There was an old man named Michael Finnegan,
He grew whiskers on his chin again.
He shaved them off but they grew in again.
Poor old Michael Finnegan. Begin again.
There was an old man named Michael Finnegan,
Ate all his dinner from a tin again.
When it was all done he'd fill it up again.
Poor old Michael Finnegan. Begin again.
From a Children's Song
I remember my grandfather singing the first verse of this song to me when I was watching him shave. I asked him why he shaved every single day. The song was his reply. He rarely sang, so just hearing his gravely voice try to create a tune was a hysterical joke to me. When I begged him to sing it again, he refused and sent me to my grandmother to have her sing it to me. She complied and sang not just one, but several verses to the song. I was delighted to learn a new song with such a catchy tune and wonderful rhyming phrases. Grandma and I even made up some of our own verses about cooking, cleaning, sleeping. . . . each and every verse ending with begin again.
It wasn't until I was an adult singing bits of the orginal song and making up new verses with my children that the profundity of the simple song hit me. Begin again. Every verse tells us to begin again. It doesn't say one more time, or number how many times, it simply reminds us to begin again. And again, begin again.
Yesterday this song came to mind as I had a conversation with a young man about an upcoming project we're working on together. He was so enthusiastic - for me. I on the other hand, I was thinking of Michael Finnegan. Exactly how many times can I, can anyone, begin again? Where can I find a similar energy of my own to tap into to meet this young man where he is? When does one stop beginning again? It didn't take me long to catch up with his enthsuiasm. Michalel Finnegan reminded me to begin again. And again.
As I ponder when to stop beginning again, I know the answer to that. I will no longer begin again the moment I draw my last breath. For now, I have a lot of "things" to beginning again . . . . getting up everyday, hugging my family every opportunity I have, finding joy and meaning in the work I do, loving the opportunities and challenges that each day brings, simply-waking each day.
May you find joy in all that you begin again today.
The was an old man named Michael Finnegan,
He slept each night and woke each morn again.
Worked for justice, peace, and love within.
That lucky old Michael Finnegan. Begin again.
My Latest Verse
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
Sunday, October 6, 2013
Silence? Not always golden.
Today, while catching up on Facebook posts, something was tripped in me that made me decide it was time to write another blog post. You see, growing up in the Midwest, I have mastered the art of being "Midwest Nice." If someone says something that is offensive and demeaning to me, or even to a large portion of the population, I let it go so that I don't hurt the speaker's feelings. For example, this particular Facebook post. A friend who lives in Nebraska posted that reading the news made her brain hurt, then she added a link to a story about the Nebraska Supreme Court (Six white men over the age of 60 and one white women perhaps a bit younger than 60) ruling that a sixteen year old is not mature enough to have an abortion. Seriously. (http://www.rawstory.com/rs/2013/10/05/nebraska/) There are a lot of details here ... she told the court that she was pregnant, and that she would not be financially capable of supporting a child or being "the right mom that [she] would like to be right now," according to the court ruling. But she also told the court that she feared losing her placeent in foster care if her highly-religious foster parents learned of her pregnancy.
There were a couple of responses to this post that I "liked" about the story being outrageous, and then there was the comment from Julie S. I don't know Julie S. Julie S. doesn't know me. Julie S. commented that "no" person is mature enough to have an abortion. She then told of her recent attendance at a fundraiser for a particular ministry that reaches out to the "abortion-wounded." She shares how these poor women were told that their lives would "return to normal" after the abortion, how the abortion was the "best thing." Now these sorry women, even 40 years later, are still carrying the burdens of that decision.
With my pulse rate and blood pressure perhaps double of what it was before reading her post, I began pounding my response to her post. First attempt - too sarcastic. Second attempt - too angry. Third attempt - didn't even complete it. Instead I erased everything, reminded myself to be nice, and kept scrolling down reading more Facebook posts. But as I scrolled I thought, who's going to speak up and let people know that Julie S. can't speak for everyone? It is not true that no person is mature enough to have an abortion. And there is no such diagnosis as abortion wounded, it is a thing made up by these so called ministries. Please! And the lies about all these physical effects that linger for decades? Nope, have to say something. So, I scrolled back up to Nebraska friend's post and wrote the following response: I know many, many, many incredible/wonderful/ethical/moral/whole/powerful/fun/spiritual/successful women who have had abortions. For those who have bought into the shame and baggage that others want them to carry - I pray they find a counselor (or sista) to help them shake off propaganda-filled and emotionally charged phrases like "abortion wounded."
