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Break up. That’s what the spring thaw in the Far North Land is often called. Break up. These two words encompass everything from the literal breaking up of sheets of thick ice to the gradual thawing of the mountains of dirty snow to the constant dripping of icicles from snow laden rooftops.
And then there is the gradual thaw or re-awakening of sun starved spirits. In my case, not so much a break up as a slow unfurling of spirit shriveled & curled tight against the frigid temperature & darkness. An audible sigh escapes my lips as I dare take in deep breaths of spring air without fear of frostbiting my lungs. A turned up face to the blue sky & light that now stretches well into the evening hours.
Every spring finds me tripping on gratitude for having survived another winter. A heart’s thanksgiving that the gradual thaw is progressing & taking me along for the ride.
I was asked yesterday by a brand new acquaintance what my relationship status was. Meaning, I gathered, was I involved, taken, belonging to another, tied up, tied down, bogged down, in a rut, newly wedded, deliriously happy, passionately satieted, or barren, bereft, afloat, alone, blissfully single, between partners, or simply untethered from the demands of another human being in an ongoing relationship. Out of the multitude of responses at my disposal, here were the words which sprang from my lips ~ my heart is wide open.
For anyone who has been a follower of this blog for any length of time, you might get it like in, right away, that this was an atypical response for me given my life’s journey this past couple of years. But there it was. The words said, passed from and over my lips.
And what is more, as I have had time to ponder, which obviously I have taken the time to do, I realize that the words are a true reflection of said heart. The said heart ~ my heart ~ the one that is, indeed, open ~ much to my surprise and actual delight.
Hearts, spirits, beliefs, values ~ all have a funny little way of making changes, often times profound, sometimes in small ways, sometimes in big leaps and bounds ~ stealthily, silently, quietly, slowly, or just plain simply ~ and then our mind’s get a great big old WTF awakening. And then we adjust, metabolize the alterations and carry on.
that’s what Natalie Goldberg, my favorite of all time writer gurus says, just write. Just do it, man. or in my case, woman. Put pen to paper. Finger tips to keyboard. Pencil to cardboard. Fingers to the air. Just do it. Right now. Right here. No excuses. No stopping. No monkey mind. That’s what Goldberg calls that part of our brain that distracts us and pulls us right and left up and down and then all zig zaggy. When all the time, our original intention was to sit down and write out a page or two or ten or the poem of our life.
This Saturday evening, I am attending a Literary Salon. Sounds fancy, huh? At least it does to me. I joined a local writer’s group earlier this year, it could have been last year, it was in the dark months of winter that much I remember. I am not much of a joiner in the way of joining groups. I used to be. A joiner of political groups. I railed against all sorts of human injustices and fought hard for human and individual rights for a long long time. And then I grew weary.
Back to my current subject of the fancy sounding upcoming Literary Salon. I am excited. Nervous. But more excited. The event is being held at someone’s home whom I have never met. And here’s the really cool and brave part, I volunteered to read some of my writing. The organizers were looking for 10 volunteers to read 5 minutes of their work. Since most of my essays are more than two pages long, I quickly decided to read a few selections from my body of erotica poetry. That is, until I spoke with the main organizer who informed me that there will be children present. Good to know. So onto Plan B. or Actually C.
I have chosen four other poems to read and have been practicing the timing of the reading and introduction to the pieces to fit within the five minute allotment. Five minutes goes by really fast!
This will be good for me. Meeting other writers. Being inspired by their work in progress. Sharing a part of myself that has been dormant for far too long.
So I have returned to my roots and busted out my beloved guru’s books, Writing Down the Bones and Wild Mind. They have inspired me for many years and continue to remind me of my first love ~ words, writing and the telling of stories. Utter bliss. Just write. So right.
When the missing out weighs the dragging of the feet, then I return. Please consider yourself missed my dear little faithful blog. The trite phrase that you are never far from my thoughts and always in my heart, is true. The ensuing guilt of my absence when prolonged, true as well.
I have suffered physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually with an ongoing vertigo condition that has had me by what some state crudely the “short and curlies’ for almost two years. I have been on a new regiment of medication and yesterday passed a milestone test at my specialist’s office of being able to lie down without a vertigo attack being triggered. This my dear blog was, and is, huge in the life of me.
