Come Fly the (Not So) Friendly Skies....

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This year, in a huge last minute miracle, I was able to fly home to where I grew up for the first time in several years. To say that I was looking forward to this journey would be a gross understatement. The night before I was packing...and unpacking....and repacking until my eyelids were as heavy as the carry on I was attempting to jam full of items, determined as I was to not be paying the check-in fee. *Yes dad, I did you proud...Navy rolling and ridding the loot of all "frou frou" girly items....weeding out the wants and only keeping the necessary bare bone basics...I succeeded in squeezing all supplies for the holiday season into one *snug* suitcase. Bam!

1) Packing: check.

Now came the goodbyes....to my new neighbors, my uncles and aunties, my friends and roommate....and nary a fast forward  button in sight. Powering through the emotional gauntlet that is coming and going, leaving behind and heading towards....transition and change in routine (shudder)...I bravely bent my face towards the eastern shores....only slight sniffles sneaking slyly to the surface...at least until the car door was closed and the calmness my melodic Joni Mitchell joined me in my muffled "girl moment." *Sigh*...I'm gonna miss this place...

2) Ripping off the band-aid of bye-byes: check.

Getting to the airport was yet another feat. From frazzled future in-laws, to not so neighborly neighbors, one by one the list of possible chauffeurs was exhausted. The bus began to look like the only option....and enter Orr....crazy, brother Orr. Sardined into the benchseat of his rat-a-tat-truck (that I do love oh so well!), we rolled down the road and headed towards Honolulu...complete with a splendid soundtrack that only Orr and Ari could provide.

3) Arrivin' in Style (or at least with some Swaggah): check.

Flight one to Phoenix....no drama to discuss....a shame to be sure....oh how I love the drama, mama~ Smooth skies and shoulder to shoulder with some sunflower munchin' hippies who were going to be happy no matter what life threw at them that day, I'd say that was a scha-weeet seating assignment for leg one.

4) Fairy to Phoenix: Check.

Now this is where the excitement begins. Arriving to the terminal where I am to change flight towards Charlotte--and then straight into the sugar-spun, sparkly sweetness that is my Southern mama---I head directly to my gate with just a few seconds to spare. Bounding for the boarding tunnel I flash my fair(i)est smile at the stewardess, reach into my pocket and pull out my pass for paradise...HOME...yes, that's right....I am heading home...to....PHILADELPHIA???  Hmmm...the words read Philly but this lil missy means Mecklenburg...as in the county...you know, with CHARLOTTE as its queen? Deep breath...digging in the heels....and making a break for it, I became the ridiculous rendition of every cheesy classic Hollywood movie made...you know, the one with the mad dash for the last minute monumental making of the flight? *Complete with dramatic hand gestures and a few choice words, which honestly may or may not have consisted of a mere four letters, of course.

5) Final Flight Found: Check.

Aboard the aircraft, gratitude didn't begin to describe my giddy heart and spirit. Just three more hours and I am soooooo there. Sweet Southern Simplicity....and such hugs and kisses and love abounding...yes please! I settle into my seat and wait for the wheels to lift off and whisk me away...and wait...and wait....and...what the heck? One hour later--thrilling times chilling on the tarmac....I am still waiting. Most days this would be mildly annoying and slightly frustrating as I am so excited and ready to be home. But today, my seat buddy beside me just so happened to be the most unhappy, woe-is-me-woman I have ever met.

Aaaaaaand...cue the:

*All too audible sighs.

*Exasperated emotional outcries.

*Temper tantrum only tolerable in toddlers (if then!)

and....

wait for it.....

*Alligator Tears (yes...you heard me).

I was actually waiting for the broken pottery chards and self-extracting of hair by the root....I mean, this was some stressful stuff--this departure delay. And on Christmas Day too. *SIGH!!!* *Head shake* *Shoulder Slump* *Fist to the sky in fury and (self) righteous indignation!!!!**

I know woe-is-me-woman...you have made it clear! This is unacceptable! You are displeased! The inner wounded-woman-child has been angered...or at least spanked silly.

As I take in the show....Oscar worthy I assure you...all I can think of is how very much I simultaneously want to run as far the hell away from this broad as I can....and yet also, inexplicably, at the very same time....desire to wrap my arms around her in the biggest bear hug...because DAYUUUUM....her flight is being delayed....but not by the airline....

~A Real Wheelbarrow~

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As I sat down this Saturday morning to begin my new writing assignment, I kept gravitating back to BOOKED. Now don't go sending me emails fretting, I very much have ample time to meet my deadline....so just this once, just for today, I revisited and allowed myself some time to ruminate on the words, all over~

One of the passages I kept coming back to related a present that ma mere's husband had given to her one Christmas, and her explanation of why it remains to this date as one of her favorite and best gifts ever received: it was a wheelbarrow.

Yes. A wheelbarrow.

My first thought was one of surprise when I read this...yet when she explains the why behind her love of this present, it makes sense....and brings everything home. Dr. Prior shares that:

"What I loved so much about the wheelbarrow (besides its sheer utility) is that it was something that required a certain amount of knowing me, knowing my daily life and needs, knowing the pleasure that I take in caring for the horses and chickens each day, in order to see its fittingness.....The wheelbarrow was a gift because it was perfect for me."

