sueeeus

I’ve written about ripples before, how one thing impacts another and waves move ever outward, the whispering breath of my spirit carried out into the world, brushing gently against all in its path.  A kiss on the horizon that finds its way back to me.

There is a song that moves my heart.  When I hear it, the strains fill me, move me, cover me, and touch my very soul.  Everything about it speaks to me, as though it was written just for me.  Not long ago, I mentioned this song in conversation, and remarked that it’s one of my favorites.  It comes up on my Pandora mix every once in a while, and it almost always makes me cry.  It just takes me to that place.  The other day, a friend shared this very song on Facebook, especially for me.  That ripple had made its way back to me.

Late at night, after the kids had gone to sleep, I sat cradled in the hammock swing on my porch, breathed in the crisp autumn air, and listened.  Over and again, I played that song.  Tears fell.  I went inside the music, and sobbed, from the very core of me, releasing my self from myself.  I thought about my life, and who I am.  I thought about what I want.  I thought about love, what it is, and where it comes from.  I thought about my place in this earth, the mother I am, the life I lead, the responsibilities I shoulder.  All the while, the music played, and tears rolled down my face.

I sobbed my heart out, and decided that it really doesn’t matter if the man who fits ever appears, because I’m beautiful through and through, in my heart of hearts where beauty matters.  In that place, I am pure and innocent, and in that place I am love.  It’s not about all the men who have gone before.  It’s not about anything but me.  In that place, I see my self.  I see someone who is worthy of my love.  I stood naked in front of my mirror, while the music played.  I touched myself.  I moved my hands all over my body, slowly, looking at the curves and the shadows, looking through unveiled eyes at something beautiful, as tears rolled down.

I must have listened to that song thirty times or more.  I cried my heart out, and touched myself, looked at myself with respect and regard, all the while loving myself.  I know who I am.  I saw myself, maybe for the first time, for the beautiful woman that I am.  I saw myself, perhaps, as those who love me see me.

A small spark flickered inside of me; a glimmer of life reborn.  Tears streamed down my face and I knew.

when oceans rise

I am healing.  I can heal.

Lead me where my trust is without borders.

Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander.

I will call upon your name.

Keep my eyes above the waves.

My soul will rest in your embrace.

I am yours and you are mine.

When oceans rise, my soul will rest in your embrace.

Fifteen, twenty, twenty five years, or more –scars from so very long ago.  I am healing.  God is speaking to me in ways that most people wouldn’t understand, in ripples and waves that make their way back to me.  I see where I am, and where I am going.  It likely won’t make sense to anybody but me, but it doesn’t have to.  This is my journey.  I am going to walk down this healing path for a while.

I am not afraid.

I am not alone.

I’m enjoying one of those rare moments in which I can sit by myself in the early afternoon sunshine, and let various thoughts drift back and forth through my mind.  It’s warm and there is the slightest breeze.  My furry cat girl has joined me on the swing that I placed in the middle of the pasture.  There is a chipmunk making the strangest sounds, flitting about a very tall tree trunk.  I thought it was a bird chirping, but no, it’s a chipmunk.  Maybe it’s a youngster and it’s stuck, or lost.  It’s a very tall tree, and the branches don’t begin for quite some time.  The cat and I gently rock back and forth and look at the alpacas.  I love my alpaca girls.  (I have five of them.  I will write about them one of these days…)

Hello, my name is Daphne. I'm very pretty, and I'm a prima donna. What do you expect? I'm so pretty. Everybody loves me. Even if I'm naughty.

Solitude is so rare for me, and so very valuable!  I take a mental inventory of the hundreds of things I could or should do.  I categorize things into those things that can be accomplished with others around, and things that can only be done when I’m alone.  I have to make the most of these few moments.  I make mental plans to take some vacation time so that I can work through some of the things that would help bring more order to my chaotic world.  But for now, I have two hours.  How will I spend them?

I spend them breathing.  I make myself a cup of tea.  I decide to write.  Writing is such a joy for me.  It helps me collect and better understand my thoughts and feelings.  It helps me regroup.

A word, a feeling, makes its way to the forefront of my mind.  Freedom.  There is freedom within.  There is freedom without.  Catch the deluge in a paper cup.  Moments like this are so rare for me.  I ponder the meaning and feeling of freedom.  It’s a wonderful feeling.  I can breathe.  The cares of the world aren’t with me, in this particular moment.  I am free from the burden of broken hearts.  A peacefulness drifts in and around me, and I immerse myself in the bliss.

Sunshine has a magical way of bursting through the darkest places.

I find myself wondering if it is possible to experience this feeling of freedom with others around.  More specifically, in a relationship.  It seems that so many people don’t understand the necessity for solitude.  It’s not a necessity for everyone, but it is for me.  Would it or could it be possible to live with someone and still feel or be free?

