tea / teacup / grace / boutique

tea & bag boutique is neatly coming together,nearing completion

Inspiration trickles down her spine

Goosebumps brought on, by the slightest of breeze

Pinned down, now ready to fly

Smiling does not cease and desire does not shallow

Small beginnings, then at last, GRACE....

CK

tragedy / secrets / caffeine

I now know the chord that has always fed me, has always been, just my own, strangled, was I, with the chord that you had wrapped around me, the one I had to untangle, the secrets you kept in your chamber tied up like knots. I was killed by a single bullet, it only took you one shot, as I lay in the field, breathing in the smell of grass, still, silent, as I wanted you to know, the war was over, that I could now sleep. The one shot, your final last bullet, missed me...it landed in the field far away from where I lay. I had no idea how to erase what I never meant to remember, the chord of your love, that in the end, wrapped around my neck, my tragedies wore, not on my heart, or on my sleeve, but on my ribcage where they remain pressed to my bone. I had no idea the final puddle of letting go would leave me, this wet. The chord that now feeds me, is finally my own. The end of a chapter in my life...maybe, one day, I'll learn how not to remember. I'll learn how to finally forget. 

I watch as my fingers play with the rim of my coffee cup. I feel the hardness of the brew on my lips, the wet grace of peace and pain sitting in the residual grinds of the pot. Sipping in silence, the sun not yet shifting up from behind the moon, as light dances across the room. Caffeine rises and rests on the roof of my mouth, afraid if I stop sipping, the world will intrude and step in.......thoughts magnify in the quietness, the tiny random details hit me the hardest, the ones kept nestled tightly to my breast which I still cannot release from.....

sneakers/ challenges / acceptance / meditation

Increasingly convinced of the undo randomness of this my life, your life, everyone's life. His sneakers, her sneakers, my sneakers, whomever wears that set of sneakers, guiding us with some eternal faith.  At best taking on a needed diversion (such as this long run) to lie out all of the opposing questions, thus hoping in the end they all suit up to a grander set of answers.

 I often challenge my sneakers to find something I am searching for, as streams of sweat methodically emerge from the internal organs of my own body. I do not need to understand the meaning of life any deeper than this, to know, that, well, on some days, the searching and finding does take a bit longer. The challenge of, and then the hopefulness of, all of that, I leave up to my sneakers, and the invisible (call it faith if you will) set of sneakers which chooses to run beside me on any given day. 

I think, acceptance, becomes a stunning miracle all of us, at one point or another, do the devil's dance with. For me, I dance that dance out here on the running trails, feeling the heat of the sun on my bare arms, sweat against my legs, and the cry of mutant birds off in the distance.

yoga / moon / chocolate

Suddenly, from the muddled mayhem of my mind, words begin whispering to me from the walls. I pluck them out, place them down, and gain ground.......

thoughts...pressed like ice cubes against my lips, when they are too naive to come to conclusion, they evaporate, like a glass of water in desert's heat, like bourbon on Hemingway's desk, like the undoing of burdens held in my bones....my yoga mat in silent temperment on the living room floor.....it defines me, when nothing else will do.

The first time I realized that just because I was sucking in air each day, make no mistake, does not mean I was, or ever was, living, it just means I was never on a ventilator, or that someone had ever reached over and pulled the plug. Looking back over life, just before you shed your skin, in acknowledgemnet that it is not you whom is crazy and tilted, but, in fact, it is tthe entire rest of the world.....yes, just before that, eat the entire bar of dark chocolate in a congratulatory moment of having traveled to the dark side of the moon, and made it safely back!

quilt / abandonement / running / meditate

Making my way slowly to the door, then descending outside of it, into the ruins of rain. Why I did not have the incurable sense to run over the puddle, rather than right through the puddle, is a question that will pester throughout all of my needs today. The blissful freedom of my sneakers vanishes amid a puddle so deep, so wet, and so dreary, that my feet are now afloat in it's soaking misery. The incessant roar of the thunderous rain chasing after me, encouraging my upward awkward stride. I think about the randomness of the raindrop now dripping down the smoothness of my skin, the taste of yet another summer, soon to touch my tongue. 
Air warm and humid as it plays on my shoulder, guilt abandoned, photographs left, a slight breeze blowing over the curved frame of my face, my mellifluous smile. Branching off like spider veins, the nearest hints of lines of poetry, as I step off the path, brushing the overgrown weeds, the rattled wheeze of an invalid friend, a once had lover, spits back at me in awkward revenge as it boomerangs off the bark of an overgrown maple....