Of couse there were responses to this. A "like" and a supportive comment, then Julie S., again. She wrote that the women she has met (I assume she is talking about the women she has met who have had abortions, but then, how would she know if a woman she meets has had an abortion?) are hurting and are blessed to have found help. There it is, the "H" word. Those poor women need help. Hell, honey, we all need help from time to time, doesn't matter what our abortion-having status is! Then Julie S. throws a distracting comment about miscarriage and how some women feel as though they have lost a child when that happens. Huh? Of course we all react differently to similar experiences. We have different ways of healing, and sometimes not healing. Then she says I should not criticize those with whom I do not agree? WTF? Julie! Can you not see that you were criticizing anyone who does not feel they need abortion woundedness intervention? Did you not just say NO ONE is mature enough to have an abortion? Sounds pretty critical and judgmental.
This is when the conversation usually goes something like, "well, whatever works for you." But I can't do that nice shit anymore. Now, in your face I say, whatever works for you and you and you and you . . . . as long as: 1. Men or women who have no relation to you do not decide what you should do with your body and with your life. 2. Men or women who do have a relationship with you and want to help you in your decision-making process do not use abuse, coercian, threats, guilt, power, religious or political authority, or any other unethical means to get you to do what they want you to do with your body and your life. 3. At all times in the process there are opportunities for grieving, healing, gratitude, compassion, anger, empathy, and joy. 4. No person appoints themselves or others as an authority on what your path in life should be. 5. Affirmation of YOU as the authority on your life, your decisions, and your feelings is held up at all times.
So, friends, all I can say is this - speak up. Do allow your Midwest, Southern, Western, Tropical, or Whatever "nice" you have to get in the way of sharing the truth that there are many, many ways to live a holistic and healthy life.
There were a couple of responses to this post that I "liked" about the story being outrageous, and then there was the comment from Julie S. I don't know Julie S. Julie S. doesn't know me. Julie S. commented that "no" person is mature enough to have an abortion. She then told of her recent attendance at a fundraiser for a particular ministry that reaches out to the "abortion-wounded." She shares how these poor women were told that their lives would "return to normal" after the abortion, how the abortion was the "best thing." Now these sorry women, even 40 years later, are still carrying the burdens of that decision.
With my pulse rate and blood pressure perhaps double of what it was before reading her post, I began pounding my response to her post. First attempt - too sarcastic. Second attempt - too angry. Third attempt - didn't even complete it. Instead I erased everything, reminded myself to be nice, and kept scrolling down reading more Facebook posts. But as I scrolled I thought, who's going to speak up and let people know that Julie S. can't speak for everyone? It is not true that no person is mature enough to have an abortion. And there is no such diagnosis as abortion wounded, it is a thing made up by these so called ministries. Please! And the lies about all these physical effects that linger for decades? Nope, have to say something. So, I scrolled back up to Nebraska friend's post and wrote the following response: I know many, many, many incredible/wonderful/ethical/moral/whole/powerful/fun/spiritual/successful women who have had abortions. For those who have bought into the shame and baggage that others want them to carry - I pray they find a counselor (or sista) to help them shake off propaganda-filled and emotionally charged phrases like "abortion wounded."
Of couse there were responses to this. A "like" and a supportive comment, then Julie S., again. She wrote that the women she has met (I assume she is talking about the women she has met who have had abortions, but then, how would she know if a woman she meets has had an abortion?) are hurting and are blessed to have found help. There it is, the "H" word. Those poor women need help. Hell, honey, we all need help from time to time, doesn't matter what our abortion-having status is! Then Julie S. throws a distracting comment about miscarriage and how some women feel as though they have lost a child when that happens. Huh? Of course we all react differently to similar experiences. We have different ways of healing, and sometimes not healing. Then she says I should not criticize those with whom I do not agree? WTF? Julie! Can you not see that you were criticizing anyone who does not feel they need abortion woundedness intervention? Did you not just say NO ONE is mature enough to have an abortion? Sounds pretty critical and judgmental.
