My hand polishes the lines on your face, the ones that leave valleys by your eyes, valleys as storied and beautiful as the one in which I was born, and you lean into me. I see the freckles splayed like stars across your skin; I trace them into pictures of speckled sparrows taking flight in the sun. Tangled up in blankets and limbs and words not spoken, faces pressed together, we sleep.
When we spend Time around good people, or those who touch us deeply in some way, we have this uplifting feeling inside ourselves. This energy stored in our body that flows through us like a drug in our system, making everything around us seem brighter and more full of life.
I want the whole cake. That's right, I want the whole damn thing. I'm tired of the crumbs, and can no longer only allow myself to take small bites. So why is it that I keep gladly accepting the stale slices of love and affection when I know I deserve more?
So tell me, how did you stay away? Tell me so I can, too. I need so desperately to fall out of love with you. I need to find the girl that you fell in love with. The strong and confident one that knew exactly what she wanted out of life but really knew nothing at all. I need her and her dreams.
When we as women start to shed the wars and ghosts that are not ours. When we start to clear our karmic lines for all of our mothers and grandmothers who could not do so. When we clear our own traumas and feel the weight of our bodies pushing our feet into Gaia. When we start to say No. When we start to say I want. What happens then?
You miss his body. You miss the way your back pressed into his chest as his strong arms held you close. You miss the way your bodies once moved together. Now, as he comes to bed, you reach out to him. He pulls away. "Tired," he says.
How unjust I think it is that my loved ones cannot understand my illness is not something you can snap out of -- but how little patience I at times have with others. I have oft admired the Dalai Lama's proclamation that the most important thing we can teach our children is compassion -- but how often do I forget that simple action myself!
I no longer miss you with a consuming sadness or in a soul-shattering, heart-collapsing kind of way. In fact, it's not even really sadness. It's more of an acknowledgement that something that was once vibrantly ever-present is now gone.
“It’s dark because you are trying too hard. Lightly, child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly. Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply. Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them. So throw away your baggage and go forward.
There are quicksands all about you, sucking at your feet, trying to suck you down into fear and self-pity and despair. That’s why you must walk so lightly. Lightly, my darling…”
~ Aldous Huxley
I’m in a constant state of movement. I wake to the same thought, “Where’s today’s fix coming from?” I’m always on the hunt to see more, feel more, experience more, hold more (even when it hurts), love more… because I’ve learned my lesson: The only way out is through.
I’ve turned my back on everything I once knew. I’ve spent days, weeks, maybe...
Lean into the variegated trill of song. Hug the hollow bones of your graceful wings. Soak and rinse in the soulful rain's song. Wear a cape of chartreuse moss. Create an emerald privet. Protect your crimson heart. Lay an altar with tokens of lapis, moonstone and stardust. Sprinkle twigs, leaves and pinecones; your heart knows these treasures well.
Isn't that exactly what marriage is? A binding contract between two people (traditionally a heterosexual couple with the purpose of procreation) wrought with expectation and impending disappointment and heartbreak.
I've been having a love affair with you my whole life. Your complexities have held up a mirror and helped me rise from the flames of my own struggles. We've grown up together, you and I. You'll never know the child I was before you burst into my life.
You belong to a clan. A clan of swollen-hearted seekers who are called to build a collective temple.
More than ever the world needs the cradle of your kindness, the pastel colors of your heart, the sweet liquid of your loving-kindness to flood the streets.
What if I were to tell you
Your future is unwritten and
The pen is poised in your hand and the
The page before you is pristine
Pristine and waiting with bated breath
To see what the story of
Your life shall be
You have a young lover? Me too. Does his touch make you unbelievably alive? Do you travel to places that others think are off limits? Me too. Do you lie on beaches that no one has been to? Do you stay there until you recognize all the other stars that light up the celestial sphere? Do you let go in any way you please -- of the people, the things, the places that have told you No? I have. Did you return with a resounding Yes, a roar, a statement, a position, a forgiveness; an acceptance? Me too.
This is your life. Only you can build it, live it, share it! Get with it. If your ex comes back, he or she will find a person better than the one he left. In the meantime, your life won’t feel like you’re just doing time on planet earth until you get too old to care.
We are a culture that throws the word 'crazy' around to explain what we don't understand, to dismiss another's feelings and emotions, to devalue people's experiences because they don't fit in with our concept of 'should be'.