Each day my blog can go right, left, upside down or sideways. Never quite sure until I begin to write where the words will lead me...so I follow my sneakers, disquieting vision and face parting into silence.... taking only a few small breaths, apprehensively, as if my body is too small to contain my lungs any longer.....

essay / seaweed / life / yoga /

The heart was no place to leave the blades piercing her soul, slicing her flesh, as the resounding sound of madness echoed throughout her head. His footsteps hardened into the distance. His betrayal left and then carried out with the tide. She collected every sharp knife in the house, and threw each, individually, into the sea. One knife, one blade, one life, as seaweed attached itself to her lost hope, and the turning, of yet, another page in her story. The salt from the ocean lay like bitter tonic water on her tongue, as sea salt spray washed over her face in acknowledgment of one abandoned fallen tear. When love ends, what exactly does that look like? 

Her naked body clambering up onto the rocks, breasts exposed to the sun. She had thought about the valley of desolation, the narrow path of life that had plunged her to these gorges, the crack in the earth's crust she had fallen prey to. She had tried to back away, but bruised and blistered, she always threw herself back to the caldron of boiling water that held her secret...in the mirror, the unrelenting identical she could not escape from...the turquoise pool of water she often leaped to...diamonds around her neck, she now dropped them down the sewer. She dropped the ice of him. The night I was torn from the pages of your life, you thought you left, but really, I had already left you. Snow was falling from the sky that night, winter was always the hardest season.....it left tracks in the snow...that became so hard to forget, as they pressed like ice into frozen memory....

skinny dipping /indecision / expectations

All of the tiny pieces of life that ostensibly do not matter, but then really do, is what is tasted on my tongue today. Skinny-dipping seems so silly when I place it down on paper, but nothing in the world can ever feel so invigorating. Do it alone, do it with someone, but just do it, at least once in your lifetime. You need to almost get caught, but never get caught. The art of loving yourself, and letting go, is truly an art form. Beginning to make clawing gestures with at least one of my hands, as I dig in the dirt, all the while climbing up the hill, to finally be able to see the view from the top, where something fills the space and scent to the air of what is still missing.

The fact of the matter is, life can become tangled and broken, and then you build up again from there, from between the walls where it feels small and empty, that stagnant place, the place that leaves me barest. Life changes, and then we do, and we personify our lives searching for that perfect fit again, and then, suddenly, without cause or expectation, it arrives unannounced upon my doorstep.

Clean slates allow you to make something from nothing, from just scrapes of nothingness at all. An epiphany of sorts, a renaissance - an explanation mark at the end of your paper.

I'm standing alone waiting for the train, alone on the platform, as I see it moving towards me, barreling forward down the tracks. Then it's sound rushes over me, deafening me - and I am committed and ready when it gets here. It's wind blowing, tossing up the dormant riches that have been gathering dust on the floor of me.

The archaic need to wrestle just enough, to finally grab hold of something without indecisive decision having me, yet again, back peddling, I jump over the place between the locomotive and the platform, the one the conductor has always warned me about. The jumping has had to be learned, as I have never mastered the jumping into anything, easily. I do now know, that you need to take that jump, with no guarantee of a parachute landing. Letting old skin open, new skin in, and the wrestling of a failed convection of past history fall to the way - side.

