Trust and the undeniable unpredictable

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I see it now, the limitless purpose of the moving, invisible finish line.

I clasp with weathered hands, squeeze, and hold firm to the Uncomfortable. Digging my feet into the earth, I relax my lips and draw in a deep, nourishing breath, giving in to the knowledge that the full opus of who I am may never be completed. Every, single moment is a surrender to the undeniable unpredictable. Sustained, crystal clarity is but an enigmatic shadow, like the glorious pink and purple sunsets I crave, fabulous yet fleeting until the next rising sun.

“Endings and beginnings are merely paired facets of an imagined stone curtain, behind which a plethora of opportunities await.”
~Ged Thompson, Liverpool Poet

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328 year old Southern Live Oak

My daughter often asks me why good things have to end. Why playdates can’t last 3 days and why fantastical stories are only 175 pages long. She is too young to know the value of the darkness, though we tell stories in the dark, though we can only bask in the brilliant moon in the dark, though stars can only illuminate the way in the dark. Pain seeps through our soft crevices when we have to say goodbye to the things we love, to the things that make us happy, to the things that scintillate our earthly skin. But it’s never “goodbye”, only “until next time.”

“There is no real ending. It’s just the place where you stop the story.”
~Frank Herbert

We are all extraordinary and the lives we paint are meant to bring shivers up any spine for the power and energy we emit. This is the shine of our radiant, authentic souls that only borrow our human body for the experiences we create. Only by diving through fire, dancing with ecstasy, and climbing through pain can true enlightenment–ever so brief– be touched. Then we must do it all over again–begin…again and again. I can accept this. I can accept this because this is the only promise I am owed. The promise that my life is meant to circle every color of the rainbow, every shade of light emitted through the living prism–birth, growth, death and rebirth. I am evolution for stagnation is a soul’s death beyond measure. The only thing required of me, the only challenge I must face with every pregnant, beautiful breath, is to trust, trust the undeniable unpredictable, love it even. Trust…trust that no matter what stops, what fails, what rises, or falls, that it will all soon begin again. There is no end, no finishing line, just one beautiful, sparkling spiral.

“A Woman in harmony with her spirit is like a river flowing. She goes where she will without pretense and arrives at her destination prepared to be herself and only herself ”

~ Maya Angelou

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Happy New Year and much love to you all….

xoxo

Unfettered

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Since I last wrote in this space, summer has settled in without hesitation. Spring was a wet blur and humidity has taken up residence here in Colorado. So much has shifted here, so much to tell you. The only perennial promise is the blooming of my beautiful children. Oh how they have changed!! When I began writing at Wander Wonder Discover my children were 5 and 7 years old. The girl is now 10 and the boy turns 13 next month. Our moments are a complete mix of magical, terrifying, mysterious, gorgeous, mind-boggling, boisterous, and ground-breaking moments. His entering into adolescence has prompted internal remodeling from me once again, reminding me that parenthood is meant to challenge everything we know about ourselves. What worked two years ago may not work anymore, and I sometimes feel I stepped into the Matrix. By the way, the walls are lined with ones and zeros.
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walk Maya

