Sitting here, why does the blank page scare me? With all the words within me why does it seem so hard to begin writing? I suppose I fear that if I open the gate a little, a whole flood will come pouring out and I will not be able to stop it. Reign it in. guide it.
I just finished reading a post by Anne Lamott (love her writings) but she just did a waterfall of words about writing. How, all in all, one must just write. There is no wrong, there is no goal or purpose but to let the words within, a way out.
I am an introvert, what I do best is keep everything within. Not out of anything negative but it is who I am and how I was made. I absorb so much, feel everything. It is hard to be such an absorbent person on this earth. To feel so much and so deep. To allow the thoughts, the energies, this life sink into the layers beneath my skin. And yet I know that to keep myself in balance I have to let everything I absorb various outlets out.
Last year a neighbor, whose backyard is seen from ours, lost her husband. She has two small children and my heart aches for her. I would see her most every day, although we have never spoken. I saw for months after losing her husband she would look thinner and thinner. Before long I would fear that the wind could blow her over. Thankfully in the more recent months I have noticed that she is eating again. The winds seem like less of a threat of carrying her away. I was thinking how life has its seasons of losing it's flavor. Finding ourselves losing our appetite. I have been consumed by stress (much like my neighbor was consumed with grief). An emotion that takes the flavors out of life. The winds of living feel like they can knock you over or carry you away. You become fragile, sensitive to the winds you expose yourself to. You long to be strong again. To feel like you can face the winds of being alive. And yet you have no power over it. All you have is the ability to feel what you are feeling. To allow yourself to lose your appetite, to be fragile, to be sensitive and guarded against the winds of life (warm and cold alike).
This last month has left me raw. My appetite is gone, my being is fragile, feeling every wind, showing me how sensitive I am. I am hoping that with writing I will start getting my appetite back. I will have placed all the stress on paper and outside of me.
Ian was horrifically sick. He has never been that sick before and hopefully never again. He is still recovering with an ongoing cough and limited energy. For his body to recover he had to withdraw. He had to withdraw physically, emotionally and mentally. He became disengaged. It is so hard to see my love go through such physical pains and to not engage with him. To not be engaged. To not be able to go through the scares and frustration of an ailing body with him (if only emotionally and mentally). Just after his fever broke after being over 100 for the fourth day in a row. I received a call from my sister that our dad is really really sick. He had not been eating or getting out of bed for a couple weeks and had been coughing up blood along with an inability to breathe. It has been two weeks since that phone call and we still do not know what is going on inside his body. He will be getting a biopsy on his lung on wed. But all in all we are still waiting. I hear that he is slowly regaining some energy but is still terribly weak and very little appetite. The most scary words I heard was that he was getting his paperwork in order and was going over it all with mom. I don't think anyone (no matter their age) is ever ready to hear that their dad is getting ready to move on from this earth. The reality, of the thoughts of the inventible, come crashing down on you. I found myself screaming to the stars. Wait!!! He has been waiting so long to live life. Let him live it!
The emotions of the past, present and future came hurling at me with all the force they could muster. Sending my mind, my heart, myself into the overwhelming current of feelings. So my little world is shaken. I find myself working like a crazy person in my yard. Moving little mountains, creating little oasis where I find myself frequenting often, to listen to music and to be quiet with my soul. I pick up trail hikers and give them rides to the post office and store. I pick up a weirdo who asks me if I am Eve and if he could be one of my children. I cook and clean. I drink 20 cups of tea a day and await for my appetite to come back. I wait for my husband to be ready to engage again. I find myself disengaging. I wait to hear from my mom what the latest doctor has to say. I wait to have any interaction with my siblings, whether by phone or in person. They are my little umbrellas against the winds of this earth. I watch with pride as my son plays baseball and lives life. I stand in awe as Emma fills our lives and this world with magic. I giggle with glee as Tela exists and walks barefoot on this earth. I admire Leah as she is discovering herself in-between a woman and a child. I gaze at the moon every night, wishing I could lay in it's curve with a leg hanging off one side. I breathe, I think too much, I appreciate my friends, I walk tenderly with each step. I am me, feeling, loving, hurting, laughing, absorbing, sensitive, longing and waiting to figure out what life is like, only to know with all of me, that life is not to be "like" anything but to live. So I live. I live within me. I live through my kids, I live anyway and anyhow that I find feeds me with life. I suppose one of the benefits of feeling frail is you slow down and become so much more attentive to the winds that surround you. You become aware of the effects of those winds on your soul. You become aware of your soul. You become aware of you. You find what brings you life and what takes from your precious cup of life. You become aware that you and only you are responsible to tend to that cup. Only you can fill it and only you are guarding who takes from it. You become aware that life passes faster than the night sky and to live every moment, fully alive is the unspoken quest of our limited time here. It is the hardest and most rewarding aspect of walking this earth. It is the honor of being alive. It is the ultimate discouragement to walk this earth and not feel fully alive (whether in stress, joy, grief, laughter, and love). So here is to life, to living, to words, and little oasis.