The answer never arrives, unless you open the door and go looking for it. Yesterday's news, last week's novel, scattered across my desk...........navigating the territory between my heart and my head, even if the assumption is dangerous, as the clock ticks against the future, and beads of sweat form in my navel, and my indelible ink, for the moment, remains wet........

renderings / yoga

In a body that refuses to bend, I flourish through moveable joints.
I dance to my breath.
Sun touches my skin, it has not killed me.
Washed in light, it lands on me and flows like honey down my arms.
Dreams are nourished by this nectar.
Toes pointed, heart lifted, head thrown back in abandon.
Ecstasy.
The kind of passion that makes my unyielding back arch.
Elegance.
I feel the anchor inside me lift, I am weightless for this moment.
Sweep through me, swirl around me, carry me away.
Music, forgiveness, the salt of sweat and tears.
Graceful at last.
CK ~

poetic / renderings/ sneakers/ run

passing every detail of my shadow on the pavement, tracing the edge of my lip with my tongue, catching a droplet of weeping from my pores, in a surreal and orphaned state of solitude.........sneakers oblige me

I stood by my bed
wanting to feel your breath
on the back of my neck

you stood beneath my window
withering away your life

I took the dust
that had gathered
by my feet

I placed it
in a jar
set it on my window

the dust
reminds me of you
tarnished ashes
of what love was..
KQ   

dear lover/ dream/ sensual

Dear Lover,

 I have dreamed of you in the past few days, as I have dreamed of ice cream melting down my fingers on a hot July evening. Like a tide, you continuously wash over me. You are wearing a blue suit, white shirt, navy blue & yellow tie, and tasseled loafers. I feel the gentle caress of your gloveless hand, as my trembling hand slowly observes, and then creeps over yours. Overcome by a frozen loneliness that eats at me, I frantically grasp at every memory I conjure of you.

 The little hotel in Paris where we made love with a mad frenzy. The burdening of the hardness beneath the sheets as I tried to tame you. Our mouths so dry, we wet each other’s with champagne. You pulled off my white sweater and jeans, holding them to your face just to breath in my perfume. Drawing yourself up into me, not immersing yourself into intellectual exertion, you glided right into foreplay. I can almost hear you still purring, as you drew the breath from me. Your eyes taking photographs as I stood in front of the full-length mirror, posed for you in all my nakedness. 

The melting of the ice cube in my mouth kind of reminds me of you, soft clay of your hands on my body never felt so good. 

Then I open my eyes...darkness dims, morning has come, my dream dashes forward, and there you are, still asleep, right next to me....your cheek resting on my pillow, your breathing, faintly falling onto the bareness of my back.......I love you all over again, with eyes wide open!

CK

monday/ heat/ manhattan

People everywhere. Horns blaring, the bulk of my briefcase pulling me even faster into the crowd now crossing Fifth Avenue, my feet landing soundlessly on the sidewalk. Amid one of the busiest intersections in Manhattan everyone seems to hurl in direction, as the faces of strangers begin to now part like the widening waters of the Red Sea. My arms swing, urging me forward in delicate purpose. The stone perched lions are having trouble keeping pace with my stride, as they guild the entrance to the New York City Library. My hand over my briefcase, my face, wearing a symbol of content. 

My thirst turns to something more, a dry heaviness lodged in the center of my throat. I sit down on the steps so deliberately; the lions lend a muffled roar. Fending my water bottle to my lips, I satisfy the monster of my heat exhaustion. Condensation now saturates my light green chiffon blouse as it drips profusely from my water bottle, running down my arm, wetting my exposed fingers. I dab the wet on the area between my breasts. 

The iron gate of heat works it's way methodically back into my throat, as I sip water, just to further oblige the throngs of it all, tossing it to peril. I hold my scarf; wipe my forehead, then fold it carefully backs to the inner of my briefcase. If I could, I would wantonly lie down in the fountain baring my naked flesh under streams of cool water. Faces starring back at me, as intersections all cross my path. The stagnant late June air of Manhattan hangs over all of us, polluting out skin and out thoughts. 

Every ounce of who we each are has now been made palpable by the cause and effect of why we are each here. At the corner of fifth avenue a woman's wrinkles augment the authority she holds in the lessons of life on the street, as rivets of water drip from her underarms. I take out my notebook, and with slanted handwriting, I date my journal page, observations, June 23, 2014....

yoga / grace / elegance

In a body that refuses to bend, I flourish through moveable joints.
I dance to my breath.
Sun touches my skin, it has not killed me.
Washed in light, it lands on me and flows like honey down my arms.
Dreams are nourished by this nectar.
Toes pointed, heart lifted, head thrown back in abandon.
Ecstasy.
The kind of passion that makes my unyielding back arch.
Elegance.
I feel the anchor inside me lift, I am weightless for this moment.
Sweep through me, swirl around me, carry me away.
Music, forgiveness, the salt of sweat and tears.
Graceful at last.