As I read that, my mind transports back in time to when I lived on her farm with her and that husband she is speaking so warmly of. It is nighttime, and I am inside reading for my class. All is quiet out here in the country, save for the crickets chirping. And then I catch it....a slight, snippet of sound. It is laughter. No, it is....a giggle....escaping from the lips of my brilliant, no-bones-about-it, top-notch Professor. Pretty as you please, peeking its way across the night sky from the back porch, the audible presence of joy joined me at my desk. The source of that simple, small delight was ma mere...rocking on the back porch with her husband (a porch that this husband had built with his own hands, mind you). I realized then and there that THIS is what I wanted...even though I wasn't quite sure what I meant, or didn't yet (maybe still don't) have the exact words to capture what I was having the blessing of witnessing unaware.  

Perhaps Dr Prior can say it best in her own words:

"We had been married many years by this morning. I had come to see that lasting love is less like a dinner with candlelight and red roses and more like a wheelbarrow given on Christmas morning."

This holiday season, as I think of giving gifts....I want the people I love and cherish to feel it. To know that the investment in getting to know them....the time it took...was worth it.  That they are worth everything~

It's Gettin' Real...

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Today I finished reading ma mere's book. It is good. Good. Goodness~

I took my time going through it....leafing through the pages slowly, savoring every word...willing it to saturate my heart and mind like a soothing stream of truth. Ma mere does not mince words. She never has. *This is what is simultaneously so amazing and awful (at least to my pride) about our relationship. A relationship I have learned to embrace and encourage...even when it hurts.

Chapter by chapter, her book titled Booked delves into the depths of Literature, and how God's gifting of it gave her insight into, or even moreso, actually formed her self and identity---even her awareness and understanding of a Divine Creator. It is a concept I have never come across from this exact angle--and it is keenly acute in its accuracy. Truth lives and breathes within the bindings of this book, and I am blessed to have been witness to such a work.

As I read I had my highlighter waiting to whisk across the words, coating the ivory with color--an iridescent roadmap there to remind me of what resonated within my heart, so that I can return back to the wisdom again and again. For one specific chapter, the section surrounding Gustav Flaubert's Madame Bovary, I chose green. Little did I know at the time that a more apropos choice could not have been. For Emma, the heroine of the book is plagued throughout the piece by an attitude of awful discontent---dramatic in its dire needs and wants, and a spirit stolen of satisfaction by the criminal clutches of romanticism.

Green goes with the envy that is Emma's as she glances around her world, riddled with routine and mundane daily duties when all she desires is the excitement and glamour she imagines awaits just around the bend out of her reach and belonging only to others. Yes, those others. Even an emerald-hued haze hovers around her kind and loving husband--whom, in comparison to the outer world and the men she makes idols from afar, she now finds disdainfully dull. 

Dr Prior (author of Booked, and ma mere) describes Emma's dilemma (yes, that was a painfully unavoidable rhyme you just witnessed....): 


"She keeps 'waiting in her heart for something to happen,' something of excitement to fulfill her longing, her unbearable heaviness of being." 

As I ruminated over these words, Emma's unmet longings, I saw a mirror of myself. Waiting....looking from afar in awe, at others. Wanting. Aching. Longing. Failing to see what is right before me.  Unable to sit in the stillness and see....how blessed, is  (or can be) my reality~

Chosen~

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I have two mothers. Susan Miller, my birth mother, is amazing. Her kindness...softness....pure heart...and strong spirit was a safe haven for my self growing up in that small, Southern town that I sometimes felt strangled within. She is and will always be my mother, birthing me, raising me, teaching me right from wrong, loving her "Angel Beth" with open arms and intense optimism about my destiny....despite all the (ah, adventures) I've put her through over the years.

And then there is ma mere. Dr. Karen Swallow Prior. Ma Mere means "my mother" in French, and this name, it is..well,... "C'est Vrais."  Ma Mere, no more special than my own mother, yet unique and profoundly precious to me....because she chose me...and I chose her. Ma mere was my Freshman English professor in college. She reached out....all the way to the very, very...very back of her crowded classroom...and saw me.  Not the tiny, timid woman-child tucked away, trying desperately to melt into the floor...no. She saw Me. And she chose me. Her jeune fille. And from that moment on, my life changed.

Ma mere has written a book. A BOOK. Damn, I am proud of her. This book is beautiful, and shares truth. She sent me a copy in the mail...and I have curled up with it, keeping it close, hiding its words away in my heart, and simply soaking every inch of it in that I can. She is there, dancing on every page...a joyful jig, a saucy samba, a fiery and unafraid foxtrot.....a waltz, willing me to wonder---to walk--and to run  (and work) towards what I want. A resurrection rumba....calling me back with a whisper of welcome.

Welcome, home.

These days I have been surrounded by the concept of home and family...can't seem to get it out of my head in fact. I am learning that there are numerous facets to the onion-layered ideal that is "Family". Most see this as those who share blood relations, with the same roof over their heads. Yes. I agree with this as a concrete definition. Here in Hawaii, we have "Ohana," which (I looked it up) extends past mere genetics:

Part of Hawaiian culture, ohana means family in an extended sense of the term, including blood-related, adoptive or intentional. It emphasizes that families are bound together and members must cooperate and remember one another.

