Okay, I am just here writing, because I can't quite tell you how important it is that I have full permission to write, right here today, with this energy that I am holding. To stand strong in the truth of my being, that has felt quite weak and wavering in moments, and equally strong and clear in moments, as if these parts are truly at war with one another, and I am watching to see which one will win out, but the funny division between the two is merely this, the more I let the two up for air, wrestling and churning up and me trying to find which team is going to win, which one is going to end up on top, there is just simply me, sitting on the sidelines, and really tired of watching the back and the forth, and so, I just sit and put my hand in the sand I am sitting on the beach, and feel the texture of the sand, feel it running through my hand, and there is just this amazingness of this sand moving through my hand, and it feels timeless and I begin to see shapes and outlines in the movement of the waves, like the world is drawing for me, like sparklers waving around in the dark, just lines burning bright and then fading into memory--and I notice the mountain in the background jetting out of the ocean, so still as the waves strike it, and I connect with that mountain. I feel the sand, I feel the timelessness, and then the rolling waves are just a dance, just one I've chosen to pay attention to, just to zero in on for a few seconds, to see who is winning, when I might not even be playing the game I thought I was playing. You see, friend, they were forces of nature just playing, like otters, and they don't seem all that serious, but what seems like I can't live without it is connecting to the stillness of that mountain, feeling the sand, filling the bigness of the sky that surrounds me, the earth that holds me just perfectly, and the invitation next to me of the kindest hand that wants to walk with me, who is willing to see me, if for just this fleeting moment. And I think that is enough. It is enough to take his hand and walk with him on the beach, feel the sand underneath, and hold his heart gently, but with the strength of my soul, the one who connects to that mountain, that walks away from the waves, the wrestling, the fading memory as shape and color and motion into nothingness-steps back from the game and finds my heart so abiding in peace, and able to extend my hand for someone who wants to hold it and walk in peace with me, feeling our roots, and our connection to the mountain. And the gravity feels very real to my feet and body, the softness and texture of the earth welcomes me and the spaciousness of the sky colors itself in clouds and blue and presents me shades and contrast, ever changing and as I walk and make distance on this sandy beach, I am part of the walk of the clouds, the wrestling waves, the breeze and the hand holding, and the whistle and bark. I have room enough to hold it all. And as I connect to that mountain, that silent strong mountain, brave enough to take the heat, to let itself be carried higher by the magma, to stand tall and to rise up, to reach for a birds eye view, solid and still to the core, housing the perfect fire in its hallowed walls.
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, mag