Here I am.
KQ

shadows/ dawn/ running/ breath

Feeling my shadow loom over me, sweat wraps itself around my trunk, as I take one long breath, and then allow tattoos of perspiration to portrait the canvas of my flesh and bone. Calloused fingertips of softened wind lightly touch my back, whispers left in a forgotten corner of my shadow now triggers of sensation in the deepest part of the hollows of my hips. In each passing of daylight, I run towards the next dawn.

death / memory/ love

The reality of being alone in our own middle - ground is sometimes more than we each should bear. It is at this point that I wish I were a dog, specifically, my old dog, having now been put to rest. She was a dog whom knew how to nurture and how to simply let go, of the bone in the yard, an old sneaker, or the touch of a hand.  She was so much smarter than any of us humans ever proved to be. I am taken back by the ferocity of something smoldering today on the east coast. 

Overhead I feel it, draped in a hot humid air mass, something dragging it's way to the surface, thoughts target between my eyes, then creep from one side to the other as a sharp stabbing pain in my skull. This is when I could easily rid myself of New York, and the complications of life here, for a small flat, in dare I say, Paris? My husband and myself, whisked away in absolute contentment. The idea of writing from Paris has always held a penchant desire for me, sounds so elegant, so artistic, so aristocratic, so, well, so French and Paris. Croissants with tea, wine in the middle of the afternoon, days would be rich and interesting, crimson heat fluttering in our cheeks, but alas, today I am still adrift in humid New York, with just the lingering smell of French Pastry from a breakfast cafe not far away, and the burdens of complications that must be dealt with. 

Tears fall to the floor, scurrying to claim all floor space as their own. In a final burden of fate, I release myself from the drowning, and move onward and upward. My brokenness today comes from the thought that one day, the inevitable is going to happen, and one of us, either my husband, or myself, will pass from this earth, leaving the other one, standing alone on the shoreline. That, just scares the crap out of me...I do not want it to be him, nor, do I want it to be me...but endings never happen that neatly. The love I have with this man is something I cling to...........for fear of it one day no longer being there...for one of us.... when the other is gone...AND, on this day, without recourse or reason, I swell with the inevitable course of one of our deaths. No matter how far off from now that time is for one of us, it will still be too soon when it arrives!

heavy thoughts on this summer like day!

chimes/ river / survival

 The natural temperament of my sneakers today, is a slow and steady pace. Terracing down towards the river, sun organically falling from the ceiling, I bath in the rays. Birds with elephant ears grab hold of my whispers, as chosen secrets spill in silent confession.  Whispers left hanging in the trees.

Sneakers.... laces...left abandoned.... 

In the science of survival, I run through the many realities of life. Trajectory pushes my feet forward; the sun warms my temperament, Spanish moss hanging like hair in the morning air surrounds my skin, chimes swaying in the breeze jangle at every corner.

tea/ graphics/ domestic violence/ tears

pictures of progression in putting togetehr the tea & graphics  boutique

Gripping my red pen, trying to gain ground, I begin again to edit line by line the unpleasant memories, the affectionate irony of my red pen and my life. Life presents with no edits, no red pen to eradicate the bad parts. Trees hang in a cover of humidity making them look more withered than they really are today. Every part of me is clenching up as I peer those darn woodpeckers clinging to the bark of the tree already this morning, each one harnessing a memory I thought had been put in the coffin of my past life. Whenever this devil of sort’s grabs hold of my inners, I type away feverishly, heat fluttering in my cheeks. The typing stops the rising panic within me, and the appalling need to just sink further down into it. As if I were a prisoner of this despondent swamp, every so often, YOU creep back in, the thought of you is what crushes the most...domestic violence is so misunderstood...the internal scars have a way of swelling, just when you think you have put them all to rest. As I step towards my yoga mat, a small pool of still moonlight spills across the floor, as I have even outpaced the breaking of dawn this morning. This is what happens when flood gates open up, and memories flow in, and you toss and turn, until, finally, you just get up to begin the day...

