Tag Archives: Gratitude

Some days

Some days 
it feels like
she is the open wound
of the earth,
red raw and bleeding,
washed over and over
by the salty sting
of falling rain.

Cut, grazed and bruised
by a universal pain
that takes a child 
from its mother
or a father from his sons
before they have barely
begun
to talk about this life.

Some days
she doesn’t know how 
to stop 
the bleeding, or
tend the wound
or how 
to pretend anymore
it doesn’t hurt.

Some days
it is all she can do
to butter the bread
put on a smile,
fall into bed,
and practice being
grateful
for it all.

The gap

She felt like she was living somebody else’s life. Or maybe somebody else was living hers.  Or maybe her life was still caught between the two worlds, presuming there were only two.  

Was it everyone’s story at some time, or all times, in their lives? Or was it simply some diagnosable condition, treatable with a little white pill, that every second person seemed to be taking these days? 

Was it the story of her time, the ‘having it all but really having none of it’?  It sounded more likely to be the story of an earlier time when women could only dream of a different life.  

So where did she fit, in this forever dreaming, straining, for some kind of life that didn’t seem to exist, anywhere in her vicinity?  Even as she thought it, dreamt of it, imagined it, even only just a shade of it, she asked herself, instead of reaching for it, toward it, into it, shouldn’t she just be happy with what she had? Because she had a lot.  A lot.  And it wasn’t that she wasn’t grateful for that, she was. And sometimes she felt it, how truly blessed she was, and for a moment, even moments, that was enough.  

And then it would come again, creep in, sneak up, like wind blowing through a tunnel, invisible, until all of a sudden it would chill her to the bone, and she couldn’t remember what it was like to have been warm, or how she ever would be again.

She knew what she wanted, one minute, but the wanting it, and the picture of it, of this longed for life was too much for her, too much to truly contemplate the possibility becoming a reality.  That life, that creation, was for clever people, people who had worked at it their whole lives, had a gift, could remember, and recite even, their first poem or story written at age 6.

It was too late, even though it wasn’t at all. 

Sometimes it hurt, physically, in her chest, the ache for it, the ache of not having it, the gap, like being on one side of the ocean, and her lover, her love, was on the other. But in this case she’d never had the love, only longed for it. She felt like a piece of her was missing, like a puzzle half completed, yet the pieces are lost and she’s looking in all the wrong places. 

So, she leaves it, well she thinks she does, to do what she knows, what she’s good at, so she’s told, what she thinks she enjoys, likes, can call a worthwhile life.  But secretly she worries, all the while, maybe its sucking the life out of her. 

And then she wonders if maybe there’s still time, and a way, to find her life, to push through this world, into the gap, where it’s waiting, this other life, sitting, waiting, for her. Or maybe she’ll spend this life pushing, only to realize, it was here all along.

I want to be kind – last small (HUGE) stone Jan 31

I want to be kind
But not a pushover

I want to be gentle and compassionate
But so often I am just grumpy and irritable

I want to be loving
But too often anger wins

I want to be content
But I am permeated by discontent

I want to be settled
But I seem to crave change

I want to be grateful
But really I want more

I want to be with others
But usually I’m more content alone

I want to be decisive
But it’s hard when faced with a thousand possibilities 

I want to be here
But so often I really want to be there

I want to be happy
But I wonder too much what that really means
to truly be able to claim it

I want to be thin
But I resist the discourses of patriarchal culture 
And pretend to eat what I like

I want to live in harmony and balance 
But how will I recognize them
Without first knowing disharmony and chaos?

I want to be rich
But not at any price

I want to help
But sometimes I just want to sleep

I want to be intelligent, witty and clever
But mostly I just muddle through

I want to be original or grand
Rather than mundane or inadequate
But I’m working on genuine and authentic

Sometimes, I want to be you, or him or her
But always I am just me,
imperfect, whole
and truly blessed.