The lives that dream beyond the window pane a glimpse into the soul but I can never surmise what is really there. I see a middle-aged woman bending over is she too old and unable to stand upright? Does she use a cane or a walker? Is she always carrying a heavy load along with a heavy heart? She is bending over to what I can’t see. I am curious about her life. Does she suffer? Did she ever feel pride and proud of her accomplishments? I can wonder and assume. I find that I transpose my feelings as if we share one heart, one life, one soul. But the story is not mine. She is bent way down and I can just see the top of her grayish hair pulled into a high bun on her head. What mysteries lay out of my sight. Now she moves. She is standing once more. Her arms are full with the warm embrace of a child that she lifts up so they can talk and see each other eye to eye. The child and the woman are smiling and the woman starts swaying a gentle dance. Is there music? Is there song? Her eyes and face are bright. She no longer seems bent over, weak and worn. She is full of life with the sweet babe who lights her soul and mine as I continue to pass on my way. A smile on my face that she is not suffering nor am I. The world is lovely and has tender moments and I’m grateful to be the silent witness of this loving magic that fills the air.
Heart Sky
When I am still and quiet my mind, I take a look up at the grand sky. If there are clouds they often take shape in my mind’s eye. There is a dragon with its pointed tail and craned long neck. There is a bird with wings that seem to engulf and span across the whole sky above me. I feel so little like I’m a worm in the earth about to be gobbled up as prey. Then I see sea creatures. Mermaids dancing with their magical tails as fish clamber around to find their own space. I breathe deep. I try to share what I see. My favorite times are when my mind is busy and away with thoughts and then I catch just a glimpse of the sky and the cloud is shaped like a heart. Finding hearts randomly around nature is my symbol. I’m always grateful of the reminder that I am love and loved whether it’s the cloud up above like a large heartbeat in the sky or the dried up and grayed gum on the sidewalk that shares a similar shape or the lotion just pumped onto my palm. And the heart makes me smile and pause for just a brief moment. That’s all it takes really. Though the clouds and heart shapes may disappear, the image is contained in my mind and my heart. I am grateful. Alive. I am not so small. When I am present with the sky or the sidewalk, I am in awe and connected to the universal magic that is always surrounding us.
Childhood Object
My pink bike with the banana seat was my most treasured Christmas present. I couldn’t wait to take it for a spin with the training wheels. We had a long driveway perfectly safe for learning balance and feet coordination. Never veering too close to the busy street. My mom‘s attention to help me learn was unwavering.
Soon the training wheels were a deterrent. I couldn’t go as fast as my strong capable legs wanted to go. My older brother’s mongoose bike mocked my wicker basket with the burgundy flower while I took my doll for a slow ride.
The training wheels were removed. Fear: Can I do it? It was no longer up to my mom to teach me. I was on my own for the first time. And it seemed to come to me so easily, so natural like riding a two wheeler was a birthright. So I rode grooves into the driveway.
Oh, the places I’d go if only in my imagination. Especially during those long summers when we had nowhere to go. I went on adventures to places in my dreams like Rocky Point or Disney. Places I longed to go. My imagination held no bounds or borders. I could come and go as I pleased.
Here there was no map only the compass of my mind and heart. We were free. A first taste of independence and proof that I was more than capable to learn, grow and expand across the wild imagination of my mind.
Glorious Sun
In winter sunrises always take my breath away. A return to the light. In summer it’s the opposite. We are surrounded by light. The humid sticky air combined with the sun does not provide reprieve. We all walk, jog, bike, scoot, drive or wait for the bus under its unrelenting rays. How quick we get accustomed to complaining. Too much sun. But then after a few stretch of rainy days, we once again greet the sun almost like a stranger staring into our eyes. No escape. We love it. We miss it. We wish for shelter away from it. Each day, regardless of where we are and how our life is shaping that day, the sun appears. Our very lives depend on it.
The water needs to be evaporated so that the clouds can form. It’s a cycle and it never complains or takes a day off. The stained paint on the gate dries and fades over the years. The gate would rust and fall off its hinges from weather and wear. Yet the sun shines on. The lettuce, the soy, the garbanzo and pea, the wheat that forms my sandwich once stood open wide under the sun. It sustains us all and I am forever grateful.
The sheet is spread across the warm grass. Little ants climb on to see what’s for dinner. I find a shady spot but I’m never too far from the glorious sun.
