January 15, 2019 § 4 Comments
At first, life is an all-you-can-eat buffet.
There’s plenty more in the kitchen!
But time and mortality begin to take
options off the table.
So far it is just friends and family members—
Ones who are older.
Older than we are anyway.
We watch them peruse a narrowed menu
and feel sorry for them.
But the day will come when
we too will have to choose off a limited menu,
one that won’t disagree with who time
and circumstance and our own
have made us. « Read the rest of this entry »
September 16, 2018 § 4 Comments
If you weren’t you wouldn’t be reading my blog post.
Everything is fine. Neither fight, nor flight needs to be called in. No action is required.
So, take a conscious breath…and let it out slowly.
But maybe you are only fleetingly in this moment, the words on your screen registering intermittently because much of your brain is occupied with scouting ahead, scanning the future for that gray speck you just know will be trouble when it gets here.
Your body, which has a hard time distinguishing between present and future danger, responds, not to the words you are reading, but to what you are imagining. Muscles tense, your heart gallops.
This mirrors the magical thinking that assured you, looking under your childhood bed was what turned monsters into shoes and dust balls.
Chances are, you had nothing to do with containing the perceived threat, which was probably not a threat at all, but just a blot on the horizon as random and transient as a cloud shadow.
August 3, 2018 § 4 Comments
God stood by the side of the road holding a cardboard sign. HUNGRY, it said.
He’d written the word with the marker he’d put in his own pocket by conceiving of one…Let There Be a Marker. How solid it had felt in his just-as-solid hand. In use, the marker had squeaked across the cardboard; the ink was running out.
The marker was the only dry thing by this twilit strip of asphalt. Rain was pelting down. God’s hair dripped, and the rain ran its cold fingers down his neck soaking his T-shirt.
The last time he had come here clothed in flesh it had been hot and dusty, but like this, it had been vibrant in a way omnipresence could never match. Omnipresence was existence spread thin.
Being everywhere and nowhere had a lot in common. « Read the rest of this entry »
July 7, 2018 § 2 Comments
I want to be so new my own hands are a foreign land.
So new that light is a stunning surprise.
So new that the temperature of the world shocks me till I bawl—and then the sound of my own voice shocks me again.
I want a body that is still growing up, not down, one that takes me places I have forgotten about as an adult, or have come to take for granted.
I want to sit under the table surrounded by grownups’ knees, unnoticed as those grownups speak adult and pay no attention to their own shoes–but I will, in my secret cave under the table.
I want the line between what is real, and what is not, to blur, so that the imagined is so possible it tingles my spine, even if it puts that scary thing that huffs in the night back under my bed.
I want to be the kid, the junior partner, the one who sits in the back seat and whines.
June 18, 2018 § 4 Comments
Full-grown, we are generally in the 5’-6’ range.
We do not fly, so human eye level is our perpetual vantage point.
Those living things that are larger than we are, and there aren’t many, are viewed at that eye level. We see the trunk, but have to make a conscious effort to lean back and peer up into the crown of a tree.
Sure, we see full trees as distance brings them down to eye level, but distance obscures, generalizes.
To see, really see a tree…well…I suppose you would have to climb it, get up to tree-eye level. « Read the rest of this entry »
April 22, 2018 § 5 Comments
We live in a constant state of wonder.
The discovery we have hands, that water can splash, that sand yields to toes, that faces that vanish come back in response to the magic word “peekaboo,” that grasshoppers hop, all amaze us.
In our early years wonder has our full attention.
Time passes and the kid gets cool. Wonder, as available as ever, is often met with a shrug, a quick glance. Wonder requires us to stop. Stare. Forget everything else.
Frankly, we are too busy for wonder. We’ve seen it all before. Unless it comes with huge pyrotechnics we put any potential source of wonder on the slag heap of been-there-done-that.
As if it were an illness, we have built up an immunity to wonder.
But as we get old wonder comes slowly back. It catches our eye, briefly at first, but over time our attention turns inexorably toward it, until wonder pervades almost everything we do, see, hear, taste, feel, think. My husband says it is as if wonder invites us back in. Or maybe we are the ones who issue that invitation.
All I know is that sometimes wonder is so present I can almost fly on its wings.