~I am, We are~

 

Most mornings I wake up and have to remind myself.

Like when Court-Court passed away.

Too soon,

it was unjust.

it was not fair.

I open my eyes to the sun sliding between the shades,

before so warm and welcome,

its beams are too bright,

too much.

THIS is too much.

I am a new bride,

I love my husband with my whole heart.

This is my honeymoon phase...

should be.

could be.

Most mornings I have to remind myself,

He loves me. chose me. Pursued me. Promised me.

And, this is my honeymoon phase....

should be,

could be.

*This is not my angry epithet,

Consider it my WHAT THE *EFF IS that??

I am here. I have not moved.

Truth, grace, goodness, and love.

Thrive still.

and they water hope, here in my heart.

growing a garden.

that should be,

could be

beautiful,

bountiful,

blessed.

I am a new bride.

I love my husband with my whole heart.

I exist.

I am real.

I AM.

We ARE~

~Sweet Potato, Serenade~

She cooks you sweet potato, you don't like aubergine
She knows to boil the kettle when you hum bars from Grease
She senses you are lonely but still she can't be sure
And so she stands and waits, stands anticipating your thoughts

How can she become the psychic
That she longs to be to understand you
How can she become the psychic
That she longs to be to understand you

He brushes thoroughly
He know she likes fresh breath
He rushes to the station
He waits atop the steps

He's brought with him a Mars bar
She will not buy Nestle
And later he'll perform
A love lorn serenade, a trade

How can he become the psychic
That he longs to be to understand you
How can he become the psychic
That he longs to be to understand you

So give her information to help her fill the holes
Give an ounce of power so he does not feel controlled
Help her to acknowledge the pain that you are in
Give to him a glimpse of that beneath your skin~

~Let THEM Eat Cake~

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I've been hearing alot of things, from alot of people these days of late. Words of encouragement and pithy platitudes offered with good intentions, of course, among other not so lovely, lingering lyrics of a tune that tempts my soul to shrivel up and die. (Thanksssssss). Words wasted on a wandering gypsy soul seeking only goodness, love and LIFE.

Anyway, I was told today that marriage (and monogamy for that matter), for most men, is like the best slice of chocolate cake. At first sample, it is sweet and satisfying and the best thing you have ever tasted. But then, after having it every day, it becomes too sweet. Too boring with no variety of flavor. Your tastebuds tame, accustomed to the offering. Bleh. So you want different dessert...a new cake...hell, maybe a cookie, or in my case, he went for the HO-HOS (plural)....

But the way I see it, marriage (and hell yes, monogamy), is like a whole helluva heapin' helping of oats. Steady. Steel Cut. Stick-to-your-ribs. OATS. In the morning, they are there to get you started with whole-grain goodness.....greeting you....warming you....sustaining and steeling you for the start of the day, for the moment when you make your exit out into the world, solo. And at night, they are there, they can take whatever form they need to to meet you...muffins, wholegrain bread, a kind, nurturing dessert that doesn't drag you down.

And just when you think maybe you could get tired of them, oats can reinvent themselves. Add to them, bake, cook or stew them a different way, they can adapt...with you, for you...inside of you. Oats.

Steady. Steel Cut. Stick-to-your-ribs. Oats.

~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~

Mood Lighting~

This morning, a friend of mine called and set me on an errand of sorts. She is redecorating her home on the mainland, and had wanted my opinions on some things. My mission, should I choose to accept it, was to go (cell phone in hand) to the online site of the company she was ordering through, and walk through the offerings with her, as her sounding board of sorts. I thought this sounded kind of fun, so I agreed. We set up a time and coordinated. I logged on, and was set to surf the net, looking for the perfect fit for her and her new home.

By the end of the conversation she was practically begging to get off of the phone—as I, of course, had wandered from the actual task of shopping, into a different world of thought/pondering tangent (as I am prone to do)—getting sidetracked by psychology and semantics as I journeyed further into the land of lights and fixtures and shades, dimmers and timers. For my credit, I started off at every site fully focused on the practical task of finding the right colors, the right “feel,” the perfect piece(s) for my friend’s declared specifications. Yet, I couldn’t help thinking how much this related to life…this whole lighting thing.

