There are many human-shaped universes
pressed against each other
like soap bubbles
with connections built from delicate fibers
of love and blood
and words spoken softly. I let my love whisper gently and not clamor for attention. You bend an ear to catch
and delicately pick up my thread. This is how the connection is built, like a monolith made from sand.
One tiny speck laid patiently on another. Each gesture, touch and word a brick. Each smile and caress, mortar.
The body is illusion, like the sheen on still water, with a spirit brightly juxtaposed.
This is what love is, the siren call of the soul, mine to yours, and yours to God.
and the rest is only muscle memory.
Ephemeral like a soap bubble, it lives for a time and then fades.
And yet the touch of your hand, your laugh, is my hold on this life. I look for you in every hour and desire this connection.
The divine simplicity of your skin on mine and how your voice serenades me with bliss.
This is how I see you, your hands wrapped around a violin, fingers splayed . Your music bursts note by note, clean and wild.
And flows around me in sweet rhythm.
We make our own divinity from moments like this.
Suddenly struck by how perfection is created from damaged pieces,
a beautiful sculpture carved from flawed wood.
I find myself curved into the hollow of your shoulder,
crying like a wild thing.
A heart broken by beauty and healed again and again.
We are circling what we already know, that beyond this moment there is another and another.
A spiral of significant events that forms pure reason.
Is this real? Are we souls in our infancy waiting for veneration?
I do not believe that time is so linear that we grow from young to old.
but rather abiding in a span of seconds and moments standing still.
And this moment, which seems so fleeting, is eternal.
I would find you again, love, and go where you go.
I will be steadfast and bestow my grace for the asking.
So we let this tenderness ripen, and try not to fear the close of our day.
And we build a dwelling of living connections that mirrors our pristine youth.
With the wisdom to grow innately into horizons of their own.
Not made but born, tenuously fragile and resilient.
This is a gift! A becoming for which we were made.
To keep circling from beginning to end until they are one and the same.
And then to start it all over again.
This is what I’m thinking when I place my hand into yours and let my eyes meet your eyes.
And make my promises before the ones that made me.
That I have loved you before I was sinew and bone and that I will love you after I am dust in the corners.
That I will match my step to yours and fill my ears with your music.
And when it fades I will be at peace.
And wait until it swells again.
Dedicated to Keith.
Here I am again, alone in the moon.
Quiet…hush…silence…the moments slipping by without a word.
Darkness…velvet…the night-time welcoming me again.
This is me, here and now, feeling the wildness that motherhood cannot dim. Wishing for the winds to take me into that luminescent sky.
To shake off my corporeality, the slowness of flesh. Now, not earth mother, not the curve of limbs and lash of hair.
Not the golden goddess from my child’s eye. Now, silver and quick, alone, and unfettered, shriven, free.
It is only me here.
In the space between the people,
there exists a sacred silence.
A memory of some violent change.
That formed a shape of intolerable beauty.
Just barely seen under the light.
Today at work my two bosses were so mean! First they trashed my desk and threw all my mail all over the floor. When I asked them to stop they threw their heads back and screamed while I cleaned it up. Then one of them came over to talk to me, he got too close and accidentally head butted me right in the nose! I really saw stars for a minute, but what could I do? I work for them! Then one of them poked me in the eye with a straw just to see what I would do. I really thought about quitting at that moment but I stuck it out. Then they took their mid day break, I breathed a sigh of relief and quickly cleaned my work area. But to my dismay they came back an hour early and swiftly destroyed every thing I had one. What could I do? I just gave up and sat back and watched them destroy the entire office. I’ll just stay after hours to get everything done just in time for them to ruin it again tomorrow! Ah…just a typical day of working for two little boys!
Did you ever have a day that you wish you could erase? If only I could start the day over and be a better mother. So tonight I have a heavy heart and a big smashing load of guilt. Nothing to do but start over tomorrow and apologize for today.
As the end of the school year comes closer I am forced to recognize that my family will be going through a cataclysmic change, Josh will be graduating and going to college. Just typing that caused my eyes to burn with the threat of tears. I’m. not. ready. Joshua became the child of my heart when he was twelve, and in these last five and a half years I’ve raised him and watched him grow from being a lego-obsessed boy to a girl-obsessed pre adult(although still lego obsessed). It is hard to accept that he won’t be swooping into the house with a million stories to tell me. Damn, there go the stupid tears again. I think the most obvious change will the absence of Bach from that gypsy viola of his. Nobody can do Bach on the viola like he can. His playing has the ability to break your heart and exalt you to the heavens at the same time. One of the things I love about Josh and our relationship is that he loves for his playing to be able to wring tears from soppy, sappy me. When he puts down the bow he glances over to me and if I’m wiping away tears and sniffling he knows he’s nailed it. He is an immensely driven person and very disciplined. His Dad might disagree, but I see it. How hard he tries, how frustrated he gets, how jubilant when it flows. Next year seems like a desolate prospect without our Joshie. And he says” I know you’ll cry and miss me but I’m ready to go” Oh, Josh, last night you said I make the best macaroni salad and my heart swelled with pride. There’s no other compliment that means more. Damn tears.
when I look at my boys, I think of a dylan thomas quote- “and wild boys, innocent as strawberries…” my little boys, climb into my lap and cover me with impossible sweetness, they poop on me as often as they can. and they give me kisses anytime I want them. my wild boys, one running and twirling like a tornado and one watching and waiting until he can keep up with his older brother. the big boys, almost ready for college, still calling my name excitedly. wanting to tell me about their newest video game. wanting to tell me about the girl he likes. God, thank you for boys. thank you for their clumsy, messy, sweetness. please help me raise them into strong kind men. this is an awesome task and one that sometimes wakes me in the middle of the night with worrying. a boy’s soul is so giddy, please help me be equal to this task…
I’ve spent hours (ok maybe just one hour) customizing this blog, making it my own, making it pretty. Now I’m sitting here trying to write my first post and…nothing. Last night I lay in bed and a multitude of ideas kept me awake far longer than I should have been and now…nothing. So I’m free writing, so to speak, while my one year old beats me around the head and neck with a DVD cover. He calls it peek-a-boo, I call it torture. So, lesson learned, next time ideas deluge me in the night I will commit them to paper. At any rate, my aim for this blog is to document my inner life and make it available for the first time ever. To bring my hidden facets out to meet the world and hopefully to find life there. I may be rusty at this writing game and flub my sentence structure but I’m hoping I’ll improve over time. I don’t know if anyone will read this, I’m ambivalent about that actually, but if a stray visitor happens upon me I hope you will leave a word or two saying you were here. Tara