A counselor once showed me a simple Venn diagram about relating to people, and what constitutes healthy versus unhealthy overlap.   I think, for me, the overlapping area in an ideal relationship is fairly small.  I know, if I consider my closest relationships in life, such as with my sisters and closest friends, the overlapping area is very small.

finding the ideal...

I wonder about the attributes and characteristics of Mister RightForMe, if such a man exists.  But thoughts along those lines tend to take me down a path that brings back to mind thoughts and memories of attempted relationships and those types of thoughts start to crowd out the momentary bliss that I’m trying to savor.  I don’t want to acknowledge or accept the burden of broken hearts right now.   Not in these last few moments, before I have to jump back into action, and dive back into my normal life.

Behold, yet another selfie. Sueeeus Maximus. Mother. Sister. Friend. Working fool.

In these last few moments, I’m just going to be still, breathe, and rejoice in the beautiful life that I am privileged to live.  Sueeeus Maximus.  Mother, sister, friend, working fool.

We’re on the cusp of autumn, which is the forebear of winter, and my fashion attention is drawn to my love of leggings and tunics.  And what better way to cheer up a dreary weary soul, than to adorn the physical shell with something joyful.  When the going gets tough, the tough wear houndstooth.

black and white

It’s not that the going is all that tough…  I’m resilient, and this blog is testimony to the ebbs and flows of my life.

I may have sorrow for a season, but truly, I wouldn’t change a thing.  Life experiences are what shape us, give us texture, and teach us perspective.  Without sorrow, how could joy taste as sweet?

geometry

It’s a journey.  I never mean harm.  Truly.  In my heart of hearts, the language I speak is love.  I am often misunderstood, or mistaken.  I have behavioral patterns of which I am well aware, and though I may attempt to be vigilant and not continue repeating such patterns, inevitably I do.  What is it they say, “old habits die hard”?  There’s a reason why that quote is, well, a quote.

prolly a fashion faux pas, but who cares?

Some people say harsh things from their place of hurt.  Some people are stronger about their places of hurt, and say noble and beautiful things.  Everyone is different in the way they walk their walk.  Sometimes it takes years and years for the dust to settle and to be able to look at a situation and see it for what it was, whether it was innocent and beautiful, or wicked and vile.  Well, it’s fairly easy to see whether a situation was wicked and vile.  Ugliness has a way of bubbling to the top.  Thankfully, I’ve not been exposed to the wicked and vile for many, many years, and as well, I never let it break me or even slow me down for very long.  Granted, I don’t understand it, but that makes it all the much easier to dismiss.  Bad data.  Ignore.  Most people want to be good.  And when the dust does settle, usually a warm friendship remains.  For that, I am grateful.  Also, for that, I am hopeful.  Because I know that harsh things said from places of hurt aren’t really true.

Maybe they are true for the moment, for the person experiencing the pain.  If I say, “DAMMIT!!!” when I smack my hand with a hammer, that word doesn’t define anything more than the momentary emotional outburst from the physical jolt of pain.  It has absolutely no representation of who I am (other than that I am a teensy bit crude when I could have chosen a more tame expression, such as “fiddlesticks” or “ding-dang-darn” –AS IF!!  HA!!).  Therefore, I can rationalize that, although harsh and hurtful things have been said, they don’t mean much.  Of course, it takes me a little while to process through the immediate reaction, and that processing time isn’t particularly pleasant.  Thank God for the healing powers of tears and sleep.

dizzying waves and symmetry

I’ve written about shoes and fits before, and the trials and challenges of navigating through relationships.  Nothing has really changed (regarding those thoughts I collected several years ago).   I wish that I knew how to walk the walk without stomping on anybody(‘s feelings).  It’s very hard for me to explain to a man why I don’t fit with him.  One will ask me why I hate him, when he’s a good man.  I don’t hate him. I don’t hate anyone.  I love him.  I love everyone.  One will ask me what he did wrong, or where he went wrong.  Why does there have to be a fault assigned?  Other than it helps explain precisely why the shoe doesn’t fit.  I don’t have precise answers.  I just know.  Maybe I represent the hounds of winter for some (or many) men.  It’s not my intention to leave a wake of crumpled souls in my path.  I would tread more softly if I knew better how to tread.  I probably should just stay away from men.

if the shoe fits

Meanwhile, the introspective journey continues, in which I seek to understand what it is that I want or need in my life.  I’m a whole person, already complete.  I’m not interested in changing myself for another person, and I’m certainly not interested in another person changing himself for me, but I am wholeheartedly interested in changing myself to become the best me that I can be.

Imunna keep on smilin anyway

So what else can I do? I’ll just look down at my houndstooth pants and keep on smiling.  Life is as beautiful as I allow it to be.  So life is beautiful.

I am resilient.  I mean no harm.  I’m sorry for any hurt that has been experienced as a direct impact from relating with me.  I love everyone.

Life IS beautiful.  And I am very blessed.  I AM going to keep on smiling.