Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
there is a field. I'll meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase each other
doesn't make any sense.--Rumi
After over ten years of an incredibly intense journey as a seeker, I find myself lying fallow. Taking a rest. When I first discovered this uncomfortable fact — threat to the hamster wheel that was my spiritual rat race, I surrendered for dead, but something wouldn’t let that fact sit as truth. I was lying fallow, but this implied that after a good rest, fruit could follow. This had nothing to do with death.
I am humbled at the courage it takes to write. For many years I kept a blog read by only a handful of very supportive people, and you’d think that after sharing writing for so long with perfect strangers, writing would have gotten easier.
Actually, it got harder. In fact, at one point I was so paralyzed, I just stopped writing altogether. It was just too vulnerable. There was no trust there anymore, and I attributed any courage I had had to my youthful ignorance.
However, life continues, as it inevitably does, and there is still this pang to write, and it grows stronger and strong…
Another painting I loved making. I had so much fun just layering paint and swirling about.
Adventure has been a big part of my world as of late. In fact, writing this after a long day of skiiing. Where I used to shy away from leaving the house, I've been doing the opposite. Finally really getting to know my beautiful state and bask in its beauty-- hiking to the top of many peaks--sometimes limping the last stretches back to the car. Took my girls camping on the beach without a 'man' and was so proud when I got the campfire started multiple times. The girls had their doubts I could do it. It was nice to prove them wrong! My most favorite was the day I drove 5 hours to the closest passport office on a wing and a prayer to get a same-day passport (wing and a prayer because they tell you you can drive all that way, but that there is no guarantee they can/will help you) so I could accept an invitation to see the woman's soccer world cup, and within a week was in Vancouver…
Photo by Daria Obymaha on Pexels.com
Sinking lips into your tiny round cheeks, I'm home.
Holding your tiny head to my heart, caressing my chin to your downy baby 'chicken fluff' we'll come to call it later, I'm home.
Taking in your baby magic scent, I'm home.
Pressing nose to nose, forehead to forehead, staring wide-eyed into each other's eyes, I'm home.
Toting little bum and dangling legs around my middle, I'm home.
Filled with purpose as you point where to go, what you see, I'm home.
Your eyes, new windows to a world I thought I knew, I'm home.
Holding you with fever, picking you up when you fall, I'm home.
Navigating the years between, boxes of your firsts, every paint brush and pen stroke a miracle, I'm home.
Saving pottery penguins, turtles, shiny red roses, a burrito with all the fixings immortalized in clay, I'm home.
Kid sister fruit and craft stand on the corner, change clinking in coin purse, magic for the neighborhood…