Lost in a moment

Right in the center of the teardrop

Where the wet of you clings to my eyelash

I blink

Just to hold back the river...

Going to do more work in the boutique to get it ready for opening day

subdued / sexual /concentration

The opening of sky, my place of concentration, sweat runs along the inner of my thigh. Asking nothing of me, sneakers competently lead me. Skin flawless, as each step of my sneaker brings me closer to my rawness. My body submissive under the adhesive of early morning sweat, as breasts and shoulders stand at attention.

My body's moment of ultimate cohesion, as emphatic sweat begins to drain, trailing down the curvature of my tailbone, in a dance of tormented sexual persuasion.   

   Forbearance of my sneaker taps at the illusion.........subdued....

confessions / sunday / love

Sunday’s Confession:

I have drawn much criticism and have felt abandoned by some who once promised they would always be there for me, yet I learned my own strength, my drive. My need to always want warm weather, bottles of perfume, music floating from every room, and the safeness of that one person to call my own, and snuggle up to, separates me from the norm. It leaves the indelible line drawn in the sand, with myself on one side, and everyone else on the other.  I believe in falling in love...I believed it at fifteen, as I still believe it at 52. I tend to find myself, once again, explaining my beliefs, my notations on what my life should be, and, exactly what it should be rid of, once and for all. It is the ‘once and for all” I still struggle with, as small bothersome thoughts creep in from around some crazy little corner of my mind. I think brokenness still bleeds a bit, even when we think we have gotten past the haunt of it. This is the reason nature grows roses, perfect and beautiful.... so that once again, we can begin to believe in the good of it all. This is why they fill my gardens, to teach me to once again believe in something, in someone....go out and find what you believe in, the things that make you smile past the pain, of something, or someone, of a moment in time you wish you could simply forget....

rain / sweat / flesh / masquerade

Amused by the masquerade of my flesh under the covering of a salty precipice, as droplets now shatter on the ground. Crisp air turns on the light beneath my flesh, with unswerving intent, melting me into a boneless vibration echoing off the pavement. A drip, of sweat, or rain, nestles in the gully between my breasts in a secret meeting with my nipples, downward passage of my throat thirsting to thoughts once slaved to rest, now exposed one every ligament of my calf, as sheer glistening sweat takes refuge upon me. The rain, acts as my cloak, coverage of my nakedness, winding its way around my body in lovers temperance. Tears from heaven now dancing along the pavement, squish, as they enter my sneaker.....

braclets / bangles/ bullshit

front window of our boutique

Not Bubbles, Not Bangles, Not bracelets, no, today was just all about life's BULLSHIT! In the pouring rain we (cute husband and I) could not find parking close enough to unload, in the rain, the antique desk we had bought for the new boutique we are opening.... it is going to be the CASH desk.... where ALL of the money changes hands.... No, not today, no parking space to be had!

 My son turned 26 today, yes, that's right. Twenty six years ago I grunted and cried, twisted and jerked, and gave birth to the most beautiful blue eyed, dark haired, little boy a mother could ever have hoped for. Twenty-six years later, nope, not even a call back from my multiple (some a bit frantic I will admit) birthday messages left on his voicemail for him from me. Life, well, it can be heart wrenching in the end...no one tells you this when you give birth to these perfect little bundle of joys. I bathed, I fed, I tamed, I nurtured, I wiped off bloody knees, finished school reports and projects, drove my car into overdrive driving to swimming and hockey practices, held them through meltdowns, girlfriend / boyfriend breakups, failed attempts, triumphs, and then of course, there were those four ungodly college years of wants - wishes - and needs that were all fulfilled, but, nope, none of those things now matter. Now I can go pound sand somewhere! Funny how these tiny creatures can drop your heart to the sidewalk, and then, step right on it when they need to cross the street.

Oh, but the unfairness of life!!!!

rain / sneakers/ run / skin

Feeling the top ridge of chilled air grab hold of the inside of my exposed thigh, the oil from my skin running like an ocean of light down my leg. Shadow covers day, as high clouds foretell of punishing rain. My arms and shoulders shake with a shudder, a moment of construction as muscles tighten and spread throughout my body.

