Christmas Soundtrack

If "Love is touching souls"

 Surely you touched mine

Cause part of you pours out of me

In these lines from time to time

Oh, you're in my blood like holy wine

You taste so bitter and so sweet

Oh I could drink a case of you darling

And I would still be on my feet

I would still be on my feet...

Miss Tennessee

You took my hopes,
My love, my joy,
And now you want
To have my night times.
Please... stay out of my dreams.

Rules

I won't forget the beauty of one year ago. I won't forget the sights, the music, the worn frosty faces, the blanket threads on the rattiest couch, the lights strung up in buckets... & I won't forget the hope. I also won't forget tonight, where I broke a bitty rule, and drove and parked and spied the footprint of a carpenter, so lovely in his ways. Wow, I thought then, and wow, I think now. Sometimes we just have to break the rules, because things like this are worth it, and love really does transcend law, and covers over a multitude of wrongs.

Clouds and Valleys, Thorns and Rubble

Usually, during the day, clouds bring darkness; but at night, they've been making the sky brighter. They reflect the moon, & light up the whole heavens. In this valley where heaviness looms, sometimes a beam of light will be cast down into even the darkest cavern, and it allows for a type of smile that I have only rarely felt. Amidst woe, joy is treasured all the more. I'm finding beauty in this I did not know. The One who can take a shadowy cloud, and use it to light up an evening sky, deserves my confidence. As I trust him, I am also holding fast to these words once spoken by Lincoln: "We can complain that rose bushes have thorns, or we can rejoice that thorn bushes have roses." Beauty has not departed, it's only become more real contrasted against the rubble.

5 became 6, and 2 become 1 (my kind of math)

For many ages, the universe has spun, people have come and gone, traded, explored new lands, written poetry, laughed and cried, sailed, and gone to school, built cities, and bridges, told stories, drank coffee, created empires, sewed blankets, and skinned potatoes on the front porch. 

Today, amid all the hustle and bustle, and through all the long lines and genealogies, two paths converged, enabling two lovers to watch a sunrise, and spend the day together. At the end of it, by a bonfire, and seashells, and dolphins, and hooting owls, they decided to marry, and in so, walk together, throughout the rest of their days.

This evening, my dearest little brother asked his sweetheart to be his always. Perhaps against all the buzz of the ages, the universe allows itself to pause in moments like this. Things of great beauty require acknowledgment and attention. And what greater force than love to stop time and all it's chaos, to cast a sliver of hope and light deep into the cosmos? 

Bright mercy, and gladness, rejoicing, and miracles are all alive today. I only hope that Pat will grow to treasure this woman more with each passing day, and make her feel as loved and valuable as she really is, because he just hit the jackpot. I mean, she did alright too, I guess. :-) Hurray for happy endings... and beautifully merry beginnings!

Falling...

Colorful leaves are lining the sidewalks again. I cannot help the flood of memories that accompanies this season. It was then, when the earth was cold and dry and brown that our little green plant was given life, and began to grow. Against even the odds of the cold, darkening days, our little sprout blossomed lovely and hopeful, as if spring were already in it's branches.

We whispered words to each other, excited and full. We walked for miles, with the whole country between us, but we held each other's hearts so dearly near, that we were not alone. We said how if life would separate us, we would surely find each other again... Even if it meant living for years in a little hermit's shack... on a jagged coast. We said a great many precious things... We wrapped up our words in tenderness, and optimistic expectancy. We believed.

For whatever reason, it's falltime once more, and again, we're miles apart. As I look back on the sturdy shoot that began to grown, I feel it's roots, deeper in me, than I ever knew they could be. What is left of it then, besides these, and the memory of shimmering days? Is all that remains, a single falling fiery orange-red leaf? When it hits the ground, will it be buried, like all the rest? Perhaps our plant is tattered and dying, and turning all manner of colors like an autumn fire... I cannot say, and only the great Gardener knows. But I will say, that if it is, I have truly never seen a more beautiful fall-leaf, and have never know a deeper crimson hue.

A Waiting Faith

If only you could look into the inside of my heart - like you once did - you would see what gardens grow for you. 

A Consession

Traces and signs and blessings from God may offer full proof of his existence. And they do, to me. But, "The vestiges of God aren't God." A friend told me. Seeing a fingerprint is surely one thing - but feeling a hand brushed against one's forehead is quite another. Are the vestiges supposed to be enough? Even the blessings only quench the thirst for a little while. There must be a better way to interact with the Truth. A stronger way to love. I believe I could collect a library of bird artifacts, but not until I had an actual canary in my closet, could I ever hear it's song.

What remains.

Beauty remains.

Hope remains.

Joy in this grey day.

Giddy sips of warm coffee.

