my heart hurts
my heart hurts
my heart hurts
my heart hurts
Isn't it funny --not funny at all-- how our hearts can make everything hurt? My breathing is labored. Anxious. High. Fast. Troubled. My heart beats like a hummingbird and slows to a crawl. Eyes tear up. Body aches.
There are emotional knots
being
untied.
And it all hurts.
It hurts because I Love him.
Saturday, October 31, 2015
Understanding
Understanding hits when you least expect it.
Sometimes.
Is it possible that a relationship can cloud your thoughts?
Can there be some sort of mental block that occurs?
A shroud of black mist, perhaps, that only lifts when you have said goodbye?
When you have finally
let
go?
Letting go is not easy. It is painful and harrowing and traumatic.
Shattering.
Horrifying.
And yet... perhaps it is for the best. For both of us.
Perhaps the shroud has blinded us both.
Held us both back.
Confused our minds and hearts and wills.
I don't like this.
Not one bit.
So why, in the morning after, am I suddenly hit with such profound understanding of what I was trying to grasp for three years?
The understanding has only come
only come
when we are apart.
And that sucks.
Because it could have been great.
Would have been great.
We were set to change the world.
Together.
So it doesn't make sense to me
why we have to be
apart.
But who said life had to make sense?
No one, really.
Especially not me.
Sometimes.
Is it possible that a relationship can cloud your thoughts?
Can there be some sort of mental block that occurs?
A shroud of black mist, perhaps, that only lifts when you have said goodbye?
When you have finally
let
go?
Letting go is not easy. It is painful and harrowing and traumatic.
Shattering.
Horrifying.
And yet... perhaps it is for the best. For both of us.
Perhaps the shroud has blinded us both.
Held us both back.
Confused our minds and hearts and wills.
I don't like this.
Not one bit.
So why, in the morning after, am I suddenly hit with such profound understanding of what I was trying to grasp for three years?
The understanding has only come
only come
when we are apart.
And that sucks.
Because it could have been great.
Would have been great.
We were set to change the world.
Together.
So it doesn't make sense to me
why we have to be
apart.
But who said life had to make sense?
No one, really.
Especially not me.
Saturday, August 9, 2014
The Chairs of Chaos
Things naturally fall into chaos if they aren't taken care of...
Gardens
Houses
Lawns
Carpets
Lightbulbs
Cars
Piles of mail and bills and whatnot
The human body
The mind
The soul
Relationships
Marriages
Friendships
Children
Chairs...
I have let a lot of things go in my life.
For some strange reason I didn't know life took so much
W-o-r-k.
That it took so much
effort
to maintain
let alone improve and grow and blossom and flourish.
Look at these chairs:
This is what became of many parts of my life.
And I'm not really sure why.
Not only did my chairs look like this --
but my house looked like this
(my basement especially looked like this -- worse, I'd say)
my desk looked like this
(piles and piles of paper who-knows-what)
my mind looked like this
my marriage looked like this
my friendships looked like this
and here's the scary part:
I didn't realize how bad everything looked. I knew, but I didn't know.
I didn't know how far in disrepair it all was.
Like stripping the fabric from these chairs --
Oh Yikes!! I can't believe how dirty these are!! I've been living this way?!
This way of life was a bar in my cage. (Many bars in my cage...) That I had placed there. On purpose (I guess... according to my therapist. Seriously?! I let my house (etc.) be like this on Purpose?! Why in the world do I do that?!) Apparently I'm supposed to be the one that answers that question.
I still haven't figured out why I let it get so bad... why it went so far.
I still have a lot of figure out...
But what I do know...
is that I don't want to live that way anymore.
There is no need to.
Finally.
There is no need to.
This is part of my fluttering leaves (aka sort-of-turning-a-new-leaf):
I am going to take care of things.
I am going to take care of
my house
my lawn
my car
my desk
my relationships
(especially my relationships)
and....
my chairs.
Gardens
Houses
Lawns
Carpets
Lightbulbs
Cars
Piles of mail and bills and whatnot
The human body
The mind
The soul
Relationships
Marriages
Friendships
Children
Chairs...
I have let a lot of things go in my life.
For some strange reason I didn't know life took so much
W-o-r-k.
That it took so much
effort
to maintain
let alone improve and grow and blossom and flourish.
Look at these chairs:
This is what became of many parts of my life.
And I'm not really sure why.
Not only did my chairs look like this --
but my house looked like this
(my basement especially looked like this -- worse, I'd say)
my desk looked like this
(piles and piles of paper who-knows-what)
my mind looked like this
my marriage looked like this
my friendships looked like this
and here's the scary part:
I didn't realize how bad everything looked. I knew, but I didn't know.
I didn't know how far in disrepair it all was.
Like stripping the fabric from these chairs --
Oh Yikes!! I can't believe how dirty these are!! I've been living this way?!
This way of life was a bar in my cage. (Many bars in my cage...) That I had placed there. On purpose (I guess... according to my therapist. Seriously?! I let my house (etc.) be like this on Purpose?! Why in the world do I do that?!) Apparently I'm supposed to be the one that answers that question.
I still haven't figured out why I let it get so bad... why it went so far.
I still have a lot of figure out...
But what I do know...
is that I don't want to live that way anymore.
There is no need to.
Finally.
There is no need to.
This is part of my fluttering leaves (aka sort-of-turning-a-new-leaf):
I am going to take care of things.
I am going to take care of
my house
my lawn
my car
my desk
my relationships
(especially my relationships)
and....
my chairs.
Leaf Flutters (aka turning-over-a-new-leaf) |
Friday, August 8, 2014
Leaf Flutterings
Sometimes it seems we need to turn over a new leaf.