Adoptive. 

Intentional. 

Chosen.

To be chosen...embraced...and wanted. These are priceless things.

I think of ma mere...and how she chose me, among thousands of students that have passed through her halls.  I am her only jeune fille...and my heart swells in the privilege, honor and beauty of that priceless gift.

I think of my God...and how He chose me, seeing everything. And yet still calls me His delight.

To be chosen, to be loved.

This is home.

This is family.

~The Butterflies and the Bees~

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  When I came upon Tori Amos musing about marriage I had to take pause. I never even knew she was married. I have to admit this blew me away at first...I guess I had just always considered her name, her music, her writings, herself as being profoundly and fervently feminist (to the core). So, as I continued reading, much to my surprise (and inner joy) I found her insights on this particular union to be beautiful...REAL-ly beautiful.

~~~~~

Amos regards her marriage to her soulmate, saying "I really feel like my husband is my boyfriend. I am having an affair with my husband, and sometimes plates fly. There's no question. This is someone who is tenacious and has his own way of looking at things. I mean, he wanted to get married, but only if we lived in England. To be his wife required serious change for me. And there are serious boundaries. It is about monogamy with him. That's just it. I think marriage takes more perseverance sometimes than any other endeavor. But this suits my skirt just fine, primarily because I've always been reticent about the concept of "Happily Ever After." The garden will have weeds and pests that may damage crops; it may even have pestilence to contend with once in awhile. But with the right combination of elements, including bees and butterflies, the garden will pollinate and become a garden--not an emotional wasteland but a place of sensuality and balance. So it may need a good beekeeper; all complex gardens do."

~~~~~

*I've too long been sidetracked by the pests and the weeds....so please now....Bring on the butterflies and the bees....

And may I ever be an excellent beekeeper~

~Piece by Piece~

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Lately I've been reading biographies. One that has struck a chord with me is Tori Amos's Piece by Piece. Although I definitely do not agree with all she believes necessarily, I do value the bold honesty and unabashed authenticity with which she approaches both her art and herself.

A self-professed free spirit and spitfire in her own rite, Amos's music has surrounded me, ever since the days of when I would follow my older sister Meredith around like a puppy and simply joy in soaking in every smidgeon of shared time she would deem me worthy of (which, compared to most sisters was an insanely generous amount I might add) #my-sister-is-the-bomb.

I can still remember the feeling (I still can't quite grasp the exact word for it---it eludes me like a wisp o' the wind) I got when a Tori Amos song would roll like thunder over the radio waves. The sweet syncopations of sound----those pulsating patterns, haunting intonations and wild runs mark my memories like a vivid, tangible television into my childhood. Mmmm, yes....I was raised on Tori Amos, alongside the 10,000 Maniacs, Carole King and James Taylor...and it was good~

Growing up I always admired her hutztpah and passion for her music; it remains unlike any other genre I have known. So, naturally, as I passed her biography on the shelf of my local library, it wasn't even a question---I was drawn to it like a moth to a flame....focused on finding what it is within her that ticks, and trills.

I am only halfway in, and already her ideas and opinions on religion, femininity, sexuality and so much else have been enough to keep my mind whirring (and cheeks blushing) for ages. Having similar upbringings I have found it fascinating to see her viewpoint on conservatism and "God" and all that is black and white (or in this case grey).  I disagree with much, yet honor and respect her voice and the sheer passion and stubborn will she shows in ceaselessly seeking. And aren't we all....just seeking. Truth. Goodness. Love. Beauty. Peace. Grace.

TRUTH (yes, I said that one twice).

There have been times in my reading where I have stopped to catch my breath after something I have read....Amos writes raw. It is uncomfortable. I disagree. I'm scared I concur. I wonder what if. I question. I refute. I own my truth. I see and hear her heart. I search my own.

Yet I continue reading.....because I know that the truth will always win...and I learn only by living....and dialoguing....allowing even sometimes contradictory views to act as catalysts for constant change---graduated growth. Here is where there will be a forum found, wide open and inviting me in....challenging my own thoughts and ideas...formulating them upon a foundation...building stronger...and always, all ways, ceaselessly seeking.

*I will keep you posted~

~Nana Bean~

I'm gonna miss you, Nana---
 miss calling you up for conversation

 miss your words of wisdom, those priceless tidbits,

 life lessons-- tinged with your sweet, Southern twang.

Who else is going to offer me my "Eye-talian" dressing with my salad?

Or ask for my fiancee "Beeeah-Jaaaay" to speak with on the tele?

Who will be there to applaud my greatest triumphs?

And pray with me--

stay with me--

in my deepest defeats?

I will miss your hands the most

I can still see them if I close my eyes--

capable, warm, open always--

offering love and kindness--

and readily accepting all that life had to bestow--

good and bad--

with a grateful heart and faith forged in the fire of daily doing, and breathing, and being

beautiful~

I love you Nana Bean.

You are the light, the love and the laughter that laid my foundation...that breathed love and grace and peace over my life.

