Echoes

I am happy. Contented. For the most part.

I am happy, but I feel like crying, for I am also sad. Mourning, slowly. It feels more like savoring; soaking up every moment.

It is an absolute refusal to take anyone – any moment – for granted.

Breathing. This is my focus while I wait, while I enjoy. I look around at the smiling faces. My family and friends carrying on joyously. Their lives continuing on, busy and full. Mine… Soon to change dramatically.

I see myself standing amongst them. I am still, and they are buzzing about me, a blur of color, light and sound.

Time passes. The sound fades, the colors soften, and they are gone. I am alone with the light. It is lonely here, where touch becomes memory, and laughter is but an echo.

The secret of change is to focus all of your energy, not on fighting the old, but on building the new.

Socrates

Homeward Bound

Momentum.

Although I am sitting in a relatively quiet, air-conditioned cafe, my heart races. If I sit still enough, I can count the beats by the thump in my chest.

I feel the winds of change flowing in and through me. A transition has begun.

Letting go. Stepping forth. Savoring every aspect of the here and now, knowing I will be releasing it and grasping a new present in a new place.

There is a fear of loneliness that casts the sheerest shadow on the light of my excitement. My anticipation shines with vibrance nonetheless.

There is a gratitude for the beauty of my life that swells within me. A balloon in my chest. Full and weightless, I float. Hovering, I step away – step towards. The momentum carries me.

Away.

The momentum is swift, and sure. A steady stream of events and energy. Leaping over boulders as if pebbles, running toward the ocean, toward opportunity.

It is quiet. My heart beats louder with every inch gained. I am coming home.

Heart Beat

Momentum.
The cafe is quiet, air conditioned,
and my heart races.
I sit still,
and count the beats by the thump in my chest.

The energy of change flows through, and from, me.
A transition has begun.
Letting go.
Stepping forth.
Savoring every aspect of the “here & now”,
knowing I will be releasing it, and grasping
a new present in a new place.

There

These are my Little Girl dreams

To live to write and to write to live.

To travel.

To live in sunshine, a stone’s throw from the ocean.

To be a mother in a happy marriage.

To be fit and healthy; vibrant.

For stress to be a stranger to my home, to my heart.

To live paradoxically; independent and in community,

Passionately and consistently,

with adventure and stability -

Full of love, full of life.

These are my youngster hopes. My version of a princess’ tale. The wishes of a fresh heart. A glance into the window of my future. Call me naive, if you will. Call me anything you like. I will simply smile in reply. Someday you may make your way into a book of mine.

A slice of NOLA

I am exceedingly happy. It’s the Bayou Boogaloo in New Orleans. My dear friend Brian is off to work and I am left to my wanderings. I followed the music here, to the Boogaloo. I begin by buying some slightly overpriced photography. A price I gladly pay to support a passionate, independent artist. I hope someday people will do the same for me.

With merchandise in tow I meander over to the Bayou’s edge to sit and people-watch in one of the best cities to do so. My bum is quite literally on the pavement as my skirt is not long enough to provide a barrier, but it is warm and I am in love. I am in love with the raw, real, moment-by-moment energy that radiates from every noun in this town.

Everything is positively saturated with color. The music, the people, the food. Nothing is monochromatic. Even the gamut of minor physical discomforts (more often than not related to the humidity) provide an edge to the bliss that make it altogether joyous.

I wander over to the stage where the Funky Dawgs Brass Band is warming up for their performance. I am impressed from the start. Alone, but not in the least lonely, I dance to my content.

There is all kinds of dancing happening around me, some of which is just shy of twerking. At first glance, this seems entirely inappropriate, but it is suddenly validated (to a certain extent) as one of the band members puts down his trumpet and begins to rap. Following close behind is a chorus which repeats: “Shake what yo mama gave you”.

My experience is punctuated by observing something that both touches and amuses me. I turn to see a woman with bilateral above the knee amputations dancing in her motorized scooter as if it is the last thing she will do. The sun seems to shine directly from her ebony cheeks as the curls of her fantastic weave bounce about her shoulders. Being toted along with her is her Shitzu, who sits in a wide-open carrying case where her feet would’ve been. His expression reads: This is just another day in New Orleans.

And it is.

Companion Exchange

I am in a mood. Not just today. It’s been a number of days that this mood of mine has been an unwelcome companion. I’ve blamed it on all kinds of things: work, fatigue, work, PMS, work, missing my Love across the ocean, work, etc. While there may be some truth to the above, they are only compounding factors. The truth is, I have not written in days. Nor have I exercised. The neglect of these two essentials in my life has produced a restlessness that is permeating me entire being from my exterior to my core. My very soul feels restless, as if I have left her somewhere and she cannot find her way home.

So I begin to write in an effort to find her again. As I write, the fog clears. Writing provides a path – a direct route – to where she is. We reconnect. Julia Cameron provides a perfect analogy, summing up this angst:

“Over the long term, writing is a lot like marathon running, and just as a runner suffers withdrawal when unable to run for a day or two, so too, does a working writer miss her writing work. A certain amount of writing, like a certain amount of miles, keeps the artistic athlete happy and fit. Without this regular regime, tensions build up. Irritability sets in. Life becomes somehow far less hospitable. A good writing day rights this again… It cheers them up. It energizes them. It gives them a sense of flow.”

My writing has seen me through death, divorce, depression, and despair. It has been there for all my joyful celebrations, travel, adventure, and love. My writing has never judged me (though I can hardly say the same about it), but it has challenged me. It has challenged me to be better than I allow myself to think I am. It has helped me work through confusion and fear, showing me the light in my darkest of moments, if only a pinpoint.

I look at my mood and realize I’ve been choosing the wrong companion. My writing, my true companion, has been here all along, patiently waiting for me to take notice, and engage.