~OR~
What I Did Instead of Falling Asleep
“For You”
The whole night’s sky
All the stars
a message
reflecting:
“You are loved; you are safe”
The tide
pushed towards you
Blue ocean
come to call
a reminder:
“You are wanted; you are missed”
The flower-bright sunrise
Mountain tops
the cloud line
A new world
a promise:
Mornings to come
Your place
My heartbeat
a hammock
swaying, sweetly
“My love, my love”
Give me all your poetry. Send it straight to my soul.
~OR~
What’s Different Here?
I find myself in a writing state of mind more and more lately, but they are brief flashes, fleeting as a summer rain shower, and always at the most inopportune times–always when I’m without paper or pen. Out for a run, in the tub, on the train, with thoughts swimming and ideas taking shape. But just as readily they float away, though I beg my inspiration to stay and let me do it justice. Notions that start in a personal email and later get fleshed out on the blog, or an urge to journal that gets channeled into letters, then sent out to one of my pen-pals or friends.
And then there’s the sudden return of my inclination towards poetry, an impulse I’d thought had died out in my teens, but apparently was only lying dormant. I can feel something inside of me opening up, and with it the lines are beginning to blur. I’m not sure yet, but I think (I think) that I like it. Rainy days, muggy and muddled thoughts gave way to clear brightness, and a sharp-defined vision, which nevertheless remains just out of reach.
* * *
I dislike the feeling of repeating myself, relearning the same lessons and reliving the same mistakes. But I’ve looked at my life, as it presently stands, and seen long commutes, foreign customs and cultures, an inconsolable distance between me and my tribe. Me, in the back of the classroom, “the assistant,” writing in my journal and biding my time.
And I think, “Haven’t we been here, and done this?”
So I ask myself, what’s new? What distinguishes this chapter? Why did you come here and what are you going to do about it?
And the answer is, this time, I am savoring the silence. I am okay with not knowing what will happen, for now. The answer is patience (through counseling) and presence, a meditative step towards grace, away from fear.
The answer is: writing, learning discipline, meeting goals. Rising early, staying focused, and seeking inspiration (instead of wasting time browsing lifestyle blogs, which I still do way too often, if we’re honest). In this area, I’ve still a ways to go.
The answer is: creativity, and space. An open time-frame and mindset that allows for pretty postcards and dance-party running warm-ups, instead of just dinner and dishes and deadlines.
* * *
When I picture what’s new in this season of my life, I see myself at home, working at my desk, taking breaks to run or snack or meditate. I see myself reading on the train, when I’m able, and being okay with just being, when I’m not. I see simple meals, good books, hot tea and health. I see studying, sitting, contemplation and growth.
This, the 27th year of my life, is a sweet vanilla silence, a blue-green color, a reflecting pond.
* * *
But also, it is sunshine, and warmth and cheer. It’s a pioneering spirit, a can-do attitude. In this, the land of the rising sun, I have learned to rise each day with purpose; and like the land, to be solid, yet ever-growing; like the water–clear, deep, and still.
Chad and I fell in love through writing. Did you know? We met volunteering, flirted tenaciously, felt parallel panic, talked like we’d known each other forever, and then fell into an easy-yet-awkward (and very much sporadic) penpalmanship.
We would check in via letter, or email (or–let’s be honest–facebook) every six months to a year. Then drift off into our own separate lives.
Except one time that didn’t happen. One time we just kept writing. And writing. And writing, until we’d written a book–228 pages of hopes, fears, and things that you’d never want your parents to read.
Anyways, so that’s what we know, and what we come back to, though we’ve also been known to talk on the phone for hours at a time, or stay up all night diving into the oceans of each others minds. Or–lets be honest–watch a movie and then go to bed at 9pm.
And one time (just once), we played around with our new iPhones, dictating random thoughts to Siri to see what she’d turn them into. And that one time, I asked Chad to talk about “what it would be like if we had a kitty cat.”
Then Siri gave us the following, which I have transcribed into poem format. Because it is truly poetic. Thank you, iPhone. Thank you, Siri. Thank you, Chad.
* * *
What Would it Be Like if We Had a Kitty Cat?
What would it be like if we had a kitty cat?
Odelays, and having a KitKat
(that we got to snuggle with)and had the to-take for you
Catwalks, in the looking
Little Kitty Cat(and I’m bad)
and then we were–I’m pretty
Nake-Etiquette
daycare, Oberlin
Good little kitty cat
Mayonaise
(and I don’t get off)
(from Whitman’s “Song of Myself”)
Quiet mornings spent reading are what I need right now. Maybe some tea, and a good hug. The world around me is full of possibilities, and beauty, and I am trying to take it all in, to bloom where I’m planted, no matter how many times I uproot myself.
And in some ways, things are looking up. But in other ways, it’s not so clear. Working with special needs kids is something I never thought I’d do, or be good at, but here I am, and the kids love me, and already they’ve made such an impression on me.
But there are other things to take into consideration, other jobs, and writing, and relationships, and it can (and does) all feel a bit overwhelming at times.
Sometimes more than a bit. Sometimes it seems like an insurmountable problem.
But, in the end, I know that I must figure it out for myself. And that I can. (I think).
Climb that hill, one step at a time
I used to write all sorts of things–poetry, prose, vignettes, fiction. Nowadays I mostly do this, plus a letter here and there, and then my journal. When I’m feeling good to myself, or when I’m feeling alone.
I used to write things that rhymed, that followed a form.
I used to read these things out loud, in front of people, to dare to expose myself. I used to say openly that I wanted to be a writer.
Was it naivete? Or just one of the many pieces of myself that I let fall by the wayside?
Lately, I’ve been picking up the pieces. Saturday night, in my delirium, I wrote something that rhymes.
While doing push-ups
I realize how badly
I need to vacuum
* * *
I also realize this may seem like another kevin-is-gone-woe-is-me-so-alone post, but today was actually my first anxiety-free day in a while. Well, okay, there was a brief spot of worry, but I quickly rationalized it away. Don’t want to give up on a good thing.
April showers bring May flowers,
But here we are, in May, still rainy and gray.
(Except today!)
Today was rainy and green, with little hints of sunshine peeking through. I can assure you this is a-typical weather for Utah.
(Also: have you noticed how good I’ve been about posting to one or the other of my blogs nearly every day? I have.)
little sarah Big World 