You will be missed. 

You are loved~

~Fabric of A Family~

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Once silk,

soft upon my skin,

the color purple,

like royalty

dyed.

A cohesive quilt,

designed.

With deft fingers,

spun in skill,

The fabric of my family.

Arms,

Extended to their limits,

Fingertips,

reaching for the remnants

curled around this olive branch

holding onto hope

holding out for healing.

This schism

senseless.

Now the sun smiles,

its shadows cast.

don't say it sweetly,

rather speak plainly.

salt in the wound doesn't scare me.

Like Thomas,

I would touch and see

to believe.

That what is said exists.

We are.

He is.

I am.

Family.

Or Can be.

For words are wondrous beings

chameleons changing color

adapting

blending as best they can

for survival they shift

they are scared.

And even now,

I refuse to be the fig,

I will not wither on this vine,

And though the desert is dry,

There are still streams of water to be found~

~Shining Ruby~

I recently had the privilege to watch the film Ruby Sparks.

I won't say much about the film plot itself, or even what I felt I learned through watching it (I like to leave everyone to take what they will of their own accord from all books and movies rather than my subjective version of it).

The entire film took me on a journey...one far better than a round-the-world-traipsing-through-endless field-of-sunflowers-and-lilies-kind of a trip. But rather, a slow, steady climb through an (unexpected) cloud-filled, shadowy skyscape.

Hey! I thought, at first, as the plot trudged on....this isn't what I thought it would be. Yet (yes, one of my favorite hopeful little words) YET, as the film progressed....or perhaps what some would say--spiraled into a darker place than your run-of-the-mill Hollywood RomCom---I saw the cloud clusters riddling that sky begin to take shape....

Shapes I recognized....swirly and curly---of Dr Seuss dimensions....I KNEW these figures like the back of my hand. I willingly walked and climbed along the cloud-filled corridors of this script. Watching would seem like a trainwreck of two people---recklessly running down the tracks towards a tunnel with who knows what on the other side---somehow didn't scare me as I let it all sink in.

And the scene...THE SCENE...the culmination of all of my unspoken words and prayers and cries in the dark of night (of every soul's at one point in time I would imagine)....splayed its shattered glasshouse dialogue across the screen.

Repetitive...rising...building...manic madness---an audiovisual mirror--it unraveled...revealing the underbelly of consciousness.  And, as "You're a Genius!" "You're a Genius!" "You're a Genius!" arced and swelled---shrieking across the screen--its shrill siren scream silenced my soul...stilling every breath and thought as I waited.

It was real.

It was raw.

It was unable to be boxed in...the unruly, untidy awareness.

Questions swirl--

about identity...

about love...

about what that loaded, four-letter word truly means.

In a world where that particular four-letter word is flung wildly about--a penny to a wishing well--I beg of God, of myself, that I would be a Ruby that shines~

Pregnant.

Pregnant.

Can it be?

That's what they all tell me.

The professionals, I mean.

Yes, there it is....right in front of me.

I see the signs...positive.

All the instructions I have read.

No error would there be.

It must be so.

There is no denying you.

You are here.

Inside me.

How I love you already....my tiny bird.

Greens and roughage from my garden will I feed you.

Songs of joy will I sing...resonating in my womb,

Lullaby lyrics.

whose banner over you is love.

I wonder what you will look like.

Will you have my spirit and heart? My tiny feet set to constant motion?

Maybe your Daddy's truth and wisdom? His hands so capable and sure?

I wonder if you could possibly be as good as they say you will be.

Enough to change my life in an instant...

Will you recognize me?

May I truly call you mine? All mine?

I long for it,

the day you will arrive

fully formed

divine

alive,

and well.

I see me in you.

You are beautiful.

You.

are perfect.

I shall name you promise.

 

Affirmations Afforded...May I Be a Good Wife~

I want to frame you
and hang you on a wall--a sense of permanence.
I'm staying in this place.
I'm unpacking my bags.
I want to adorn you
with affirmations and kisses,
with time and all my attention.
To dress you
every morning in red and purple joy,
emblems of love and badges of adoration.
To send you on your way
to work, lunch packed, with contentment and
fulfillment.
A feast of happy thoughts in the middle of your day.
I want to tuck you in
wrapped in blankets of warmth and reassurance.
Rest your head on the peace of finding what you've
always sought.
I want to fold you
like my favorite skirt, carefully, slowly, delicately,
so the wrinkles and creases of pain are all pressed out.
I want to put you on
like my makeup, wear you all day, shimmering,
shining--
bright colors that make you happy, feel beautiful, and self-confident.
Unwrap you,
like a surprise on no day in particular, out of the blue,
rip you apart to view what I'm seeing
for the first time, but always wanted.
I want to hold you,
like a kitten, rescued from the side of a busy road,
ignored when he was crying out, but held, finally, by
a host of loving arms--my soul.
I want to brew you
like my coffee, warm, strong, how I start my day
jolting my senses, waking me up,
hot in my mouth, lasting in my breath.
I wan to read you,
like a memoir, my favorite genre.
I can't put you down.
I highlight you, dog ear you, scuff-up the cover with love,
taking you everywhere I go.
I want to sing you.
My favorite song, always in my mind and on my lips
summoned up without hesitation, memorized, played
loudly and danced to often.
I want to pray you.
A petition, a promise, fervent and faithful,
whispered under my breath, but heard by the only
ears needed to be heard by.
I want to create you,
like the eighth day: "then there was you"--
out of thin air, or maybe evolved, a mystery, but
complete--and tangible.
I want you as you were.
I want you as you are.
I want you as you will be.