As I clicked through the pictures of the track lighting, I marveled at how simply the strategic location of bright lights could instantly highlight a desired point of focus in a room, yet without being jarring or having it feel institutional. This, I was told, was a most ideal setting for displaying a specific work of art, or other desired points of interest, without being too ostentatious. Then there were the halogen lamps…I’d always liked these. They were amazingly able to give off an immense amount of light, but because they focused the rays upward rather than downward, it never felt like “too much” or glaring…perhaps because the majority of the light and heat were not pointed directly at the individual seeking illumination.

Then there were the lights that had shades on them. Some coverings were hideous in color…bright and brash—and *gasp * tacky to the tee. There were tassels, beads, designs, and (I mean it) even….feathered shades. Some shades were almost see- through in their thinness and translucent nature—others were so opaque that the light was almost completely swallowed up in the bowels of their blocking hues.

There were timers on the really modern lights that they were selling. You could apparently program them to shine brightly for a certain amount of time before having them either dim gradually, or shut off completely at a designated hour. The dimmers could be tuned to fade according to the needs and tastes of each owner---running the gamut from bright and brilliant—boldly filling the room— to the opposite extreme of leaving a somber and mellow ambience; barely lit and neutral toned.

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I listened patiently as my friend shared her * lengthy * thoughts on each of the options. We weighed together the pros and cons connected with the purchase of every item. As the conversation progressed, I realized * pragmatist that I often am * that she had no idea (or concern, apparently) for the different costs of these items. Rather, our entire conversation and deliberations had completely revolved around how the lights/ lighting made her feel. It was as if money was of no importance in comparison to the need for a “perfect fit” (as she called it). The “perfect fit” for what she wanted to welcome her home everyday…the “perfect fit” for what she needed to feel at peace and rest sitting beneath, and surrounding her—day in and day out. I understood this “perfect fit” of which she spoke.

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I often pray that I will go throughout my day and be a reflection of “light and joy” to people with whom I come into contact. This day has made me revisit that prayer over and over in my head. Yes, I very much do still want this….but now I want to be more specific in that prayer. What kind of light…not the glaring kind….that in-your-face-give-you-a-migraine-flourescent light (no, thank you). Instead, I want to be a sweet, soothing light, yet not so dim that it lulls people to sleep, or that they cannot find their way around to get anything accomplished—rather I want to be the light that is bright enough to allow them to see their world clearly--beautifully (painting their surroundings in the best likeness possible—highlighting the happy colors, the neutral soothing tones, and the shades that will give them hope—and set them at ease—surround them in peace).

I am still a work in progress….but now I have a more specific goal in mind, and prayer in heart. As I go about my day(s)...what kind of light do I want to be? What kind of light am I right now?

Anonymity and Acquaintance~

In a matter of 48 hours, I have uprooted myself from a small, sleepy community on an island in the middle of the Pacific, only to now find myself dropped amid a bustling, Metropolitan mega-city. To label this transition as “jarring” would be an understatement of epic proportions. For the last two days I have been immersed within thoughts regarding contrasting environments. I am still sorting through my many wandering notions, but if you don’t mind, I will share a few (with such hope and prayers that you will be challenged in your own thoughts, as well as add to these with you own ruminations).

I am convinced (without a doubt) that ingrained deep within the very essence of my being, I am a wide-open spaces seeking / country living / blue sky loving/ fresh water swimming/ mountain climbing kind of a girl. It is a common joke among my close friends that (if left to my own devices and inclinations) I would be happy as a clam living far, far away from most civilization (in fact, I actually do… J). They know I am, indeed, simply a “Hobbit at heart.” My great friend Lam often calls me on the telephone, insisting that I: “Emerge from the Hobbit hole (our loving term of endearment for my apartment) pronto!” So, yes, I do like my peace, quiet and serenity. I also know that I prefer to live my daily life operating on a smaller scale, and at a slower pace. Knowing this about myself, and finding myself here and now (in an environment in all points counter to that inclination) is quite the experience for this self-professed “country girl.” “Why am I so?” I have been exploring now…”Why do I SAY I am such…and what is it that big, bad Barcelona (or large cities in general) symbolize to me (at least from my perspective?) Maybe some of you have wondered the same thing(s)…

I am sitting here in a café, writing. It is a busy, buzzing beehive of sound and movement. The energy is intense, yet not overwhelmingly so, nor unpleasant by any means…just “charged,” if you will—like a renewable battery that you somehow know will just never run down. I find it odd, in light of this buzz, that I get the most work done in coffee shops and cafes, at least here in Europe. Perhaps it is because no one “bothers” me. I do not speak the language. I am foreign—unfamiliar, and an unknown variable in the regular patrons’ habitual routines.