Moon’s Darling
The moon greeted me this morning. The upper half was overhanging and slant in the blue sky. What does she balance on above that empty space? Pure magic Pure belief that she is held and so am I. There is no doubt Only trust. I too want to feel that blind leap of faith that an invisible net will catch me before the fall. The lure of the illusion of groundlessness is strong And I try as I might to truly believe like the magic of sea water in a glass. The salt settles only if it is absolutely still. Then it can embody its true nature. There is only one way and that is to act. It is a mean trick that fear plays; that I’ll appear a fool, hurt myself or others. I want to let the magic kiss me on the cheek and be that darling I know I am. There is only a door that is blocking out the light and the night. There is no view or glimpse of what beholds on the other side. I can grab ahold of the doorknob pry it open as the hinges squeak and creak adding to the mystery. Now all I have to do is step over the threshold of my mind and take that leap. To be moon’s darling in day and night. We dance as one in our exuberant embrace. There is no separation no fear to interfere with this serene space
[ Listen to this poem read by my friend Jess on her podcast The Pawtuxet General: https://www.pawtuxetgeneral.com/1885927/10662676-the-pawtuxet-general-episode-25 ]
Ode to my fingers
Long fingers like a pianist. I use them every day as I write on my steno machine. Though the machines have evolved and changed over time, my fingers still rapidly stroke the same keys. I listen to spoken words and my amazing brain translates it to sounds, symbols, syllables and strokes. I even have time to add in punctuation.
My fingers have taken me to islands, to ivy league college and a navy school, to town halls and high school auditoriums, outdoor venues with waterfire, a lighthouse tour on a ferry boat, the zoo, and numerous graduations and ceremonies.
I’ve captioned words for hundreds to read projected onto a screen. I am not intimidated. I am highly skilled and competent with over 22 years of experience. Even if they say Steno is a dying art, I am proof that it’s not. My career is thriving. My salary supports and sustains me and my family.
My fingers fire rapidly across the keyboard hanging on to every word. Sometimes just waiting for what’s next. From the courthouse to web hearings, I am front and center. My body is still. My arms hardly move as my fingers do all the work. I can read back what was just said confidently and with clarity. I am the keeper of the official record now. All thanks to my amazing fingers.
First day back
My 8 year old daughter (V) is distance learning. We spent the weekend clearing off her desk, removing the paper clutter; out with the old to make space for the new. My 4 year old daughter (L) has been away from daycare and home since March. Some days she has separation anxiety when one of us leaves. Today was a big day for her. She would be away from both parents for a good chunk of the day, around seven plus hours.
She protested. She didn’t want to get dressed and had become accustomed to pajama wearing most days. Comfort and play was key. She balked at the shirt Mommy chose and picked her LOVE emoji shirt instead. She wanted to play and this new routine was keeping her away from her toys and imaginative play. V got dressed and was watching a YouTube video on her iPad.
My husband announced, “We have to take a first day of school picture!” Begrudgingly, the girls posed in front of the bush. L held her pink bunny and a few toys from home to take for the car ride. Adorable smiles and a pose of the leg. Click!
We packed the car and headed out. L asked me to play music on the radio. With only commercials or annoying pop music to choose from, I pressed play on the cued up CD and held my breath. I didn’t know what I was going to hear. Fingers crossed. It was Depeche Mode. There was silence from the backseat. No protest. We drove out onto the street.
The first day. It was the first day of seeing a handful of school buses on the road. I said, “Look, a bus! It’s everyone’s first day too.” We pulled into the familiar lot of her former daycare. The one that was closed for so long. I heard her take a deep purposeful breath. Then another. She was calming herself. I thought, she is listening. She sees and hears everything. She’s been seeing and listening to me practice yoga and meditation, and demonstrating calming breaths and she internalized that. It became a useful tool in her toolbox to calm her anxiety. That is a win in my book and I don’t want to discount it. I was a proud mama.
We got out of the car. The daycare’s slide was wrapped in caution yellow tape. No trapezes swung on the bare playset. All the grownups were wearing a mask. We had to take a different entrance. No parents are allowed inside the building. L’s prekindergarten class will help form the foundation for her to be ready for a successful kindergarten next year. She held onto her pink bunny, now sealed in the school-required Ziplock bag. We held each other as she cried and didn’t want to let me go. I let out a tear too. The teacher said “Good morning!” And handed L a welcome goodie bag. She gave us a few moments to say goodbye and then led L into class. Luckily, I parked in front of her classroom window so we could wave and blow kisses.
It sure is a different time to be living in. Today I’m back to work. It’s the first Monday in a long time. My husband is at home managing his telework and setting up V for her day of google meets and independent work. We will make it through. We’ll run into each other’s arms at the end of the day, check in and share the events that unfolded. We got this. It’s only the beginning of a new chapter. A return to somewhat normalcy and we will always have each other.
If I only had five years to live
If I only had five years to live:
I would let the small things go: That argument with my husband; that misunderstanding that eats at me when I get quiet; that car that almost rear-ended me as they sped through the yield sign. It doesn’t matter. The annoying sound that usually puts me in a tailspin when I’m trying to focus. I will let it go. It won’t become an ingrained memory that I look back on. It’s not a part of my legacy.