Oh Happy Day~

Birth, and re-birth, are beautiful things. *Celebrating today~

Beyonce Knows Best....

~In marriage there are no manners to keep up, and beneath the wildest accusations no real criticism. Each is familiar with that ancient child in the other who may erupt again. We are not ridiculous to ourselves. We are ageless. That is the luxury of the wedding ring~

~Multiplied~

This morning was like any other morning. Hopping in the car and taking my most loved drive by the ocean to grab a cup of joe. It was pre-dawn and I was racing the sunrise along the shores of this island I love so well. Chirping at my side was a text from my favorite person in the world, and as I drove on to meet him I was aware of the magnitude of His blessings.

Turning the volume up to full blast as the soundtrack of my best friend Kristen’s mixed CD made its musical round, I gave thanks again for the people who love this mess of a fairy-woman-child. And, there, just as Bjork was bustin’ out the best of her lyrical truths, I saw them.

Bright blue they flashed. Strobes of syncopated streaks signaling danger ahead. The universally recognized electric currents of caution chilled my spine, sending waves of foreboding and fear along its now rigid frame.

As I slowed to stop at the officer directing me to the side of the road, I rolled down my window, whispering a silent prayer to the heavens of what I did not even know.  The officer was soft spoken and kind, and as I raised my eyes to meet his own averted ones, I knew it must be bad.

He asked me where I was headed…I answered just a few short miles down the road…and truly I was so close to my destination I could almost see it. He shared that I had just missed a fatal car crash, and that it was going to be at least five hours before the wreckage was cleared and the one road that I was on that connected the sides of the island together would again be re-opened for use. He gave me the option of parking my car and walking to my destination—it seemed the only thing to do.

The gentle officer urgently instructed me that I would need to go right by the wreckage and that it was not something a young woman should ever see. I shuddered at the thought of what sights this man had been subjected to in his many years of public service…shielding those like me who would have been too weak to wield the burden of such real images emblazoned upon their brains and soft spirits. I thanked God for this man, and for those like him who stand in the gap for us.

I parked, took a deep breath, and stepped outside of the safe shell of my vehicle. As I began walking the brilliant blue beams and the shrill screams of the siren’s wails rocked me to the core. Stumbling along the bank of the beach, keeping my eyes trained on the undulating ocean’s waves, I put one foot in front of the other and passed through—all the while the pulse of my pounding heart a palpable percussion of panic and frenetic thoughts. Sadly I wondered who would wake up this morning having lost a mother, brother or sister, and again---I thanked God for the blessings in my life….and like the miracle of the loaves of bread and few small fish, they multiplied in an instant.

~Summit Supplication~

I hiked to the tip top of my mountain today.

Had alot on my mind.

Many things on my list.

Things I needed to ask Him.

Questions I wanted answered.

Gifts I sought.

Wisdom I felt was being withheld.

Blessings I intended on begging.

Each step on the ascent added yet another inquiry of my heart...

I felt like that child that all adults grow to both love and loathe with my endless: Who? What? When? Where? WHY? and HOWs?

And as I reached the summit, I readied myself to pray.

Inhaled to catch my breath and steady my stream of thought...prepared to launch into my list of wants and needs.

I opened my mouth and moved my lips...and as I looked down into the Valley I call home...that list diminished one by one.

A whispered "Thank You" sent into the sky...soon became a shout--high into the heavens....of gratitude, joy, light and love...of frustration, sadness, pain and worry wound tightly together...an all-encompassing awareness.

~THANK YOU~

Over the Edge and Back~

"...by bringing myself over the edge and back, I discovered a passion to live my days fully, a conviction that will sustain me like sweet water on the periodically barren plain of our short lives."-- Jonathan Waterman

*Just finished climbing with two of the best friends a girl could ask for...tackling a mountain with this makeshift family of three--right in the middle of this magnificent ocean. And now that I am safe and sound descending from that summit...everything's reset~

Bring it on Monday, I am ready for you~

~Pono Pheidippides~

One of my best friends just ran a marathon.

A MARATHON.

I had the chance---was given the incredible gift, rather---of being there.

I watched as he pushed his limits, didn't back down, was humbled...physically broken...and fully spent.

And I was able to be half of the pair (one on each side) that picked him up---recognized with wonder---and rebuilt him, a single smile and shared laugh at a time.

Gratitude does not suffice to describe the feeling I have when I think of the blessing of simply BEING invited in---being allowed to witness such a milestone in his life---and scraping that sweet spirit up off the side of the road after it was all said and done.    *oh yeah, you better bet we fed him da best kine ono poke grindz afterwards too, cuz~

~Present Poem~

-Life-

-a delicate dance between chaos and clarity

-each day’s passing ushers in the unexpected

-this mixed bag of heartache and hilarity.