This is when the conversation usually goes something like, "well, whatever works for you." But I can't do that nice shit anymore. Now, in your face I say, whatever works for you and you and you and you . . . . as long as: 1. Men or women who have no relation to you do not decide what you should do with your body and with your life. 2. Men or women who do have a relationship with you and want to help you in your decision-making process do not use abuse, coercian, threats, guilt, power, religious or political authority, or any other unethical means to get you to do what they want you to do with your body and your life. 3. At all times in the process there are opportunities for grieving, healing, gratitude, compassion, anger, empathy, and joy. 4. No person appoints themselves or others as an authority on what your path in life should be. 5. Affirmation of YOU as the authority on your life, your decisions, and your feelings is held up at all times.
So, friends, all I can say is this - speak up. Do allow your Midwest, Southern, Western, Tropical, or Whatever "nice" you have to get in the way of sharing the truth that there are many, many ways to live a holistic and healthy life.
Sunday, June 16, 2013
Sehnsucht
[ˈzeːnzʊxt] Today I graduated from a Spiritual Direction formation program - Prairie Fire. Prairie Fire is a joint project of the Des Moines Pastoral Counseling Center and Mt. St. Scholastica's Sophia Center. I was asked to share a reflection of my past three years, time in this program. Here is an excerpt from what I shared:
You know, you all know, that I will talk about yearning today. That is all I have talked about throughout this program. In fact, yearning is all I've talked about since I was a child, I just didn't always know that wondering why was called yearning. For my reflection today, I wanted to do more than say, "I want to know the answers to all of life's mysteries." I wanted to be able to say, "I know all that I need to know, I yearn no more!" But, alas, it is not so. My experience of yearning is like being on a spiral path - moving closer to than farther away from my yearning - I feel a déjà vu, but not really déjà vu. Everything seems at once familiar and yet so strange. And so the dance with trying to understand the yearning goes, only now, after three years in this program, I feel that the yearning has been transformed into something that is not a struggle, rather that is a way to live life.
This yearning has been transformed, perhaps has transcended, into something known as Sehnsucht. Sehnsucht is a German word that is often, mistakenly, interpreted as deep longing or yearning. But that is not all it is. It is a deep longing or yearning for something that is intensely missing. Sehnsucht is a word for thoughts and feelings about all facets of life that are unfinished or imperfect - combined with a yearning for ideal experiences, for a personal utopia. Sehnsucht is also sometimes referred to as life's longing, life's search for happiness, life's search for the ideal. All this searching happens while one copes with the reality of their unattainable desires. These feelings, these longings, these realizations of realities - can be profound. The feelings will be positive or negative or both positive and negative at the same time. Sehnsucht is longing for something unknown, but - something that we believe we will recognize as "home" when we find it. Yes, my more immature and simple yearnings have been transformed to Sehnsucht.
Researchers have worked to define Sehnsucht as part of spiritual and psychological development. In doing so, they have identified six core elements of Sehnsucht. The elements are: 1.) We all have a concept of a utopian way of being - we cannot define our utopia fully, but we believe we will know it when we find it, see it, or feel it; 2.) Knowing that we are not living our utopian life, we feel a sense of incompleteness and imperfection; 3.) Our focus on, and understanding of, time conjoins past, present, and future; 4.) We have ambivalent or bittersweet emotions about life in general; 5.) We are able to reflect on and evaluate our life with honesty and objectivity; and 6.) We find symbolic richness in the life we have.
Yes, Prairie Fire moved me to begin living in this more mature yearning, this Sehnsucht, as a way of being. This way of being opens paths for what may seem to some to be a dichotomous existence. But for me, that is not a bad thing. Ambivalent is an okay thing to be from time to time. You do not have to seek to be filled with joy and understanding at all times. Sometimes it is good to question, to feel the reality of life's sorrows. An example of this dichotomy and ambivalence is found in the section "On Sorrow and Joy" from The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran -
Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain. . . . .
. . . . Some of you say "Joy is greater than sorrow," and others say, "Nay, sorrow is the greater."
But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits, alone with you at your board,
Remember that the other is asleep in your bed.
You are suspended like the scale that weighs your sorrow and your joy.
Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced.
When a treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver,
Verily, then must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.
Prairie Fire has challenged me to use the teachings of mentors from this program and from wider circles to inform my discernment and decisions in my life. Prairie Fire has affirmed, and showed me how to affirm, the richness of the symbols - divine and ordinary - that are omnipresent around me.