My morning run produced a similar situation, awareness, and feeling within me. I left my flat and jogged through a particularly crowded industrial section of La Gran Via. Besides the few honked horns and animated air-kisses offered up with enthusiasm and gusto (have I mentioned yet that Spanish men are quite the charming lot?), I glided through the city streets in a state of surreal solitude. Once I reached the seashore and continued along the boardwalk, not much changed. Only a few smiles were obtained from passersby and fellow runners—each of which were greedily gobbled up by this starving Southern-bred “sweetness” and cordiality loving soul. I find this situation…anonymity (or what you want to call it)…not to be good or bad necessarily, in and of itself. It simply is what it “is.”

Anonymity is actually what I am loving about Barcelona most thus far. The fact that I can take a run, or venture out to a coffeeshop and literally be “bothered” by no one, I must admit, seems an almost sinfully selfish, although decadent and delicious, luxury some days. A sense of inexplicable freedom fills me when I think of this…a lightness of being of sorts. “Why?” I have asked myself. The best answer I can surmise is summed up in three simple words: UNFETTERED BY ACQUAINTANCE.

I will try and describe this feeling more clearly: An “acquaintance,” to me, signifies those relationships in my life that have no depth. They are new, or in the beginning stages. Or perhaps (sadly) they may even be quite old, yet remain immature and stunted in their growth. These “acquaintances” are the relational bonds that I sense will require much energy and exhaustive effort to “get there” in desired intimacy depth (if that goal is even possible at all…it is so rare to find that level of “knowing” and “share”). So, to me, Barcelona (or any place that offers me this “freedom from acquaintance”) is giving me such an amazing gift—the elimination/ cutting of those (loose and surface) “ties that bind.” (And so severely and bluntly doing so). I sense that it should hurt, yet feel only extreme relief and refreshment~

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This was just a small smattering of my thoughts so far on what I am experiencing within myself here…what this new transition and life season is all bringing to mind. I am aware this post is dangerously teetering on the edge of becoming entirely too long and tedious, so I will wrap up for now—leaving you with open-ended ideas and inklings (and hopefully a wide-open forum for dialogue!) on anonymity, acquaintance(s), and all things inhabiting among them~

Labels~

Labels. They share information. They indicate things—things like how much something costs (or better yet, how much we paid for it). Sometimes they provide the consumer with further instructions or directions as to how to proceed with the product to which the label is attached.

For instance, in a nutrition label…the 8 MILLION grams of caffeine in my serving of soda * may * suggest to me, ever so gently, that I might not need TWO of them…that is, if I ever want to see the back of my eyelids again. Similarly, the label placed on the pack of cigarettes purchased at the corner market serves as a disclaimer, warning those that may not be aware, that there are health risks involved in the usage of the product they are about to buy. Clothing labels are particularly intriguing to me, I must admit. Designer jeans and outfits apparently have labels whose value (yes, those teeny, tiny, few small square inches of fabric) apparently surpass the monetary worth of the entire material mass to which they adhere. At least in America the BEAUTIFUL~

Labels posted on the back of ANYTHING purchased from Home Depot or Radio Shack (yes, and any of those other stores that sell products that * gasp * expect us to put something together) …I will pause a moment to allow a collective group shared moment—a celebration and awareness of the unity brought upon us as we think of how we all share that foreshadowed frustration when the label “Assembly Required” is read….* shared shudder *~

As well as products, I am realizing more and more how “labels” are also assigned to people. Sometimes the individuals attach themselves with a certain branding—sports stars crown themselves with glorious nicknames and monikers, announcing their awesomeness to all. Couples are known to the rest of the world as, “married” “divorced” “engaged” “courting” “separated” “dating” “talking” “texting,” or “INSERT OTHER CREATIVE DESCRIPTION OF ATTRACTION HERE_______.” * Oh, the drama—the angst!…and yes, such a large spectrum to measure the sliding scale(s) of togetherness *~

We have labels indicating (or so it may seem) who we are…and by this, I mean, our professions…doctors, lawyers, policemen, teachers, mothers. Our preference of partners also assigns us a tag—gay, homosexual, heterosexual, bi-sexual * and for one particular season of my life, I vaguely recall believing that ASEXUAL should be among these as well…) yeah…some of you know what I’m talkin’ bout~

As I ponder the concept of labels...thinking of my own and those I see most closely surrounding me, I often ask if they are necessarily good or bad. Or does it depend on the context(s) or connotation(s) of the label(s)? I am unsure as of yet as to my exact answer, even…I am pondering. But I am intrigued nonetheless…and I do believe it is a question worthy of seeking answer(s).