-Fragile-

-the moments among which….

-darkness threatens to overtake

-casting its long shadow—

-a blanket covering without care.

-Joyful-

-the heart--

-whose cavernous chambers overflow

-filled to the brim.

-boasting a beauteous beat

-harmonizing with gratitude

-and a melody of peace.

-This vessel’s voice sings and swells—

-It's arcing climax: a crescendo of love.

-Courageous-

-the ones

-who set upon their journeys.

-heads held high—roadmaps opened wide

-boldly blazing a trail

-with laborers few---and martyrs many.

-Faithful-

-the eyes

-whose vision is not blurred

-Heavenly heads, raised and upright

-Setting sights above

-unwavering commitment crowning their curls.

-Hopeful-

-it peeks around corners....

-the soul seeking that something

-reaching out hands for healing

-open-palms ready....waiting...

-with joyful expectation

-perched in the pregnant pauses--

-this steadfast spirit buoyed by belief…

-sets anchor among Truth’s tranquil tides.

-Free-

-A description of me.

-Would be,

-Could be.

-Shall BE~

~Seasons Greetings~

Although I live on a beautiful island where all is eternal sunshine and warmth, I still experience seasons.

I soak in sun-dappled summers—those days, weeks, years even—when I am tangibly aware of God’s daily blessings—as I feel their sweet kisses on my brow like warm rays beaming down on me from above. Yes, everything in this season seems bliss-filled and charmed beyond measure. Ah, Summer~

I skip through Springs---days strung together by misty mornings filled with light drizzling drops from Heaven that seem to bring all I see around me to life with vivid color and vibrant smells and sounds. These days I feel are characterized most by their hopefulness exuded….I almost imagine hope and cheerful expectation to be the pollen pods swept to and fro—alighted upon the honeybees’ wings as they go forth and brighten the world with seeds –of life--reveling in the wonder of renewal and regeneration—of newness and rebirth~

Fall finds me foraging through the closets---sensing that shift from the Summer season---not a sinister swing, yet all the same—I am aware I should reassess my wardrobe—clothing myself in corduroy and denim—soft sweaters—a kaleidoscope array of scarves and stockings….striped, with rainbows and (of course) rockin’ polka dots~

It is during these days that with every breath, I inhale the woodsy, earthy scents of time passing and life cycles sliding---one from another—around and around we go…I see the colors aflame among the trees—each leaf longing to stay connected to the tree it knows so well—that has nurtured it to this time---when it is at its most radiant and awe-inspiring state—bright, bold and striking in dramatic color. I watch and feel deeply the scene being played out before me—I sense the struggle of the leaf to remain resting upon the boughs---yet also survey the beauty of the bare branches that remain, after the leaf has allowed nature to take its course---has trusted in the weather to redeem in the next cycle—restoring life—and color—and communion with the arms of the arbor it loves so dear.

Now this--- my recent Winter—long a time of trepidation to me—I am learning now, daily—can also have its wonders. The cold I long feared—rather than giving me frostbite---has caused a healthy hue of rosy red to creep back into my cheeks. The brisk wind takes my breath away---and as I inhale with that sharp sense of shock---the air is sent swirling---I see it---billowing shafts—visible to my eyes—this undeniable reminder that I exhale…I exist. I am…everyday…breathing into the world….and this winter---I am also acutely aware—that I choose whether I will breathe goodness and light—or bitterness and defeat. I choose light….all the while, knowing….Spring is just around the corner...and this Winter's wonders have yet to all be revealed~

*Dreaming of daffodils today, and breathing goodness~

My Other Bird's Words~

My Kindred Spirit Kristen Kidd wrote this...and it provides such hope and beautiful promise...of home~

I pray it blesses you as it did me:

----------------------------

Homes

Homes burn down
Homes are destroyed in war
Homes decay and dilapidate

Some people have many homes
With a million things to fill them with
Some of those same people
Suddenly have none
And roam and roam.

Stay strong in the times
When you are your only home-
The times when you must build again
When supplies are scarce
and helpers few

You deserve more, and you know
What you deserve...

Go

Gather the twigs and leaves of each day.
Pack it in with the mud
that connects each day to the next

Know that it is worthy
Because it is you, now
- raw, keen, earth, real, malleable

On a walk, some time,
you'll come upon a home
Remarkably like your own
You'll both stand gazing
at the sticks and mud
Then turn away, hand in hand
To build new~

The Beacon of the Butterfly

As I go about my days lately, I realize I have to go home…to myself. I must leave my own light on—waiting to greet me when I return late at night—foresee that need for a beacon in the darkness, and plan ahead for evening time. I have made peace with this, in that I have, can, and will go home every day, with peace and assurance of ability—and independence initiated by an unwanted absence, yet one that is ever a bittersweet shadow in the background…mostly sweet though, I choose the honey over the hive~

Home, yes…but I still miss my roommate, my best friend, and my person. This is honest.

This is right---and well---and good…because I know-- deep down--- if I didn’t miss and ache with every fiber of my being, then I would question if I ever truly loved at all…and I did---I really, really did.

And I do…..I really, really do.