Cozy resilience, making little efforts.

I can listen to Miss Marie Andrews, and 

know that true beauty will ascend struggle.

A fire burns away, leaving white ash, concealing sculpted glass,

That drips still a bit... 

I don't feel I see God in every moment, but sometimes, there are glimpses, and when they come, I will thank Him. The Truth is never tied up with threads of despair. Unravel my parts, and make sturdy spools of the things that will remain. 

Immature Post

There are some things that must be said of several recent occurrences...

I just have to record this, because it's the weirdest thing ever and it's never happened to me before. Yesterday I ate a sandwhich, and then I blew my nose, and I BLEW OUT A HUNK OF BREAD. What the heck?! I didn't even feel it go into my nose, I just looked at this big booger in my tissue, and realized, upon closer inspection, that it was actually not a booger, and in 

fact bread. What is this life!?!

Secondly, earlier in the week, I went to an allergist, where they pricked my back, and after a careful study of it, proclaimed that I was, amongst other things, most severely allergic to dust-mite-poop. This was sad news, as the little devils are most hard to escape unless you sleep on a sheet of aluminum, so I've spent yesterday and today undustifying my cabin. This included getting an allergy mattress cover, and pillowcases, washing everything in hot water and getting rid of oodles of hanging fabrics and excess crap, oh and vacuuming for the first time since January (I usually just sweep my carpet - ok, that sounds way grosser now that I've written it). But the whole point of recording all of this, is that I can report after all of it, that my room is a much nicer place to be. Simplifying to the things we actually really want and like makes us feel more connected to each little thing, because it's made the cut. My mind excels in order and aesthetics and sentimentality. So, now I have these things, and sneeze-free too!

Lastly, I was babysitting today, a little bundle of angry-bovine infected cuteness. (She has hand, foot and mouth disease - but I call it mad-cow) She totally was a mad cow today too, but that's besides the point. She was emotionally all over the place, and didn't know WHAT she wanted. Gosh, the things we can finally see in ourselves when we look into others. But that is also besides the point. The POINT is that some house cleaners came over. One was the sweetest,  w i d e s t,  friendliest, toothless Mexican mama, and was along with her husband, and teenage daughter. The woman was so sweet, and an essential cooing, cheek-pinching abuella with little Zoe, she just had that touch. At one point, she even made her stop crying (because I wouldn't let her keep eating cat-food - I know, I'm cruel).  Well, when the house-cleaners left, I went inside and found this beautifully type-written note card that had a Ralph Waldo Emerson quote on it:

"Write it on your heart that every day is the best day in the year."

I literally gasped and such a great cloud of sunset-colored hope filled me up. Some words, and some placements, and some people have a way of hitting you so hard, just right. I don't know if this was left by the cleaners, or if they found it tidying up, but either way, it was purposely placed, and my ladies and my gentlemen, it got me right in the pot-bellied mad-cow bull's-eye!

Of all the prayers to answer, GOD, LET. THIS. BE. TRUE!!!!!!!!!

Song

You said you had a song to play me. I was both nervous and excited. You said it was the truest one you'd ever written. You strummed a little -  and I could tell it would be sad, weighted with heartbreak and discomfort... But while also ringing with lovely bells of truth. You said, don't be sad, not completely, because at the end of it, it turns into "The Universe" by Gregory Alan Isakov.

A mean old church lady said we had to get out of the sanctuary, and find somewhere else to play. She led me to a room off to the side, and you said you would follow. I waited there a long time. With each passing minute I grew more anxious, fearful you would never come. At this moment, too, I started to feel the morning reach inside my dream, trying to wake me. But I fought to stay asleep, to hear you. I placed my ear against the wall, hoping you were somewhere out there, playing it and I could hear it's faint echo. Slowly, the morning light was too strong, and poured in on my face, and I couldn't stay asleep anymore. I woke up.

I know it was just a dream, 

but somehow this morning, 

I'm waiting still to hear it.

In not being defeated.

There is a pendulum, 

Swaying from corner to corner,

on one pass it hisses: "You are nothing",

but after "believe in great things"

Knowing both will always be there,

I'm choosing to listen to the voice that ignites

Bravery and belief.

I won't hibernate,

I won't hide, or sink my head low.

There is still good in today.

And each day after that,

And a parade of tasks awaits,

That are all good and worthy,

And beckoning us to partake.

Because giving up could never 

produce a better way.

Turn these sorrows into strangers...

What else is a miracle if not the day all our demons are driven away and all our doubts turn to light? 

we'll turn these sorrows into strangers

buy them a ticket on the train

drop 'em off at the station 

watch 'em ride far away

far away . . .

On drought, and on today.