To start over -- to begin again -- to start fresh and clean and new.
But no matter how many leaves we try to turn or twist or bend or toss...
... we are still the same person.
Really.
We can change how we live
We can change the choices and decisions we make
We can change our language or our style
or the way we saunter across a room
But we are the same "me" after the leaf turn as we were before.
A person could lose 160 pounds....
they could go through a massive change in how they think and
act and view the world...
and they would still be the same beautiful mess of molecules that they were before.
In a good way.
I debated whether I should start a brand new blog. One that wasn't full of former thoughts and musings. One that wasn't who I was before.
But I still am the me I was before.
And that's life.
We can change -- even drastically -- but we can't get rid of our past.
And I wouldn't want to.
My past makes me who I am.
So instead of turning over a new leaf...
I am pondering the flutterings of the many leaves of me.
I see them
blowing in the wind
catching the sunlight as they dance and wave
and change.
A newness
-- maybe not fresh and clean --
but catching the light in beautiful and new ways.
A fluttering
in my heart
to journey on.
Fluttering leaves captured by my mom. |
To start over -- to begin again -- to start fresh and clean and new.
But no matter how many leaves we try to turn or twist or bend or toss...
... we are still the same person.
Really.
We can change how we live
We can change the choices and decisions we make
We can change our language or our style
or the way we saunter across a room
But we are the same "me" after the leaf turn as we were before.
A person could lose 160 pounds....
they could go through a massive change in how they think and
act and view the world...
and they would still be the same beautiful mess of molecules that they were before.
In a good way.
I debated whether I should start a brand new blog. One that wasn't full of former thoughts and musings. One that wasn't who I was before.
But I still am the me I was before.
And that's life.
We can change -- even drastically -- but we can't get rid of our past.
And I wouldn't want to.
My past makes me who I am.
So instead of turning over a new leaf...
I am pondering the flutterings of the many leaves of me.
I see them
blowing in the wind
catching the sunlight as they dance and wave
and change.
A newness
-- maybe not fresh and clean --
but catching the light in beautiful and new ways.
A fluttering
in my heart
to journey on.
Friday, December 6, 2013
The Vertical Life
A poem in response to Logion 52 from the Gospel of Thomas.
Feet planted.
Growing deep…
rooted down…
deep into the ground.
Hands up. Stretched high.
Poking through the sky ceiling
and into the dark cosmos depths.
Body
stretched and ribbon long.
Face turned up. To the Son.
Soaking in Love. Peace.
Living a Vertical Life.
Come, Lord Jesus.
Feet planted.
Growing deep…
rooted down…
deep into the ground.
Hands up. Stretched high.
Poking through the sky ceiling
and into the dark cosmos depths.
Body
stretched and ribbon long.
Face turned up. To the Son.
Soaking in Love. Peace.
Living a Vertical Life.
Come, Lord Jesus.
His students said,
"Each of Israel's twenty-four prophets
spoke about you."
Jesus said,
"You ignore the living one in your presence
and speak only about the dead."
(Logion 52)
The Singular Always Inconvenient Invitation
"I would hate to think of my teacher suddenly appearing before me, extending that singular but always inconvenient invitation, and hearing myself offer the knee-jerk response, 'I'm sorry, that doesn't work for me.'" -- Cynthia Bourgeault
A poem. Based on Logion 64 from the Gospel of Thomas and Cynthia Bourgeault's commentary.
The Singular Always Inconvenient Invitation
It comes at the worst possible time...
right when I've figured everything out.
Of course.
So…
do I silence the call?
Or take the jump?
Come, Lord Jesus.
A poem. Based on Logion 64 from the Gospel of Thomas and Cynthia Bourgeault's commentary.
The Singular Always Inconvenient Invitation
It comes at the worst possible time...
right when I've figured everything out.
Of course.
So…
do I silence the call?
Or take the jump?
Come, Lord Jesus.
Jesus says,
A man was having guests, and
when he had prepared the dinner,
he sent out his servant to call them.
He went to the first and said,
"My master calls you."
He replied, "I have some funds
for some merchants who are
coming to me this evening.
I beg to be excused from dinner."
He went to another saying,
"My master has invited you."
He said to him,
"I have bought a house which
requires a day of my time.
I am too busy to come."
He came to another and said to him,
"My master calls you."
He said to him,
"My friend is getting married,
and I am cooking the wedding dinner.
I ask you to excuse me."
He went to another one and said,
"My master calls you."
This one replied, "I have bought a farm,
and I am on my way to pay taxes.
I cannot come. Please excuse me."
The servant went back to his master and said,
"Those you invited to dinner
have all excused themselves."
The master said to the servant,
"Go outside onto the roads. Seize them there,
and bring them here to eat.
Those busy buying and selling
cannot get into my Father's realm."
(Logion 64)
Living Water
A poem in response to Logion 74 from the Gospel of Thomas
I blink.
And realize…
the fountain I've been standing in front of is empty.
Always has been…
unbeknownst to me.
I grieve the water of this life I thought I knew. The water that never was.
I stumble backward…. afraid … is everything not as it was?
And I fall.
Splash.
Into the deep well of Spirit and Life and Breath and Love
right here. Inside me.
Come, Lord Jesus.
I blink.
And realize…
the fountain I've been standing in front of is empty.
Always has been…
unbeknownst to me.
I grieve the water of this life I thought I knew. The water that never was.
I stumble backward…. afraid … is everything not as it was?
And I fall.
Splash.
Into the deep well of Spirit and Life and Breath and Love
right here. Inside me.
Come, Lord Jesus.
Jesus says,
O Lord,
Many have gathered around the fountain,
but there is nothing in the well.
(Logion 74)
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