I am choosing to be grateful--to be home (again)…and I pray and look forward to moving into a new sanctuary one day (soon is my honest hope)…one that is filled with much more light, a lot more laughter, and a limitless lightness of being…with my roommate.

I will hold my own—decorate this home---with vivid color and bright, hope-filled patterns of stars—rainbows of promise, ridden by lions and fairies—but mostly butterflies---fresh born from their battle with that cocoon—able to rest now--the struggle having brought them back to their source…and in these new bodies, winged, beautiful beings that they are—these creatures created to fly—will be~

~Sometimes~

Sometimes….

You realize just how much you have in life…how blessed you are…and how much there is to look forward to.

A night of good music, beautiful spirits, sweet soul kisses, and big, bear hugs.

So long City of Angels...

*I’ll be seeing you~

Evening Compline~

Perched high above the hum of the city, nestled in this castellar fortress. Among the trees, a wind whispers. The birds sing their farewells to February, and watch among the branches as the world whirls by below.

She looks up wistfully, her breath catches at the haunting halation captured as the sun slips into the shadows—the brilliant last light too beautiful to be caught and held more than a moment—she lets it go with grace, and follows its fading gleam—past the charnel, with its costly carcelage.---Away from the angry glare of lights too bright….burning her blue eyes---stinging her salt-water streaked cheek.

Rung by rung, she climbs…ascending up---away. Higher and higher she goes…each new step birthing a hope and prayer for a shining, chimerical sign—a sign of peace—a promise of provision—a reconciliation of hearts—a healing.

Arriving at the apex of this fairy dell in the sky, a ceremony of chasmogamy is born. And, in the moonlit gloaming, with each petal’s preening—reaching ravenously among the stars—petitioning the Maker for that manna from above, this flower’s compline commences.

And there is sustenance in the twilight—as the morning makes its bed to rest, and rise again~

White Lightning!

After what seems like a month of mornings marked by question after question... after question …I woke today with an entirely new set of inquiries:

1) How do I take my coffee?

"I’ll take my coffee poolside, thank you."

2) Who will now wake me with a kiss?

"The estate’s resident spaniel’s smooch is unabashedly offered on the daily (provided I, in turn, barter with a promise of abundant hugs and cuddles throughout the day)."

3) Who/what can I be totally immersed into now?

"That sparkling pool peeking just outside my balcony beckons…"

4) And the stroke of preference today?

"FREEStyle, naturally"~

5) When one finds oneself alone, on a Hollywood Hills estate, in a private pool…what DOES one do?

"BLIND THOSE BIRDS WITH A STREAKIN’ FLASH OF UNFETTERED FAIRY FREESTYLE…" *bringing new meaning to the term: white lightning~

6) And the soundtrack for this skinny dippin’ sesh?

"Praise songs….all day long~"

After almost a month of endless questions….I am finding some answers…and they aren’t half bad~

Nepenthe~

Respite and Nepenthe.

The Golden State~

I ran away from home today….

I’ll not stay…

I just need some time.

An ocean in between…

Some moments to pray…

A forum to play…

*So I’m Headin’ to that Golden State…..

Gonna put on that party dress.

Break out those dancin’ shoes.

Listen to some live music.

Walk in the wine country (like sample?)

Drive with the top down.

Bike down the boardwalk.

Venture into Venice, just to see what I see.

Swim in the sun-dappled pool outside my front door.

Wander around that writing world.

And reconnect with those who first saw me sparkle and shine.

Making peace with a past long pushed aside, City of Angels…I’d like to re-introduce myself.

So nice to see you see me again.

What you got, maw ma?

Reading by Fire Light~

I believe in love. And yes, I believe in monogamy.

Call me a prude….old-fashioned…behind the times…I joyously accept all of these if it means a lifetime shared in the constancy of one, good, solid companion.

I believe in the sanctity of husband and wife…that it is a beautiful—and not binding bond, and that the sacredness of intimacy with one is not a limiting trap---but rather makes us limitless in the safety and trust of that one person….caught and held securely in the cushion of commitment—the comfort and peace of knowing….knowing….knowing…you will never walk alone.

I understand now why it is likened to Christ and His love for the church. The give and take that feels nothing like tug of war. The sweet sacrifice—that because it is not abused---does not return void, will not leave one depleted, and is never wasted. The solace offered through stability--of something so sacred that, no matter what arises in the day….or descends upon us in the night….holds steady…remains true….and chooses unwavering gratitude for the gift of one another, and fierce faithfulness.

I realize now this dream---this glorious vision of purity, passion and growing in grace and peace together as one---is only possible if God is fueling the fire. Otherwise, the flames are beautiful to behold….they will keep you warm enough to lull you to sleep—and in your waking dreams you will get a small, shifting sense of sweetness in the smoke….and, as the embers glow…and the flames fade….you are left with smoldering ash.

I have been fanning a similar fire, loving its warmth, believing in its beauty, and now, as I look at the embers…I fall to my knees…curling my tiny body as close to the glorious glow as I can, and beg for more warmth….praying for renewal of the flame….searching in vain for a match that would rekindle its radiance…and denying in my heart of hearts that this fire…this flame…this beautiful warmth—is a bastard child—no father laying claim to it—for never did it ask for His name.