I'm sitting here, Tuesday at noon, eating a bucket of prunes.
They're actually quite good, the things that bring health to your body. I'm growing to like these sorts of things more and more, as I realize their direct effect in my blood and bones and brain cells.

But that's not the reason I'm writing today.
I'm only writing because I feel 50. Or like I've lived already 50 years. But in the best possibly way. I feel I've hiked Snyder's trail, the one in the backcountry, and I'm on one of those windy grassy knolls near the top, overlooking the valley. Thank God for moments like this.

I don't want to take any droplet of Grace for granted. Lately they've been coming in great rushes. Or maybe they just feel that way after living in this land of drought. I walked by the fountain two days ago. It was dry. It has to be right now. I understand that. But I know as real as day that once it held water, and two soaked dancing bodies hoping so hard and so truly.

The dinosaurs died. I know that. Maybe they were in the desert too long without water, and they just keeled over and were snuffed out. I know that happens sometimes. It's just it doesn't look like that will happen now.

Now seems to be the time for drives alone, listening to girls singing about staying gold, and silver linings while passing cows, and crickets at night. A time for biking to the store to buy ingredients for a soup to make and eat alone, by a candle, and listen to TEDtalks. We have to be okay with this. We have to be ok with life.

Maybe that's why I feel 50. Im getting to be more ok. And when I cry these days, yes, sometimes it's because I'm reminded of hurt and pain, but more often it's the beauty of a thing that touches me deep, and cracks at my soul. Maybe maturity isn't so much "getting over things", but rather "not letting them overtake you". And focusing always, on what's good.

Maybe we'll be dinosaurs for now and as long as it takes. Here we are wandering, making a life for ourselves in the sandstorms. I'm an active dinosaur. An ernest hopeful one, that believes with any next gust, a rain will sprinkle, a bud will grow for us to eat and we'll keep on keepin on, living. And maybe one day even dancing again in enough water to fill a fountain.

Don't ya think real living requires just as much craziness as sanity?
I'd like to think so.

Woulda been the nicest things to find you, snuggly. All waiting for me an curled up. Cozy-like. Just you. Even asleep. I just wanted you and nobody else. To be breathing the same air. Sharing the same dream bubbles, overhead. Yes. Thank you.  You are the most specialest. That's what I was looking for. That's what I would have welcomed. Oh well. Sleep is good, too. And I pray to find you, snuggly, in my dreamplace.

And by love, we'll steer towards the dawn.

We're in a boat my darlin',

Amidst waves we bob up and down.

A compass is ours, and a wheel and sail;

Wind and water will flow all around.

In the scariest times, I'll cling to you

Through the storms, and you'll cling to me.

And we shall hold fast to our anchor of hope,

As we sail all the seven seas.

Worship and Rejuvination

The sun appears and sets. Tides rise and fall. Plants are watered and grow. We sleep. We eat. We breathe.  Looking around we see that life is propelled by receiving, resting, repeating. In this alone, there are a multitude of truths.

This morning, I've been brought to realize how every bit of our aspects fall under this. A plant will die if it does not receive the water offered it. I've wrestled often with the concept of worship. Not because I didn't believe it was vital and important, but because I did not comprehend that it is something that grows from inside us, not a mold we try to fit into, hoping our hearts follow. Maybe it's unaustere to say that it may look different for everybody. However I am convicted that though our expressions may very, the core of what we are doing is unifying.

I know that when I am most aware of what I have been given in gratitude, I have the most peace. Today, I've been brought to see that when I take time, to be mindful... to see my need, and recognize how it is abundantly filled, I am nourished.

So much of our existence is out of our control. But we can stand there with our arms crossed, refusing to eat - to stay unhealthy, only to slowly die. Or we can take time, breath in and out, fill our senses with all that is goodly right, and in a conscious moment, be thankful to the most sustaining gracious Giver, for all of it. Right now to me, this is worship.

I know we're not the ones allowed to choose. But being here, Sunday Morning, covered in coconut oil, listening to Daughter, flitting about between my cottage walls, meditating on my very inside opening up to the Father in thankfulness, realizing He is why I am alive, I know this is a start.

It will all be alright.

Building a little fairy village today, I realized...
Everybody is building something. I worry though, I'll have children,
and I won't know the right questions to ask them. They'll grow,
and keep so much inside their heads. You have childen - put them into
the world - so that they won't ever need to be alone inside themselves.
I don't want to fail.

Sometimes I worry so much.
Sometimes peace is a river.
I have no wise thing to say.

Needle in a haystack.

So thankfully in love. So glad for feeling safe, and secure and chosen.

A lit match is all that's needed.

July 4th, 2014, 5:31pm 

(Pacific Standard Time)

Such a great many things

We've been through,

Such a vast amount ahead

But look at us here,

Look at me, look at you.

