Sometimes fire will follow you for days without ever letting you know where it is chasing you to.
Jamie is a bundle of golden nerve springs and wild-word discoveries. He keeps pounding his little feet into the earth of this moment and I keep wishing I could capture what it is to be here, now. With him, every day. To be two. To be gazing so lovingly at all the small shapes and new words. To be so full of light, so full of love. So boundless with energy. So thrilled for the day. So untempered by fear. And the way his small hands grab towards my skin with such aching. The actual reality of living and breathing inside these precious moments is more poetry than I could try to describe. It is too much. It is too grand. Too perfect and too present. So I will keep being here. I will keep trying to be present. Trying to hold on. Trying to see clearly. And trying to love wholly. Deeply. Honestly.
Thank you for this wild unfolding.
And oh to be present. To be in this present prescience. The precious, peering moment that peels out of your hands and through your eyes. To be with September. Tuesday. To be with this ember. Fall in inside this wind but summer is too. And aren’t we all, and aren’t we all. Holy Everything Sound – I am always listening. And sometimes, when I am lucky, I can hear it. Monarch dream weaver, give me the words I am forgetting. Give me the wounds I am healing. Give me the towers I am toppling. Give me heart and above all things, give me courage to exist.
Rain. Finally so replete in its resonance. And I – a small beam of light pattering against the window pane. And you, a small hurricane trembling through my body. And love, a silent force radiating through my bones. And hope – all the words I still have yet to say. And here – my life unfolding wild and tempestuously. Firm and cowardly. Bold and windly. Always trying to try to learn. Always trying to try to try.
Shoo fly new fly let it fly. Let it go, let it be, let it swim in the sea with four green eyes and a tumbler of lies. Shoo fly, don’t bother me.
Lumps of light and Wednesday breaths. September swarmed in like a sound still ringing. Love keeps singing to me while I sleep. Hope keeps hollowing a home in my chest. Heart keeps hammering hunger into my hands.
Today and yesterday and everyday I am in love with light. With green grass, with open spores of dirt that smell their way into my nose. Everyday and everyday Jamie learns how to be bigger, how to be one day older, how to grow. Everyday I am reminded that I can’t remember all the things I need to do, am supposed to do, want to do. Everyday I try to try to get better. Somedays I’m able to be on time, to be present, to be awake, to write to do my yoga, to meditate, to clean, to do my tasks (one or more or all of those things). Somedays the world spins past me in a haze and I hold on and find myself at the end of the day already fading fast with heavy eyelids and dreamy brains. All days I try to remember to be grateful to be alive. To love and be loved. To be fully formed and brave enough to face the world.
The Waldorf School buzzes onwards. Inwards. Towards each day it places meaning. It develops light, it fosters faith in the fiery spirit of the human. These first graders are sweet, sly, surprising, strong, solid, serene and supportive of one another. They burst and bulge at the seams, but they seem to catch on quickly, stand up straight, push their chairs in on time. They stare with opal-glass eyes and smile at simple tings. They surround themselves with words of joy and melodies of warmth. They are ready and they are reticent and they are reeling with the first steps into reality. And I am nearly in love, already.
Waking up early sucks. But hopefully I can find new opportunity in this challenge. New twists at every turn.
This is how a heart keeps beating. This is how a life keeps living. This is how the seasons keep changing, shifting, tilting and swerving, sifting and lifting each facade up to the next. The illusion of green, the illusion of yellow and orange, the illusion of white. Which season is the truth? The complex bundle of changing reality- mutable identity, fluid manifestation. The fumbling truth of a world that breathes. Heaves, leaves and comes back. The wild, incomprehensible truth of a world that spins on its own axis. Revitalizes and deconstructs. Erodes and creates. Warms and cools, fades and glistens in its own section of outer space. In its own section of inner space. In its own space of grace and with its own courage to race itself towards the center of a circle. Towards the circumference of a perimeter. Towards the orbit of language. Consciousness. Heart. Faith. Mind. This is the space called ours. This is the planet called home. And it grows and weaves and tumbles and reacts. This planet reacts. Responds. Renews. And will not surrender to our abuse. This planet will respond. This planet will react.
And we, little ones, little ones. Little fields of mind, big swaths of collective consciousness, tiny hands of feeble concepts, warm radiation fresh in our bodies. We will keep hunting. Hunters that we are- we will keep gathering. And if we want to save ourselves, we will let go. We will surrender. We will give in and we will give back. We will get back. To that true heart that used to beat inside of our shallow chests. To those primal cues still laced inside our neurons. We will remember. If we want to survive, we will remember. The truest honesty of the season that says – it’s time to let the dead things go. For everything there is a season. For the harvest we must have slumber. For the green we must have white. For the grace of all our glittering serpentine screens we must have silence too. For the whimsy of our wheels we must have windless waiting too. For the fire of our muskets we must have water of replenishment. We must mend scars. We must complete cycles. We must burn away the dead tissue. We must take only what we need. We must give all that we can. We must tread lightly. Live reverently. Follow peacefully. Search meaningfully. Honor graciously. Fight nobly. Tend lovingly. Discover humbly. Race patiently. Give endlessly. March proudly. Through the uncertain days of time that tick towards us. We must surrender to that deepest wisdom that we know nothing. We must aspire wildly to that endless acquisition to know anything. To learn deeply. To feel profoundly. To trust boldly. And above and below all things – to love fearlessly.
To start at the beginning and wheel backwards. To ground ourselves 9 feet deep and one foot in front of the other.
The whole of the whole inside the hole.
The last day of summer. And this little humdrum of a melody keeps playing in my head. So long sweet summer. I stumbled upon you and gratefully basked in your rays. So long sweet summer.
The green enveloping me, the tiny twists of heat and sound. The twirls of insect song. The syllables of love that beat inside of walls. The ways we escaped ourselves. The ways we escaped pain. The ways we followed love. The ways we chased light. Freedom. Empowerment. The moments we strung up our voices and shouted for justice. The mountains we scaled in a little rolling vehicle of metal and gas. The thirsty squeals of plants that rose in the rain. The sun-drenched catapults of grass that bent under my feet. This rake caked in dirt. This dirt caked in water. This water caked in trillions of bacteria and the life-living prayer of the things that beat intuitively. That live without warning, without need, without analysis. The life-living things that breathe. That humble around the roots and roads we travel. The life-living canopy. The network of singing, swimming, crawling dancers. The minutiae of nature that breathes with green life. That grows with white light. That flows with wild streams of oxygen and water. Oxygen and water. These things I praise and honor. These things we must fight for. These things we must know. Deeply and gratefully.
Hey thanks, thanks for that summer. Thanks for those windows open, wind rushing, sunset glaring, bike-ride bumbling, star-glazing gazing, sunscreen-slathering sun-days. Thanks for the rain. For the smell of small drops of water on the ground. For the vision of green cocooning me as I drive.
Thanks for the mud. For the bliss. For the chlorine in my hair and the stones in the river. Thanks for new towns, new places, old loves. Thanks for discovery and thanks for tradition. Thank you trees for shading me. Thanks for all the flowers, all the colors, all the creations.
Somewhere I am belonging but never quite getting there. Never quite on time, and never quite without grime, rhyme and syllable chimes. Somewhere I am going.
Tumble me through this season, somehow I am here already.