Breath unzips from the center of my chest, as the pulsating of my heart presses outward from my innermost flesh. Sacrificing thought to adrenaline rushed stupor, as the intoxication of the drug creeps into my sneaker.

  Pulse begins to smolder dangerously close to erupting my pores with mislaid possessions. The content of which, runs down my careen in a dubious array of pearls circling my midsection. Sliding away into the comfort of my brushed flesh, a climactic surge muscles in a frisson of indignation, as I lie submerged beneath my layers. Dew from my body now drenching.....or, is it the rain?

rain / summer / feet / breast

one of my bag creations, soon to be in my local boutique

    In a single hurried tug, I willingly surrender to the rain. Direct side way beams of my breast peer out from the drenched skin of my shirt. Sweat works its way methodically downstream, anchoring in my navel. My tongue holding the vibration of breath against my inner cheek, the parade, the dance of my feet moving downhill. Flood gates of damp gray sky open onto my shoulders, length of my legs, running a river down my tailbone. Wet sensation colliding with the rain...

I want today to be different, to move past the opinions which pull me down. Drop into a backbend without fear, rather than the fear dominating.......

sweat / run / racehorse / inversion

I have just finished my run and I am sweaty, but all I can think about today (well not all.... but a large amount of my thoughts) is that it was so good to feel the burn, to sweat like a racehorse, and to let myself feel 100% free. I now feel compelled to throw myself into an upside down inversion, and breathe, just breathe................................

fairytale / pink / obsession

                                i don't believe you >>>PINK

When I write it's always about a story going on in my head, I guess it's how I see everything, always something more to say or write, because there is always something more than what meets the eye. 

Not everything in life ends in a fairytale, and you then, accept life's terms and move on from there.

Writing for me has always been my before and after self - portraits. I often write about the common misconceptions that we as humans place on each other and ourselves, our daily complaints, our begging to be euthanized, verbal floggings, progressions, loves, and losses. Sharing personal musings and observations from my many hours spent living, loving, losing, abandoning, and wrestling with contentment...........

I have felt a hand at my face,


pressed my skin into the pressure of a tender touch.


Fallen heart first for kindness and the lack of.


Given my all to nothing.

Lingered in sweetness of exchange. 

KQ ~

boutique/ new beginnings

I spent months creating a time line that I then derailed from, stopped, affected by emotion. Today, however, I signed (we signed, husband and I) the lease on the new store front for the boutique we are opening in July. It will host my Canvas bags of meditative thought, and lots of tea, loose and in bulk, from such far away places as Africa and Spain. The gourmet jelly and jam collection will complement the tea

sneaker / talk / wisdom

My suspicion is that the birds that flocked above me this morning during my early morning run were sent to pull me from myself, pull me from deep self - absorption. They grabbed hold of one of my threads in their beak and pulled me along, as they inched me toward complete stillness. 

As I grab for my journal book, my mind unravels a thousand thoughts. I think on paper, the place I sort out my life. The place I connect all those tiny prism dots, the place with many beginnings, and few endings, the place that often allows me not to speak in tongue at all.

Today is my one year wedding anniversary, and as our one year gift to each other, we will be opening up a tea boutique in July. It is our first adventure together as husband and wife, so excited.The signing of the new lease on the space has just been duly noted and signed in black ink!

yoga / energy / meditate

During practice (yoga) or a run, I do not mentally check-out, my mind still whirls. Somehow as I sweat it begins to soften and untangle, I become  removed, shedding layers which I no longer need to hold tight to. Even my legs and arms begin to feel lightweight. I imagine myself gliding through the air, lost in a dream. Perhaps I subconsciously resist the healing. It is when I push the threshold and elevate my activity level that the energetic shift occurs and I feel saturated in love and happiness.

Together we can dance through the difficlut.

rain / serenity / running

My sneakers as boats, as I navigate the flooded streets. Rain pelting, piercing shoulder blades, like electrical currents traveling the whole of my body. My breath caught up in the shock waves, as my body submits to the punishing. Torrents of rain filling my sneakers, watching water crashing, as the mapping of the pavement becomes my idyllic middle ground. Stripped down to flesh, coated in rain, serenity now. Sprawled on breath, I concentrate on the surrounding sounds: trickling rain, rhythmic whisper of breath, strains of my sweat carried on a breeze. Braced for the interruption of the puddles, as my feet enjoy the reverie.

