Tuesday, November 18, 2014

things I want.

days off hot coffee warm hugs fresh cookies apple pie fireplaces and tea
conversations long vacations day at the beach gin & grapefruit & lychee
new shoes plane tickets laughs reunions 'round a table by the sea
resurrection indespension fence rejection new leaves
frosted breath scarves mittens rest nose-tip reheat
park benches soul ascension city fall-scapes raw belief
cozy office blank pages lots of ink space left to just be

hopeful landings extra chances inspiration
time time time time time
























photosource unknown. via pinterest.

 

Monday, November 17, 2014

hard to come by

I'm searching for catharsis this morning, in very weird places; I'm finding my own tiny versions of escapism. 
Blank Space on repeat. Sudoku puzzles. Large coffee. But none of it is working. There is no escape from the pain of losing a loved one.

My beloved little sister & brother-in-law, and our families, are greiving. After a long and brave battle, my brother-in-law's Mum has passed away. It's naive, and I know it, but I kept expecting her to just wake up, and come back to us.

Julie, we will miss you forever. You became and will always be a part of our family, and the space you leave will not be filled by anyone else. Julie is the type of woman who would become your mom if you didn't have one, a friend you'd been searching for, a safe haven. She'd graft herself in with a natural ease, to anyone: so joyful, and joyfully interested in people. Warm hugs and a belly laugh you could feel across continents. I will remember Julie for her light, so set was the sun on shining through her.

Nothing can be said to ease the loss. You - who you are - that's hard to come by.

aussie sunset, by holly (via instagram).

Saturday, November 15, 2014

sail

set sail.
say hi.
ships in the night pass
by as the waves turn
our parallell lives
into one.

set sail,
side by side,
hands clenched,
heart drenched same as yours;
open opposite doors
to the greeting.

what was sure now turns happenstance
meeting; engine rooms buzz,
thoughts of what was;
what it is to be needing
the sunrise.

say hi, don't pass by.
set sail into the night
with me.





© afterthoughtcomposer
art source: unknown. via pinterest.

Sunday, November 9, 2014

for you

the writer & the darling six.
thank you to Doliente Lifestyle Photography
for catching this moment.
You turned my heart into an open door. Step through when you need it. If life rips you out, I'll hem you in again.

There are paths that take us where we would not have chosen to go. I will choose these paths, again. Not because they are only good, or bad, but because they and what they hold are needed. Parenting, and I daresay life, isn't about reward. It isn't even about sacrifice; though both of those things come and are required. Down in the roots that bind us, we do these things for you.

We have always, and continue, to use big words with you because you are smart enough; we have defined them for you and helped you spell and marvelled at your brilliance. In a grander sense, Life will give you big words, too. Of the ones you encounter, you'll understand very few of them right away. Grace. Forgive. Respect. Friendship. Trust. I can't keep you from the pain of them, or how often they'll be taught, but I can show you what they mean by the way I treat you, others, myself.

So, I will give you what I have. Some days, it doesn't feel like much. Other days, it won't be. When you are older I will tell you more. You are young, so I will tell you this: I am and will be here. I didn't give you the gift of your life, but by God's grace, I get to receive it. In return, you get me. Open arms, no conditions, and everything I have, to glean from. Instead of your being, I will push out poems for you: words and actions you can live by. True things. Bricks you can build yourself up with, steps to stand on, so you can gain the perspective you need to live well. You have your Daddy's eyes. In my own way, I hope to give you something of mine, and join him in teaching you to be kind. At your mother's breast you fed and grew. In my own way, through soul and spirit, I can offer mine. What are you hungry for? I will search all I have to find it for you.

Life is a funny thing, dove. We've all got grief and elation in our souls, and our own unique reasons to spend them. Give yourself room to be sad and room to get over it. Be happy, even when no one else is. Learn how to be still, so when life quiets you and others, you can be a part of it. Fill the pockets of your heart with the good, the giddy, the gracious. Let the Bad Stuff teach you; let those lessons be the only marker. Hang on to your ability to fill a room with joy; you are so, so good at it. If the shoes don't fit, don't be afraid to say so. Embrace the rain: without it, we could never puddle jump. Hold on to the hands that will hold you when the world is shaking or when the world is dull. Let go of the hands that shake your world, let go of the hands who block your light. You are remarkable. Until and beyond the time you know these things, I'm for you.



the song for now: you were born, by cloud cult

Friday, November 7, 2014

your best work

So far as I remember it, I'd been asked to collect rocks. With my blue Rubbermaid bin, I set off into the forest. Not knowing what kind of rocks I was to look for, I picked up everything odd: a purple misshapen one, a few small ones, maybe a green. I collected about twenty, as memory serves me. Mostly though, I took pictures. I lay on the mossy ground underneath dewy leaves and took pictures, ignoring the task at hand. When it came time to bring my work forward I got in line behind the others.

The man in front of me was dedicated. He looked to me like a mechanic might: blue coveralls dirtied with strain & effort. He had obviously put in his time. His Rubbermaid bin was filled up in the shape of risen bread, with tiny stones; each as uniform and as white as the ones around it. Perfection. The overseer saw his bin and said to him:

"This is exactly what I'm looking for, but this is all you've brought me, over and over. This is not your best work. Now go, and find me something else."

She sent him away, disheartened though he was at having missed the mark.

My turn next. I looked at my measly collection of stones. Surely, she would be disappointed in me, too. What had I done? I had taken pictures and meandered slowly; hesitant dedication, at best. She looked in, surveyed my work, and began to tell me what she was building. I was taken to her vision on a riverbend in the mountains; the houses and shorelines of what was to come. I knew then that she wasn't looking for me to fill a quota, at all. Rather, she was looking for me to bring her what she needed, to move beyond the scope of what was already there. She was looking for someone to join her in the work of dreaming big.

It was only a dream, but it makes me wonder: am I simply filling the quotas set out for me by my life? Or am I building into visions, futures, greater realities? Am I doing only what's required, or am I doing my best work?



PHOTO CREDIT: totororo on flickr, sea to sky highway, whistler.