My mind and energy deserve more than this. If this is all I got, then I’m making the most of it. I would cherish and savor all the moments. I would linger a little longer outdoors no matter the season to slow down and touch the ever-changing ground as it goes through its seasonal cycle. I wouldn’t hurry and live in my mind of to-dos and being driven by tasks and lists, which leads to a hurried, stressed out, overwhelmed, rushed, fatigued day that beads into weeks and a lifetime.
I will seek out to experience life to the fullest for each day is truly a gift. I will be grateful for my loves and my life lessons. My time will not be squandered. Do I want to travel while I still can? Do I want to get caught up on what matters most? Conversations with my friends. Walks with Jeff. Coffee dates. An easy morning to set me up for an easy life.
In the end I know it will feel brief. I will wish I had more time. But ultimately I will feel fulfilled and that I had a life worth living. That I sought out my own happiness and didn’t get caught up in dread, fear, worry, or future tripping.
The future is uncertain. We do not have a timeline or our lifeline set in stone or guarantees of when and how it will end. We just have today and our breath and our hearts to beat. I will be here taking stock, creating memories for my loved ones, feeling that my time and energy is focused on what truly matters to me. At least with this choice, I will feel whole and complete.
I want to thank my husband for challenging me to think and blog about this topic. His blog is here: https://amorereasonablemind.wordpress.com/ If you were told you only had five years to live, how would you choose to spend your days?
Hedging our bets on an unknown future
Future tripping is not really a gamble but the stakes are our very lives.
The future lives in the unknown and sometimes we get that dopamine hit like the lever of a slot machine. Will today be my lucky day? Will I go pro or go home? So we go outward, discarding the mundane and instead wishing the day away to a future point.
We end up not appreciating how good we have today: Our lungs to breathe. Our hearts to beat and pump. Life force coursing through our veins. Our loved ones here today to share a meal or a hug. To think it will be better or I will feel complete or more organized/fit/healthy/alive in the future makes us miss the target. The point is that today is all we have.
Dreams and goals are important and we shouldn’t dismiss them and not have them. Just don’t let them crowd our vision of today. What small steps can I take today? What future do I envision? Why does it hold power and energy or attention over right now? What can I do this very moment to bring that vision closer to my reality? Ask questions. Take stock. Be still and listen to the guidance.
Is wishing away the potty training stage and loads of laundry that goes with it worth not being present to see her smile? Her full sentences form, her blooming creative play, her, “Momma, play with me?” This is where I am and the future is uncertain. Someday it will go by all too fast and be a distant memory. Today I’m in her life. We share the same roof and space.
I can wish the clutter and loud chaos away or I can see the bigger picture. We have the means to acquire all these awesome toys that allow us stretch our imaginations and connect with each other. I can witness how she’s finally grappling with her own body cues to use the bathroom on her own. And as in all learning, there are missteps and accidents happen. And I don’t want to miss it for a moment.
Hedging our bets on an unknown future robs us of what is happening in the here and now. I will breathe and I will play, if only for today, because that’s where I live.
We all carry a little trauma
We all walk around with a little trauma in our back pocket. Sometimes we forget it’s there. Sometimes, unbeknownst to us, we pull it up and it’s in our face without any warning. How we experienced the trauma is individual and unique: what happened, how we dealt with it or didn’t deal with it, our own personal experience of the trauma. We were innocent one moment and then the event rocked us to the core and that is something we all share.
We’d like to pretend it never happened to us. Why talk about such negative things that don’t affect us now? The event shaped us whether we’d like to admit it. We can choose to acknowledge this trauma that we’ve been carrying around for far too long. Perhaps we’ve grown tired and exhausted from the heaviness of that burden. And it has metaphorically created a hole and fell out of our pocket. However it happens, the opportunity lies before us.
Do we quickly scoop it up and bury it once again? Do we distract ourselves and hide it, ignore it or stuff it? Or can we just for a moment accept our common humanity that trauma unfortunately happens. It’s a part of the journey of life. But it doesn’t have to control us any longer. It happened, for sure. It sucks. Who wants to rehash unpleasantries?
But once we acknowledge our common human experience, our trauma, something shifts. Our burden lightens. We see that we are not alone in our suffering. It is okay. We are not justifying what happened, but right now in this moment can we feel safe? Can we take a breath? Can we sit with this feeling for just a few moments?
Here’s what I would like you to do right now. Don’t engage in a dialogue with the trauma. Just be the listener. Write if it helps you to sort out your thoughts on paper. Treat yourself gingerly, with the softness and tenderness as you would a small infant. You were innocent when it happened through no fault. Can you see what “trauma” is showing you? Is there a message? A nugget of wisdom that you can explore?
When you’ve listened to what has to be said, put your hands on your heart and just breathe for a minute. Counting breaths helps. I like to count to 10. One, inhale; one, exhale. Two, inhale; two, exhale, etc. I promise you any fear, anger, or other strong emotion you feel will dissipate if for just a moment you can let it out. It’s been bottled up for too long.
Healing Insights 