I just finished reading a post by Anne Lamott (love her writings) but she just did a waterfall of words about writing. How, all in all, one must just write. There is no wrong, there is no goal or purpose but to let the words within, a way out.
I am an introvert, what I do best is keep everything within. Not out of anything negative but it is who I am and how I was made. I absorb so much, feel everything. It is hard to be such an absorbent person on this earth. To feel so much and so deep. To allow the thoughts, the energies, this life sink into the layers beneath my skin. And yet I know that to keep myself in balance I have to let everything I absorb various outlets out.
Last year a neighbor, whose backyard is seen from ours, lost her husband. She has two small children and my heart aches for her. I would see her most every day, although we have never spoken. I saw for months after losing her husband she would look thinner and thinner. Before long I would fear that the wind could blow her over. Thankfully in the more recent months I have noticed that she is eating again. The winds seem like less of a threat of carrying her away. I was thinking how life has its seasons of losing it's flavor. Finding ourselves losing our appetite. I have been consumed by stress (much like my neighbor was consumed with grief). An emotion that takes the flavors out of life. The winds of living feel like they can knock you over or carry you away. You become fragile, sensitive to the winds you expose yourself to. You long to be strong again. To feel like you can face the winds of being alive. And yet you have no power over it. All you have is the ability to feel what you are feeling. To allow yourself to lose your appetite, to be fragile, to be sensitive and guarded against the winds of life (warm and cold alike).
This last month has left me raw. My appetite is gone, my being is fragile, feeling every wind, showing me how sensitive I am. I am hoping that with writing I will start getting my appetite back. I will have placed all the stress on paper and outside of me.
Ian was horrifically sick. He has never been that sick before and hopefully never again. He is still recovering with an ongoing cough and limited energy. For his body to recover he had to withdraw. He had to withdraw physically, emotionally and mentally. He became disengaged. It is so hard to see my love go through such physical pains and to not engage with him. To not be engaged. To not be able to go through the scares and frustration of an ailing body with him (if only emotionally and mentally). Just after his fever broke after being over 100 for the fourth day in a row. I received a call from my sister that our dad is really really sick. He had not been eating or getting out of bed for a couple weeks and had been coughing up blood along with an inability to breathe. It has been two weeks since that phone call and we still do not know what is going on inside his body. He will be getting a biopsy on his lung on wed. But all in all we are still waiting. I hear that he is slowly regaining some energy but is still terribly weak and very little appetite. The most scary words I heard was that he was getting his paperwork in order and was going over it all with mom. I don't think anyone (no matter their age) is ever ready to hear that their dad is getting ready to move on from this earth. The reality, of the thoughts of the inventible, come crashing down on you. I found myself screaming to the stars. Wait!!! He has been waiting so long to live life. Let him live it!
The emotions of the past, present and future came hurling at me with all the force they could muster. Sending my mind, my heart, myself into the overwhelming current of feelings. So my little world is shaken. I find myself working like a crazy person in my yard. Moving little mountains, creating little oasis where I find myself frequenting often, to listen to music and to be quiet with my soul. I pick up trail hikers and give them rides to the post office and store. I pick up a weirdo who asks me if I am Eve and if he could be one of my children. I cook and clean. I drink 20 cups of tea a day and await for my appetite to come back. I wait for my husband to be ready to engage again. I find myself disengaging. I wait to hear from my mom what the latest doctor has to say. I wait to have any interaction with my siblings, whether by phone or in person. They are my little umbrellas against the winds of this earth. I watch with pride as my son plays baseball and lives life. I stand in awe as Emma fills our lives and this world with magic. I giggle with glee as Tela exists and walks barefoot on this earth. I admire Leah as she is discovering herself in-between a woman and a child. I gaze at the moon every night, wishing I could lay in it's curve with a leg hanging off one side. I breathe, I think too much, I appreciate my friends, I walk tenderly with each step. I am me, feeling, loving, hurting, laughing, absorbing, sensitive, longing and waiting to figure out what life is like, only to know with all of me, that life is not to be "like" anything but to live. So I live. I live within me. I live through my kids, I live anyway and anyhow that I find feeds me with life. I suppose one of the benefits of feeling frail is you slow down and become so much more attentive to the winds that surround you. You become aware of the effects of those winds on your soul. You become aware of your soul. You become aware of you. You find what brings you life and what takes from your precious cup of life. You become aware that you and only you are responsible to tend to that cup. Only you can fill it and only you are guarding who takes from it. You become aware that life passes faster than the night sky and to live every moment, fully alive is the unspoken quest of our limited time here. It is the hardest and most rewarding aspect of walking this earth. It is the honor of being alive. It is the ultimate discouragement to walk this earth and not feel fully alive (whether in stress, joy, grief, laughter, and love). So here is to life, to living, to words, and little oasis.
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