Monday, October 16, 2017

Waltzing solo

It can be dizzying this rebuilding. I am shine bright proud of myself for simply showing up and advancing without too much complaint. I have been open to meeting new people - willing it, even, calling out to the skies while walking the streets of Avignon, "bring me someone today," optimism filled - and that too takes so much courage. Blowing patiently on the embers. I know it. I have kissed and my lips feel his sweet bruise, still.

And yet I woke up this morning and...I am crying without knowing why. More tears without noise. It started with missing Ben, his arriving just in my half-sleep upon waking and then just waves of longing for my old structure. The stone front steps where I always sat, the books stacked and frequently paged, the comforting illusion of a "forever," being held in the morning after not sleeping well or sleeping deeply, just as the first hello. I thought that I had moved firmly beyond that longing. I truly did.

Grief is so tricky, leaving me shrugging foolish at my youthful misunderstanding. But I know to be patient, to be kind, to go gently. And I remember well how fortunate I am, it isn't that.

It is just waltzing, myself in my arms. That old life. This new one. Turning, turning, turning.

In the dirty laundry buildup, my camera is gathering dust and that scares me. Admittedly, exhaustion clouds my eyes.  Perhaps these mysterious tears have come for rain? There is something of getting ready for what is next, always - trying to create a luxury of space - that is both joyful and truly tiresome.

Can I find the words? Am I just words? Or am I also air and blood and dust of the moon?

This humaness. I take it all and willingly but there are also moments where I just feel a deep need to curl up on time's carpet to rest.

Breathing through, I will get dressed and head outside to seek solace in beauty's kind balm.

*I did. And I feel better. Bought a sandwich for a young homeless kid that I like and food for his dog. Perspective.

To listen to:

With love and gratitude,

Tuesday, October 10, 2017

Go gently

Go gently now, my friends.
Glide, if you can, as if parting the waters in a gondola through my beautiful Venezia. 
What love there is in your hearts matters more than you can possibly know.
Can you send it out? 
But also carry it in?
In these challenging times, yes, but always, please be so kind to yourself for it is precisely what you deserve. 
No "good" will come from anything other, only second chances to relearn.
Or a third or a thousandth.
I am letting go of certain old ways because I have no choice and it shines the light of opportunity. 
Still learning, I stumble but then help myself back to standing, even crookedly with a crooked smile, through compassion. 
For that too, I seem to no longer have a choice, even if I still swat at the flies of worry.
To me, it seems as if this is where we are all at, collectively.
And perhaps individually too?
So I see you, I know you. I send you my Love.
Go gently, dear friends. 
We need you now.
This Beauty remains, ever present, in you and around, and yes, it is more than real.

To listen to in these autumn days:

*I have been carrying around these ideas for a few weeks now, they roll loose in my mind like pebbles in a pocket. They aren't perfect but I don't want perfect anymore. They might sound preachy, but that is only a result of their imperfection. Love is the idea. For me, I am able to connect through Beauty, in all its forms. And I have to search hard to find it some days, as we all do. But I do, eventually, if I look hard enough and easily, when I can do so with an open heart.

Thank you for being here.

With Love from Provence (while still holding dreams of returning to Venice),