Last night was a rough one rest wise as I had a tough time trusting the process as the last time I attempted to truly lie down to sleep, I ended up in the emergency room due to the extreme nature of the vertigo attack. So I experimented a lot with different angles and never did quite allow myself to totally lie flat. That’s okay. I can ease into this new “old” way of sleeping. Just the fact that lying horizontally is now an option is a miracle that still has me in a bit of a humbled stunned state.
How long this will last or what comes next with the vertigo condition, I do not know. That little saying of “one day at a time” seems very appropriate here. For now, I am thanking the Universe, my Birth Day Gods and Goddesses (as that was my birth day wish as I blew out my candle), Annie Rosa Lee Dog’s spirit and my Guardian Angels that be for this respite and/or total healing.
All of that and a gorgeous blue skied day with an abundance of sunny rays.
Life is good, my friend. Sweet. Just like a cool glass of Southern tea.
My journey continues with me along for the ride. At times, I am a stroller ~ meandering along, taking little detours here and there, following my heart, listening for the mermaid’s whisper. Other days, I push my foot down on the pedal and blast down the highway, shouting obscenities at my slower moving travelers, giving them the middle finger while I weave in and out of traffic always seeking the fast lane.
Today, I am doing my laundry. Attending to the mundane. Sorting and sifting through bunches of stuff while searching for certain needed paperwork, an employment badge, two beloved pair of earrings that have somehow up and gotten themselves misplaced (damned cheeky of them if you ask me), researching Vitamixers, and upcoming schedules for a certain motivational speaker guru, and doing a bit of online shopping for Buddhist prayer bead necklaces and leather bracelets.
Life has been a journey this summer. Changes have been afoot. I am still me. But I am a changed and changing me. Meaning, life is unfolding as usual.
I have missed my blog. So I have returned.
To the edge of the ocean, that is. Yes. I am fleeing to the ocean’s edge seeking solace, seashells, wind and waves. Rainy forecast be damned, I am still heading out so I can arrive there, where the ocean meets the rocky shore.
Fingers crossed that my V (as in my Bastard Buddy Vertigo) will allow me a grace period for the 4+ hour drive. I typically relish driving the many miles as it is a beautiful drive, rain or shine, and this road and I are very well acquainted. We know each other’s twists and turns, pot holes and all. So please Universe above and within, please keep the green light lit and a Pink Bubble of safety around yours truly and Buster Blue (aka my trusty car companion) as we escape this city life.
Because it is true. The edge is where the good stuff often hangs out. An ever tempting adventure of discovery. So to the edge it is.
Somewhere and sometime along the way on this journey of mine on this particular circuitous path that I tread called my life, I let go of the hope of finding my first mother, my omma. In the beginning as a child, I barely dared even think of her even when I was sleeping ~ dreaming about this most precious woman in the whole wide world. And then in adulthood, I defied all that I had been taught and brainwashed to believe by my adoptive mother, and took the lid off the hole in my heart where this yearning for my birth mother lived. This hope was faint but thrumming with the rhythm of my heartbeat and sprang fully alive with urgings from my thoughts, dreams and fantasies of this mystery woman’s face, touch and fragrance.
So today the realization that the hope is reduced, once again, to barely a flutter now and again, is startling.
Hope and hunger, however, are two separate states of being. For I still long for this woman, my creator. Longing that aches to my very soul. Even with my dim hope that I will ever find her on this planet, in the form of my first omma, the yearning is still present. She is somewhere. Perhaps over the proverbial rainbow. Maybe existing on another plane in a different form. But, somewhere there exists is at least a remnant of this one whom I have gone without for ever so long.
Happy Mother’s Day Omma from your daughter aka Korean adoptee, junemoon.
All hands on deck.
Both hands on the wheel at the 10 o’clock and 2 o’clock positions.
we I have am the situation.
Multiple choice. Correct answer ~ all of the above.
We are well on our way to 15 hours of daylight per day. Make that, a glorious 15 hours of daylight every single day. And the minutes keep growing, approximately 5 minutes per 24-hour cycle.
There is not one single
Not from me.
I got nothin’ here folks. Nothin’ but praise awe and a welcome wagon, that is.
Bring it on Miss Spring Time in the Previously Dark Region of the Planet.
Bring it on now, baby cakes.