Solitude of the dirt path I turn onto, profoundly empowering.....

acceptance / change / cucumbers

cucumber mint water.........there is nothing quite as refreshing!

My thought of the day is that; life is about changing. The what, the who, the when, the where, even with all of my so-called ‘Zen,' I find my emotion wildly unsympathetic today. Whether good change or bad change, I think leaning into the change is the tipping point for many of us, which rocks the boat over. I learned to swim ancient years ago, at times with the tide, more times than I care to admit, against the tide. I always swam though, and safely made it to the opposing shore of somewhere, someone, and something that I had been reaching for. So, today my thought is on yet another swim, another tide, another change. I am counting down such a vast bucket list of ideals, a repeat visitor to this bucket daily, ducking into quiet space, just to empty my bucket onto the floor, marbles of transition and change rolling in round circle dots of color across the wood floor. Some of life changes roll further along the floorboards than others do; perhaps, they are the ones that are just still a bit out of my reach. The closer marbles I grab and roll within my fingers, touching these closest life changes, make them ever more real to me, ever more solid, as I stand firm footed alongside each of them. Acceptance of the ones I most grieve for. Appreciation of the ones I most strive for. A giant question mark as to who I now am, sits right at the tip of my nose. I’ll let you know when I have the answer, when I find the answer, as to who I now am, from what I once was. The evolution of a life is quite a process. For me, acceptance has been a huge part of the journey...

run / sneakers / beginnings

Ran so fast this morning, like I was saving myself from a live grenade, running to the banks of the river, just to skip rocks across the water. A few rocks later, I turned, and ran back up the hill, and home. Waiting for me, scattered all over the floor of my office, were the pages of "Life Changes". When everyone thinks you are dead, is that when you start life all over again, is that when you begin to navigate the territory again between your heart and your head ? If it indeed is, then that is the spot where I am at today. That is the spot I will write from today. I am standing at the edge of an end, all new beginnings start with an end. An end of something, of somewhere, of somehow, of someone, truth is, things are not always as they seem, or always the way you want them to be, and that is when an end turns to a beginning, finally bringing me back to the conclusion that ends are more often than not, good things. Sometimes I believe being at the end of everything may just be the freshest new beginning, at least, for me a new beginning is always a closure of something else. Pretty amazing when everything you thought you knew and understood now suddenly defies everything with a much needed amount of certainty. It is the same sensation felt when your world is turned upside down, and you flick on the light switch, just to be able to see, to turn it all right side up again. That is the point I am at today, the "life changes" point, the flicking on of the light switch point (Aha moments are often so much more difficult to see in the dark, one day I will finally get to that realization, maybe next time, way before the moments begin to haunt at my sneakers, and my feet cry out for blistering mercy...running is good thing, beets the ja - be - jeezes out of many of the other options one might choose to conquer his or her life )

grief / love / loss / life

As far as thieves go, grief is the greatest one. She robs us of the people we love, but—perhaps most achingly—she zaps our ability to imagine the future, without someone, or something, no longer in it. Lose a place, a person, or a love and, suddenly, measurements of time become irrelevant. Grief warps time; she renders our plans for next week and dreams for the next vacation incongruous. When we mourn our losses we also mourn, for better or for worse, ourselves. As we were. As we are no longer. As our life once was. As our life is no longer. As we will one day not be at all. 

My discontent with grief comes from its blocking my boundless want. By drawing strict lines between my living and those whom I have lost, places and moments I have lost, grief casts the world in harsh light. She makes it impossible to believe in forever. Instead, she injects a heinous pragmatism into sentiments that would rather be unadulterated by it. The triumph of love over loss, of affection over grief, of dreaming over pain is a learned ability for me. I grieve the moments in life which pass through me, the moments that break my heart...leaving me momentarily stunned, unable to utter a word.... leaving me in solitude, complete silence...I'm not so far removed that I have forgotten, that grief is a scary place. 

Chills prickle down my arms.

My throat becomes stifled with nameless emotion.

Do you ever catch the scent of a memory?


I do that too.