sometimes I catch myself looking into the woods or the rain or sun for the ghost of your smile.
I guess I hope maybe one day you will pass by and think of me. See the small glow and just know. Know the candle is there like a sentinel at the gate of my open heart.
It’s not a torch or a banner or parade. If it was I would burn myself up in the musical declaration of my emotion.
Its a candle, and I will let it burn until your return.
wings over wheels
On wings over wheels: I had time to ponder why our eyes are always level on hot asphalt. There was a nail in my tire. A slow leak of air, a stop in Harlem for repair. Does it feel to anyone else like it is always 'when the rubber meets the road?' I looked around... I looked up. Maybe I haven’t done that in a while, but above the heat radiating off scorching pavement and people bustling about their hive, above the buildings swirling in that wide-open sky, seemed to be my dreams. Fix my tire... it is me that’s out of air. On second thought... keep the car - I need wings!
Great BIG Roar
Sometimes I fall asleep lulled by my own acceptance. I do not dare or break a mold.
Sometimes I am motivated more by please keep me than please see me.
Then it cracks, a breaking so sudden, so hard, my jaw hurts… and then again without knowing, my free fall has wings.
I am sensually awake to the muscles engaged to turn skyward.
There is surprise in the soaring. A loud guttural utterance.
Stripped and raw I wear nothing but the armor of my joy memories. I am new.
My Haunting
There are monsters lurking in the corners of my heart and I am their Frankenstein. I have stitched them together, woven them of fears and hurts. I stand paralyzed afraid to explore the castle of my life because I might be eaten by the monster of my own making. Do not fear you old small girl, step out on faith, for the baddest monster you know will show up when you fade and say WHAT IF?.....so run, slay your unseen ugly and live.