So, my Prairie Sisters, my Women of Fire that you are - I thank you for the shared journey. In parting, I return to Gibran's "The Prophet," sharing a part of the passage where the prophet is bidding farewell to the See-er Almitra and the people of Orphalese -
It was but yesterday we met in a dream.
You have sung to me in my aloneness, and I of your longings have built a tower in the sky.
But now our sleep has fled and our dream is over, and it is no longer even dawn.
The noontide is upon us and our half waking has turned to fuller day, and we must part.
If in the twilight of memory we should meet once more, we shall speak again together and you shall sing to me a deeper song.
And if our hands should meet in another dream, we shall build another tower in the sky.
So may it be.
You know, you all know, that I will talk about yearning today. That is all I have talked about throughout this program. In fact, yearning is all I've talked about since I was a child, I just didn't always know that wondering why was called yearning. For my reflection today, I wanted to do more than say, "I want to know the answers to all of life's mysteries." I wanted to be able to say, "I know all that I need to know, I yearn no more!" But, alas, it is not so. My experience of yearning is like being on a spiral path - moving closer to than farther away from my yearning - I feel a déjà vu, but not really déjà vu. Everything seems at once familiar and yet so strange. And so the dance with trying to understand the yearning goes, only now, after three years in this program, I feel that the yearning has been transformed into something that is not a struggle, rather that is a way to live life.
This yearning has been transformed, perhaps has transcended, into something known as Sehnsucht. Sehnsucht is a German word that is often, mistakenly, interpreted as deep longing or yearning. But that is not all it is. It is a deep longing or yearning for something that is intensely missing. Sehnsucht is a word for thoughts and feelings about all facets of life that are unfinished or imperfect - combined with a yearning for ideal experiences, for a personal utopia. Sehnsucht is also sometimes referred to as life's longing, life's search for happiness, life's search for the ideal. All this searching happens while one copes with the reality of their unattainable desires. These feelings, these longings, these realizations of realities - can be profound. The feelings will be positive or negative or both positive and negative at the same time. Sehnsucht is longing for something unknown, but - something that we believe we will recognize as "home" when we find it. Yes, my more immature and simple yearnings have been transformed to Sehnsucht.
Researchers have worked to define Sehnsucht as part of spiritual and psychological development. In doing so, they have identified six core elements of Sehnsucht. The elements are: 1.) We all have a concept of a utopian way of being - we cannot define our utopia fully, but we believe we will know it when we find it, see it, or feel it; 2.) Knowing that we are not living our utopian life, we feel a sense of incompleteness and imperfection; 3.) Our focus on, and understanding of, time conjoins past, present, and future; 4.) We have ambivalent or bittersweet emotions about life in general; 5.) We are able to reflect on and evaluate our life with honesty and objectivity; and 6.) We find symbolic richness in the life we have.
Yes, Prairie Fire moved me to begin living in this more mature yearning, this Sehnsucht, as a way of being. This way of being opens paths for what may seem to some to be a dichotomous existence. But for me, that is not a bad thing. Ambivalent is an okay thing to be from time to time. You do not have to seek to be filled with joy and understanding at all times. Sometimes it is good to question, to feel the reality of life's sorrows. An example of this dichotomy and ambivalence is found in the section "On Sorrow and Joy" from The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran -
Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain. . . . .
. . . . Some of you say "Joy is greater than sorrow," and others say, "Nay, sorrow is the greater."
But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits, alone with you at your board,
Remember that the other is asleep in your bed.
You are suspended like the scale that weighs your sorrow and your joy.
Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced.
When a treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver,
Verily, then must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.
Prairie Fire has challenged me to use the teachings of mentors from this program and from wider circles to inform my discernment and decisions in my life. Prairie Fire has affirmed, and showed me how to affirm, the richness of the symbols - divine and ordinary - that are omnipresent around me.
So, my Prairie Sisters, my Women of Fire that you are - I thank you for the shared journey. In parting, I return to Gibran's "The Prophet," sharing a part of the passage where the prophet is bidding farewell to the See-er Almitra and the people of Orphalese -
It was but yesterday we met in a dream.
You have sung to me in my aloneness, and I of your longings have built a tower in the sky.
But now our sleep has fled and our dream is over, and it is no longer even dawn.