I see you there, smiling,

In this very cosmic moment,

because I'm smiling with you.

Two state borders separate us

But I am beside you

With hope in my heart..

And we don't need

Fireworks tonight

Because the tiny changes

God is making in our hearts

Are quite enough.

We don't need to watch

Dynamite burn up in the sky,

But I will put another pinecone

on the fire to stay up with you

We only need embers, to light

up our next step...

And I see mine...

It is to walk, still smiling

Towards you, while loving...

The inspiration is back.
And it came in realizing
and remembering that
The impossible is quite
within our reach!

Dream

I saw a million faces down by the sea,

In the sand, each grain differently etched

Cozied up to rocks and seagrass strands,

Not caring about where they were

Or why, or how, or any such thing.

And I looked so longingly for the face 

of my own heart, in the the watery film,

For I knew it once. I know I did.

In shadow and in light, it didn't matter,

for I felt it's constant beating with each breath.

But it seems to have been burried.

And now the harder I look,

the more lost I become.

The deeper the mud sinks.

So, I stop looking.

Because coming up short,

after each endevour

is just too painful a thing.

I want to, I want to, though.

How do you ride a bicycle on a tightrope over the grand canyon when you can't even walk and you don't know what a bicycle is because you were raised in the North Pole and they only have sleds, there?

I hear you. I see you.

There's a dizziness in me, 

needing stilling

& a certain silence is necessary.

At times looking away

as the needle goes in,

or the bandaid's ripped off

can make the process easier.

I am distracting myself, honestly.

But I trust healing is taking place.

A watched pot never boils...

Or a million other excuses.

Just let me heart take a bitty nap.

When it wakes,

It will know your arms 

and hands and soul, again

I'm sure.

Beauty

        This week, I'll be an explorer with those I love.
I'm looking forward to crossing the Sierras and seeing great tall pines, the cold wind blow in the evening treetrops peeking at the last bit of sun.. and visiting northernly fish and looking through clear water down to pebbly lake-bottom, and being reminded that love is real and all around us, in the air, and in those we care for.  C.S. Lewis says it far better than I:

"The [things] in which we thought the beauty was located will betray us if we trust to them; it was not in them, it only came through them,and what came through them was longing.  These things... are good images of what we really desire; but if they are mistaken for the thing itself they turn into dumb idols, breaking the hearts of their worshippers. For they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited."

        Dear God-Above, 

May we finally arrive in this country and explore it all our live-long lives.

May 20th

Had a peach smoothie today.

Got Mountainman crying like old hounds in the hills in the background.

Wind howled so hard at the waterfront, sand blew into the stroller.

Zoe learned a somersault.

The way I see it, there ain't any boxes of love left to open for anybody but my one love. But if I should never open another, even for him, I shall be content having received the treasure of getting to go with him once.

And also, if when he's an old man, he finds an old postcard and decides to send it my way to reconnect, I will look up his nursing home, and go to him and find him in his wheel-chair and I will plant a kiss on his forehead, and say: "My dearest darling, I've loved you always." And even if it's just that moment, at the very end, I know I will have experienced a life with a truly rich love.

Call it cheesy. But don't you know cheese is amazing, and without it we wouldn't have pizza? I'm done apologizing for the best thing ever.

Regarding "Always"

I believe in a simple life for us. One where we break bread together each day in thanks, and take walks when the light is nice. Maybe tend a garden in our old age, or if we get tired read a book on an old quilt.. I know beyond all shadows,  that I choose you. I only hope when the time seems right, you can choose me too.

There has surely been a door...

...and I have surely passed through it.
I am no longer concerned with being right,
I am only concerned with loving right.
Thanks to the Maker for giving us hearts,
and Thanks to Him who fills them.

tomorrow we shall be reunited

...minus the chicken.

Proclaimation

I've recently acquired a new tool.

The nicest old lady in a Victorian House handed it to me with a smile of kindess. It is such a gift, one waited and searched for, finally come, in the most perfect manner, as all I had hoped for.

I hope to never abuse it, but gild it skillfully, for many good purposes, pulling tight in the the tug-of-war for good and beauty and usefulness.

As ceremony, let this post be a marker, as the day I was joined by Miss Oliver, my new macbook. May our relationship be prosperous and together may we make much good art and see many dreams of creating realized.

Oh honey, the time is come!

Tonight I baked cookies and payed my traffic ticket and spoke with my brother over the skypewaves. But even in these normal things, I'd like to announce that finally, once again my heart is alive with lovely buzzing and I want to share my stirrings with this world  of whom I have not forgotten my love.

Also, My new shantytown neighbor seems to like arranging the garden  just shy of midnight it seems.