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Many of us soul-seekers have written about shedding skin, learning and becoming, moving closer to the likeness of our true, creative, and bare-boned selves. Rightly so as most of us have perfected the art of reflecting in these spaces. I have been thinking about this again as little crumbs of childhood insecurities have been surfacing lately. I’ve been wondering if we truly and completely can let go of these old ghosts. Like most scars, they heal only in tiny bits over time. Like grief, they may never really disappear, but just fall quiet until something stirs the memory in our fibers again. Each tiny bit of healing is a long-walked milestone though isn’t it, a secret passage to another well-earned ounce of strength. For this, I will take my crumbs. For this, I will walk as long as I need to.
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Since birth we are clothed with layers of layers of our imposing environments. We are meant to trust the things that nurture and love us. Often times though the things that serve us walk hand in hand with the things that don’t, and so we unintentionally absorb unkindnesses along the way. It is the way of this human life and for those of us that are aware, we spend the remaining years of our lives undoing whatever damage has been done. If we have children, we do our best not to heap our own layers of sediment onto them. It’s an ongoing process of “cleaning house”, peeling the ugly wallpapers and shedding light on uncomfortable corners that were once useful but no longer serve anymore. By doing this, we hope and pray that they have a better chance at knowing themselves sooner than we did.
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Even on this winding road of challenge and change, gratitude is always close by, scenting my days with the perfume of lightness and grace. I had another birthday last month and refined versions of self continue to emerge. Two missions set in January have been realized, dreams that required energy, focus, faith, and the complete rejection of fear. I’m learning there are several pathways that lead us to our dreams, but we need courage and resilience to find them. We are magnetized to the unfettered greatness within as long as we ignore the voices that ever tell us otherwise. Alas, never an easy task, but not impossible either.

I wonder as I finish this post, if the blogging platform has actually passed its time. The days of sitting, reading and writing post after post are long gone for me and I can almost feel my brain shifting to a quicker processing speed, needing shorter and faster accounts on everything. The poetry of long narratives in blogging might be fading, yet I want to cling desperately to them as there is still so much to write, recount and reflect upon. There was once such sweetness in reading and writing in these spaces everyday, sharing our lives with other blogging friends, and I can’t recall the last time I lavished in this. I miss it, I miss it very much. And just so you know, I miss you, too….

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much love to you
XOXO

My best

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They are answers that can shapeshift with the priority of my days. Most of the time it’s clear when I’m at my best and what my purpose is, but there are other days when I wonder if my energies lie in the right places. I do know that if we look deeply and honestly, and most importantly, without prejudice, the answers are there for the plucking.

Since January, since setting my visions, the red fires of intention and determination have burned bright and steady. Some visions have already have been met or have altered, and they are meant to if I am attentive to my inner truths. Scatteredness is a given sometimes, but synchronicity holds space here, too, with many sentient moments giving meaning to every ounce of energy I offer. This can’t be wrong, it just can’t, not when I know my children are content, thriving, and finding their place among all things. I must believe that perhaps I am, too.

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Today I believe that everything I’ve done has held meaning for everything that I am today. That I am at my best today, and am even better than yesterday. I look at what I do with loving, kind eyes and realize that I am changing the world with every move I make, with every person, animal, thing and moment I connect with, small, large, old, young and everything in-between. What if we all believed this all the time, that we were changing the world with each moment we lived? Not out of guilt, pressure, shame or perfection, but out of love and intention, kindness and compassion. How different would our actions be at any given moment?

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I do know what I do best. I love and listen, I offer and give, I wait and see, I lift and hold, and I love all over again. And the wings of my little ones are finding strength and momentum to push air and take space, working to raise themselves off the ground. I see it happening, I see them believing in themselves. I see them rising above their own limitations and I know that my best perhaps was good enough all along. Mother, it is the one role that has chiseled and defined me more than any other. The fabric of this archetype extends far into the other roles I hold close like wife, friend, educator, therapist, dreamer, dancer, creator. I am comfortable here and I am really good at this. This is who I am. It is why I have the courage to make the decisions I have to make, and part of why my children are becoming who they are. I say this today because most other days I don’t. How often do many of us not recognize the strongest parts of who we are and choose to categorize ourselves by what we are not? I am guilty.

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It is in our nature you know, to say the quiet, tasteless things we say to ourselves. A terrible habit that takes hold in each of us in so many different ways. We don’t need to listen, I promise you, we don’t. And when we choose to not listen, ego’s sticky-fingers begin to release its grasp on the voicebox of our soul.

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There are so many things that make sense now, so many events, decisions, and choices, all laced with luck, chance and kismet. Every single one, a pathmaker that’s left a winding, sometimes treacherous, unpredictable, breathtaking, rewarding, eternally wild and wooded trail. It’s a trail that is all mine, an adventure and an odyssey, one that I may write about one day. Until then, I will just keep doing my best, I will let the stongest parts in me show me what is next…

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Much love to you
xoxo

Walk don’t run.

