The best openings are the one’s we carve for ourselves.
We spent New Year’s Eve reminiscing about eighteen years of togetherness. Stayed up past midnight, and talked about our future. Hope coloured our words.
Sculpting has been on my mind – not literally, but in the sense of chipping away at the outer facade to invite emergence.
Ric has shed fifty pounds of excess weight, and I am now joining him in that quest. We are entering this new decade with renewed vigour. There is much we still yearn to sample.
I’m lining up my tools, examining the material before me: changes lie ahead. Bit by bit, I will ply my craft, shed the excess, intuit the contours of this life I’m co-creating.
Emergence takes time, commitment, and a willingness to be open.
(Image taken from The Grand Trunk trestle. This town we have settled in stirs my impulse towards the creative. So grateful to be here. Hope it inspires you as much as it did me. I will be back Monday with a new weekly challenge.)
The certainty of yesterday has slipped our grasp light deflecting truth tossing us into the abstract
I ponder process and outcomes, will my mind to carry me gliding between thermals dissolving into vapours
Some realities too hard to bear – dislodged, we tread the indeterminate.
(I submit these images and poem to the challenges of Lens-Artists and Ragtag Community. While we try to stay focused on the upcoming holiday celebrations, our hearts are heavy with recent loss and the news of cancer striking close to home. I am reminded that Christmas can amplify tragedy. Be extra kind to one another.)
Over brunch, my new acquaintance and I discover we have a lot in common – both former teachers, interested in art and poetry, with a love birds. She is just getting back into life after a long stint of caring for a sick husband, who died a year ago. I am finding my footing in a new town, after years of my own isolation.
The friendship feels natural, and when we meet up again at the next poetry circle, we make more plans.
For most of my life, I have felt like the lone bird, perched below the gathered flock, wondering why I’m left out. A loner, is how I described myself in high school – a cover for shame and never feeling good enough.
I’m too old for all that self-deprecation nonsense now. I am an adult women who needs relationships.
So these days, I am letting my guard down, and giving thanks for the friends in my life – old and new.
Sunflowers and chocolates kick off my birthday week. Delivered by daughter and her family made it all the more special. I share my birthday month with now seven-year-old Sloane and our youngest, so July is filled with blessings.
We are adjusting to the role reversals here – I now drive Ric to appointments, and do the waiting. Lots of time to think. Lots of time to count the “thank goodnesses”.
Thank goodness we were home when this happened. Ric had planned on driving down, by himself, to Arizona to sell the RV, but that was thwarted by paperwork.
Thank goodness he didn’t ignore the signs and wait until things were much worse. “Prevention,” the doctor told us, “saves a lot of damage.” We are waiting on further instructions, but the test results indicate he will need some sort of medical intervention to clear blocked arteries.
Thank goodness I had been practicing driving, so I already had the confidence built up – not to mention that Ric is a patient and gentle passenger.
Today I feel the blessing of being watched over and protected.
“Isolation threatens to consume me,” I tell my therapist in a recent visit. “I’m not willing to disappear into the woodwork again.”
The doctors say my illness is relapsing; it’s how they explain the onslaught of infections. I’ve just finished another round of even stronger antibiotics. While my immune system fights invasion, I am staving off depression.
“You have a greater presence in the world than most able-bodied,” she suggests. “Between your blogs, Twitter, and your artistic endeavours, I’d say you are doing quite well.”
It’s true that my online presence is alive and well, and I am grateful for that.
Odd, isn’t it, how life turns out, I think to myself on the drive home. I have a presence, and yet, I am invisible. The connection I have with others is intellectual, at times, emotional, and even spiritual, but seldom physical.
Ah, life’s riddles.
This week, please join me in contemplating ‘presence’.
It’s easy to participate – just create a post on the topic on your own site and link it up to this one.
Shadows stalk our conversations, Mother and I. It’s not so much what is said, but what hovers between the lines spoken. Fear stalks her – death so close – and I sidestep darkness.
It’s an illusion, of course, this thought that we can think ourselves well, or avoid pain by focusing only on the light. I choose my words carefully, just the same, not wanting to inflict harm – we’ve done that enough to one another over the years. I want her to die with some peace in her heart knowing that between us all is forgiven, and that she is loved unconditionally.
Times like this, language is sorely lacking. Still we stumble along. Build sentences and frameworks to capture moments, convince ourselves it’s enough. It won’t be in the end. It never is.
“Language” has been the focus of this week’s challenge. I am also linking up to Cee’s Black and White Photo Challenge: shadows, as it fits the topic.
Thanks to all who participated this week. The prompt spurred many diverse and interesting responses.