The noontide is upon us and our half waking has turned to fuller day, and we must part.
If in the twilight of memory we should meet once more, we shall speak again together and you shall sing to me a deeper song.
And if our hands should meet in another dream, we shall build another tower in the sky.
So may it be.
Saturday, May 18, 2013
High Ropes
The biennial high ropes events.
Where grade seven and eight students
Don harnesses and plastic helmets
To show just how damn brave they are
As they learn more about themselves,
Their strengths, their limitations, and
Their trust in the man holding the safety line.
My son and I participated in this ritual.
Both of us years away from grade seven or eight.
The same safety harnesses expanded to fit
Twice the weight, twice and four times the age.
I don't know about him, but I know that
Swinging from a rope is no darn proof for bravery.
Holding the safety line, even for those we don't know, is.
The biennial high ropes events.
Where grade seven and eight students
Don harnesses and plastic helmets
To show just how damn brave they are
As they learn more about themselves,
Their strengths, their limitations, and
Their trust in the man holding the safety line.
My son and I participated in this ritual.
Both of us years away from grade seven or eight.
The same safety harnesses expanded to fit
Twice the weight, twice and four times the age.
I don't know about him, but I know that
Swinging from a rope is no darn proof for bravery.
Holding the safety line, even for those we don't know, is.
Friday, April 5, 2013
Orchids
My usual morning fog was abruptly burned away today.No wall of protection from my first cup of coffee when I read the news.
I'd not been invited.
They'd had a family gathering without mentioning it to me.
Facebook. I found out on Facebook.
As the coffee begins to brew, I start my daily routine.
Put away the dishes - did they discuss inviting me?
Sweep up the floor - did they forget to invite me?
Start a load of dark clothes- did they decide not to invite me?
Pour my coffee and sip - do they know anything about my life? About me?
As I sip, I pick up the tin pig watering can and fill it with water and Orchid food.
The six smooth streams of water pour from the snout to the Orchids in their pots.
I can feel their gratitude, I can imagine their roots being quenched.
The blooms and buds on the stalks quiver as the water is poured over the leaves.
My tears release as I take in the beauty (and think of my family).
Orchids. My relationship with them works.
I water and fertilize them when I am not too busy,
Too busy with work, and making ends meet, and Molly.
My Orchids don't cry and call me selfish when I state the obvious.
They don't withhold their blooms because I disappoint them.
Oh, the Orchids (and my family) know a different side of this story.
There is validity (in their words) that they are not my first priority.
Why can't I commit to water (call or visit) them on a regular basis?
Could I just quit blaming them for not blooming (being there) for me every day?
Would it kill me to act like the Orchids (my family) were always perfect?
The last sip of coffee reminds me it's time to get busy.
I put the empty pig on the shelf until I will fill it again to quench the Orchids' thirst.
Will that be next Friday? Ten days from now? Tomorrow?
It will be when I can not resist the beckoning of their blooms.
My family could learn a lot from my Orchids. Me too.
© <llen 2013
Monday, March 4, 2013
Today is a good day because . . . .
1. It's great to be alive. I realized that as I was walking for the 15th day in a row, breathing in the crisp air in this amazing little Midwest city. There are great trails in the great parts. Ah - breathe in, breathe out . . . . repeat.2. The plumber is here. Ever since I moved in, the tub and shower in the guest bathroom have been a challenge. The outdated two-handle faucet had no stopping or staring point. One had to guess when the faucets were fully opened or closed. And recently, I could not get them to a point where there was enough water pressure to divert the faucet stream to the showerhead. My goal was to limp along with the plumbing in this state until I had the funds saved to redo the entire bath - it's an old yellow fiberglass tub and three piece surround. I would love tile and a white porcelain tub. But, it's not been an option yet. With family coming for a week, I felt compelled to have a decent shower for them. So - I've opted for a "get by work around" that includes new handles, faucet, and shower head. I won't have to apologize for the wimpy water pressure or do orientation sessions for people wanting to shower when they stay here. Thanks Huff Mechanical.
3. Ian is subbing for the Ames Public School District. He graduated from ISU in December and is now a teacher. Hopefully he'll find a full time teaching position for next fall, but for now he's getting a lot of calls to work as a sub in Ames. Yeah Ian and his family. Heather is well and writing more and more research articles all the time, and the girls are growing up so fast, becoming real little people with distinct personalities.