Oh labels! How I am fascinated by all that you say…but more, even, perhaps by what you do not~

Isolation, Preparation, Self-Preservation~

This past month, ever since I found I would be leaving my home, friends, and what has now become my Ohana (family), I have been somewhat of an emotional roller coaster. Granted, no one would have known this by simply looking at me. But, rather, I know myself, and am able to clearly see the signs that show my stirred state of mind.

I recognize it in the small things, seemingly insignificant to most, yet for me, they are classic signposts that I am “going through a season”. This season, what I see as yet one more transition, is riddled with change, yes THAT DREADED CHANGE * shudder *.

I realized yesterday that my life here I am so happy with (and in). Some days everything within me is gravitating to that “Don’t rock the boat” mentality. “Just stay Andy Beth….you love your little life here!” I will chant this mantra over myself, and then stop and remember this amazing opportunity and blessing that has been laid before me by God…this challenge, if you will * for He KNOWS it is a huge obstacle of fear to overcome for this stability loving soul! * I often feel that He has given me specifically this option in life because it involves risk…and trust…and spontanaiety…all of which now don’t be shocked too much I NEVER would have chosen of my own freewill and accord. Really. Don’t get me wrong, I love trying new things…but I PLAN to try new things, and I PLAN on how I will go about them, and I THINK AHEAD of all the outcomes and make all arrangements according to how I am confident * based on my precise ahem calculations * that things will inevitably turn out exactly as PLANNED *tied pristinely with a pretty pink color-coordinated bow, thank you *

What struck me most with this upcoming season of change is thinking about how very much of my home I will be missing here. The little things…like daily coffee with my good friend Lamm, the sunset swims with my girls, evening bonfires on the beach with the funniest and over-the-top jokesters I have ever met, sunlit bike rides that make me feel more alive everyday, buying fresh honey from heaven and calming kava from the local man in his roadside stand, or even going to the market and “talking story” with my favorite cashier.

My first reaction to this present predicament is a defense mechanism I have often used in the past…isolation. In my oh so strange mind, I somehow believe that if I simply stay to myself these last few weeks, and train my heart to “not need anyone”… and become that lone wolf…then I will be more “ready,” or that it will make things better and easier to tear myself away when the time for departure comes. I noticed myself beginning these patterns earlier this week…politely refusing invitations to parties, opting to do yoga at home versus attending my favorite beachside class, embarking on early morning solo hikes and bike rides versus joining my buddies who have a pretty amazing little group going most days, or even shyly eschewing beautiful souls who desire to take me out * in the convoluted notion that this will somehow make me less lonely “in the long run, of course” *

This week I tangibly sensed my masochistic insanity. In my seeking of self-preservation, I was drying up from lack of fellowship and love like a raisin left out to bake in the sun. I knew I had to stop this negative pattern of being paralyzed by fear…and I also knew I would have to do it afraid. So, rather than pull away from these relationships and invitations in my life, I am striving to sprint towards them as if my life depends on it (for in actuality, I am realizing it does).

This past week was spent in complete community and fellowship. I have been blessed to experience the intimacy of friendship and love that I have only dreamed of, and read about, in favorite books…agape love such as that which was found in the apostle Paul’s Corinthian Community--that realistic, tangible love and mutual concern that Hollywood movies find boring and non-screen worthy, yes…that GOOD stuff of the everyday.

I used to fear this type of closeness. I was a master at placing walls—realizing that to be so open and known, is to be made vulnerable—and vulnerability to me, was dangerous. I still see the "danger,"-- yet I am now understanding that there is such breathtaking beauty in risk….and unfettered freedom to be found in offering oneself up to the amazing possibilities of all things yet known~