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July was a solid month of summer joy. With alternating rows of high heat, rain, cool evenings and persisting humidity, July defined our days and served us spontaneity and unpredictability on a platter. Instagram has been my main mode of connection, and if we are friends on Instagram I apologize for the repeats, but I can’t help lingering on the square boxes of delicious color, space and moment, mine and yours.

As August steps in, I see a boy soon turning 12 and starting middle school. I nearly lost my breath in dreaded despair last night as I realized (again) that he is slipping from my fingers with each passing day. He is texting me regularly now (though 3 feet from me) with his newly acquired iPod and the mixture of feeling has me thinking I’m bipolar. I suffer quietly among the frays of his passing childhood and shriek for the future he heads towards. I pray please walk, don’t run towards that future my son….I manage only by the dance that rips me from these moments and casts me among the weightless planes of utter joy. Only when I stop do I remember the earthly committments I am still bound to. Only when I stop do I remember where I am or what time it is.

As school begins in a matter of weeks, so does a fresh year of volunteer responsibilities. It is how I stay close to my children you see….And somewhere before that madness begins is a short trip to NYC with the kids, a week alone with the Mister to wander and drive remote Adirondack roads, and a visit with one of my most cherished friends and her family in the hills of New Hampshire. I will squeeze in reading, hiking, writing and exploring. I will steal moments by way of image capturing and posting (provided we have signal). I will seek the memory makers by thriving in the senses and reflecting in the silence. I will do all I can to savor this time by walking, not running, to the very next thing.

I hope you join me in that walk…

Much love…

xoxo

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Fireflies

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I watched through the window as I sat eating lunch with the boy. An older couple, maybe in their early 50’s, stood embracing each other like two vines entwined, both shiny and smiling, both happy and full of emotion. I swear an invisible hand reached through that window and brushed the beat in my chest. For a moment, they stopped long enough to look at each other lovingly and kiss, then they embraced again. How lucky am I to observe such tenderness, such mutual adoration, and how much of a sap am I that my eyes softened into blurry bits before I tore them away (feeling like the guilty voyeur that I was). I clasped that happy moment between both hands like capturing a firefly, even if it belonged to someone else. The light remains with me still.

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Mesmerizing, happiness is that fleeting flicker of light that travels across the bridge between our eyes.  A tireless hunt we engage in as we look towards our weekends, our trips, the things we own or don’t own, our accomplishments, our time alone, our time with friends. The fade eventually emerges though, waiting in the silken shadows beneath every coin.

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I don’t tell my children anymore that all I want is for them is to just be happy, because I am not sure yet if they know how true happiness is found. It’s not by getting what we want, this I know. As lovely and delightful it is to get what we want, this kind of joy is never the kind that lasts. Evident in the epilogue of when we get “stuff” or have finished a vacation or a long weekend, in the gray silence and dark blue void of sadness, like we’ve been cut off abruptly from our drug. This kind of joy is only the filling of an insatiable mug, a thirst that’s never quenched.

True joy and happiness has empty pockets, is without gift tags, labels, trophies or titles. We find it by scaling the deep ravines that are sure to collapse beneath our feet. We find it by knowing when to sway gently with the wind and the water that will slap us across the face, and when to resist the current that rages to knock us down. Somehow, the longer we endure, the more we learn to live. The more fears we face, the more truths we comprehend, the more obstacles we choose to leap, the easier happiness tends to make itself known. When this happens, the light we search comes alive in every direction, fireflies everywhere! Couples across the room in an embrace, a man in the poetry aisle wanting to share his favorite poet, an old green chevy hidden behind a tree, a log trapped in the gorgeous spider web of ice, children with sloppy ice cream dripping off their noses…

Fireflies, everywhere…do you see them?

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much love to you on this wintery day

xoxo