4. Mallary and her family are coming to Ames on Saturday! They're spending their spring break in Ames. What a great plan. Another child I am so proud of, and excited for their future. Yeah Mallary and her family. Doc is writing Mine Craft pages on FB and teaching at SIU. Mallary is finishing her dissertation at SIU. Mica talks to me while she lays in bed at night - I understand her mostly. And Victor dictates a grocery list to me for their visit. He laughs when I ask him questions like - how many cans of spagettios? 25 or 100? He chooses 100. More personalities evolving here.
5. Molly. Well, gee. Just Molly. She keeps me real. We're going to Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde tomorrow. It stars one of the past "idols." We're excited. Thanks for the tickets, Kent.
6. Me. I love my life. There are parts that could use some shoring up, but I'm liking the present, aware of future needs, and assimilating the past. What more is there? Oh, and I love my job. Who else gets to remind middle schoolers that they're made of stardust? Yeah. It's amazing.
7. Friends and family. You're the mirrors that remind me to comb my hair, and wear a little make-up. Or not. What else is there to say?
That's it. For now. These are the reasons I think today is a good day.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
WALK - DAY 2
If we tend to things at their deepest level, our repair will be so much a part of who we are that there will be no scar. - Mark Nepo.
The cold, strong wind made conversation difficult so we mostly walked in silence today. Above the wind we could hear the groaning of the shallow river as the ice stretched and claimed more purchase of the flowing waters.
I could hear my companion's breathing singing a dissonant chord with the river. Just as the river groaned at the discomfort of water turning to ice, so did her body protest in puffs at the lungs' request for more oxygen. I imagined the dark blue carbon dioxide laden cells waiting impatiently in a cue to receive more oxygen as she breathes in. When the oxygen arrives, they drop the carbon dioxide, grab the oxygen, and head out the door to find their way to the heart to learn where they will be sent.
The body is an amazing machine. I am always so awed when I remember that even though we all are very different in size and appearance, our insides all look and work pretty much the same. Breath in, breath out. Heart beats, beats, beats, beats, beats, beats. Repeat. When parts of the body don't work as they're intended to, we have solutions for that. Broken bones get set, hormones can be administered to alter or support organ function, surgery can remove organs that we don't have use for or that are causing problems for us. The functions and cures of the physical body can be planned and mapped in very similar ways for everyone.
Then there is the non-physical part of us - emotional, spiritual, mental - all the aspects of us that are as prone to disease and breakage as the physical body, but lacking the clearly prescribed treatments for physical healing and physical wholeness. These obscure and less easily mapped parts of us come already assembled inside our amazing physical self when we arrive on the planet as infants. We have instincts as well as nurturers to help us grow into beings who can take care of our own physical and non-physical selves. But oh my! The experiences we have and messages we get before (if ever) we learn to be our own care-takers and nurturers . . . . . . fill in your own story here.
I have spent great amounts of time working on healing and growing past some of my early experiences. In my honest assessment of my life, I also acknowledge that my children, now adults, spend time working to heal and grow past some of their experiences handed to them by me in their early years. There will always be scars of one sort or another on my body, in my mind; on their bodies, in their minds. My goal for me, whether scars can be seen or not by others, is to see the scars as a part of the beautiful landscape that is my body, my soul. The scars, regardless of how faint or pronounced, are part of my landscape. Under them all is that wholeness I arrived on the planet with all those years ago.
My friend's breathing and the river's groaning was not the only labor I was aware of this morning on our walk. I noticed that trees with limbs broken in this year's storms worked to keep their movements in check so they'd incur no more loss; the ground had frozen scars to protect any remaining plant life where wheels and feet peeled away turf; large and small stones, like well trained sentinels, stood their ground to hold the whole landscape down so it would not blow away; and me, I consciously worked to transform thoughts in my mind to feelings in my body. Every one of us called out our greetings. "Hang in there," we all said. "Don't let the cold overcome you. Hold each other however you are able to hold and be held."
All the while, I thought the annoying wind was trying to drown out our collective voices when really, groaning like the rest of us, she was trying to get our attention. "Notice me," she blasted. "I am a part of all of you. I want to be held, too." Then she ran ahead of us, waiting to demand tribute at our next turn.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)