I made this fire with the one I love. Yet I forgot to invite the One I most love (or should have) to help us along the way…to show us how to light it, and fan its flames to where it will stay strong, provide warmth that lasts, and light that illuminates our lives. I still pray for redemption—of myself, of the one I love—and yes, of that fire that could be so beautifully built between…..yet I know now, today, who must light and sustain it….and why it is so~

Today, as everyday, I pray for miracles….with an open hand I free those I love to choose their path….and I follow the only path I know as true, and good, and lovely~

As Capulet Commands~

As Capulet once commanded---directing his daughter, from that orchard across the ocean...

Just call me Juliet~

State of Being~

When you feel the rug has been pulled out from under you….and the role that you saw yourself fulfilling in life has been cast to another…it is a strange state to find yourself in. I liken it to Kansas, or perhaps Nebraska? A state that in and of itself would not be the worst place in the world…had you not been born in say, Hawaii—or the rolling, wine country of California.

Yes, here I am….in Kansas….its arid air and flat roads stretching before me---with nothing but miles and miles of fields on either side. It is hard to not loathe these lonely lands….I never did like corn, and dust makes me cry--often. I prefer my ocean and beaches…the warm sun on my face…the salty air upon my cheek…and endless stretches of sand to curl my toes into—wriggling away my worries with each fairy step.

I believe the hardest part, is that I still feel very much a citizen of my former state…I do not believe this alien status I am now presently experiencing is my true destiny. I do not belong here…yet, here—I AM.

I look around me, no lion in sight…Aslan himself even seems absent, save a whisper in the wind of a love once warm upon my skin—I wrap the threadbare throw ‘round my once soft shoulders…careful not to pick the fraying fabric on the blades' jagged edges. This fairy…I must remind myself is fragile, yet fierce. And faithful….how faithful is she now…as she will remain…unwavering.

This state has new laws….which she will abide…yet she knows…back in her world—reverberating with every fervent beat of her foreign-born heart—her truth must pulse and pound with veritas--channeling its energies into goodness abounding. And, although she does not recognize many things these days…she does know one thing, she remembers it well---this, her offering…

Words, ruminating on a page---perched precariously in pregnant pauses—building a blessed bridge between the present__________the promise~

~Red, Revisited~

Because…so much does depend on one simple pair of scissors, and a tiny tube of goo.

And, yes, because this fairy knew deep within her bones, there was great need for a renewed declaration of independence (from expectations), a peace treaty (with herself), and a pint-sized middle finger raised~

Rockin' the red.

*Woo Woo*~

Cardiac Rehab~

I remember when I was growing up in our small, Southern town, the local YMCA would have this group exercise class called “Cardiac Rehab.” It, as the name would be fitting, was geared specifically towards those who had had some serious, life-threatening health event occur such as a heart attack or stroke, that had left them in need of gentle, muscle (in this case the heart), strength and endurance building. 99% of this crew consisted of what I (so diplomatically at my mature 15 years of age) termed “old farts” and “Gerries.”

I remember distinctly, as I ran my laps around the second-floor, indoor track—looking down and taking in this scene (what looked to me more like torture) with horror---and also a healthy dose of pity. All my youth-lidded teenage eyes could see was sagging skin, slow-motion, and staggering towards an unseen goal that will never ever put them back quite exactly at their same status—their lives had all irrevocably slowed….stalled even.

This thought made me shudder, and I would look away and will myself to pretend that these damaged vessels were not there in my existence—that all there was in my world was motion—power—sprinting with strong legs and a kick that caused my heart to burst with effusive energy--bubbling over with such gratitude that I was at my prime---unblemished--and on my way…never looking back on those unspoken of underlings.

Today, I have a new perspective….such a dramatically different awareness. I'd like to go back to that small, Southern town, and survey these citizens with new eyes. And that is who they are---citizens…of a unified country—a small, circle of friends, bound together by an unbreakable bond forged in battle. Their hearts have taken a hit—their lives will never be the same. Everything they do now, has to take into account their condition(s).

I believe I would see them facing their frustration, as they cycle with slow, pained circles…round-a-bout they go…remembering when they moved so freely—yet not allowing themselves to give up…rather giving themselves the grace to go at their own pace….rebuilding. I believe I would also see the friendships forged over fellowship together—tried by fire, this fellowship flows from souls sojourneying quite possibly the most scary and difficult path they will ever be asked to tread. They go~

Yes, I am sure---the sagging skin, the slow-motion, and the stilted progression will still shock me in unguarded moments…yet I believe I won’t turn away this time. I will look up and see those sprinters looking down on me with such disgust….and I will know I am beautiful…and that their shudders signify their small minds—simple worlds—and still yet to be discovered awarenesses of life happening…and all that it entails. I will gaze on my own wrinkled war-ravaged body, and will speak to it tenderly—willing it to go at its own pace—and remind it that it is not as it once was—but it is getting stronger everyday.

This morning, my Cardiac Rehab consists of good, strong coffee, the crashing cadence of winter waves, a sandy stretch of beach beckoning just outside my door, and prayers petitioned from a tiny island in the Pacific. Heal, heart. Heal.