I try to stretch into my life, to catch a ride on a cloud, smooch a child, digest a delicious meal, lengthen a muscle deeply in a hot room, stroke my husband’s back, taste ice-cold water from a spring, feel my skin, show someone love until it aches in my heart, loan something to a neighbor, give something away I still like. Be me. ...
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alarm contacts on weigh myself get dressed in the dark find shoes in the dark grab clean clothes for later go downstairs let the dog out grab a food bar fill my water bottle with ice and water drink some water refill the bottle coat on pack my clothes in my yoga bag get in the car drive to yoga eating 1/2 a food bar and drinking water while I drive sometimes playing music anticipation finding a parking place driving all the way through the spaces so I am ready to leave later grabbing my bag pulling my keys out of my pocket to scan my yoga tag taking off my shoes and finding a cubby stashing my stuff in the locker room getting my mat, yoga mat, and extra towel refilling my water bottle again here I...
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If I died tomorrow, or even today in a fiery hot car crash and people arrived at my funeral, talked about how I mattered, what would they say? Would they mention how busy I was raising kids and driving carpools? Would they talk about how I made school lunches and got dinner on the table every night? Would they talk about how I redecorated my parents’ home, how I helped with their farm finances, helped them buy a car, cleaned their garage? Would they talk about how much I loved my family? How I worried about them in the middle of the night? How I was so incredibly in love with my husband? How I loved my kids with all my heart until it hurt? Would they talk about how I helped my clients with their businesses? How I helped them strategize and improve the bottom line with almost limitless zeal through long term relationships, love and tender care? Would they talk about how I was sometimes bitchy and cranky? How I would get upset by injustice? How I would rattle cages and sometimes annoy even those who love me? Would my life, my legacy, my journey be viewed as enough by those who mourned? Would they talk about the feelings close to my heart or far away? Would my life of toting water, buying bootleg raw milk, and cooking for my family be enough? It is enough for...
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Since I first brought her home, Been surprised by the intensity of my love. I didn’t know I could love that deeply. When she was little and would get hurt, Been surprised by the sickness in the pit of my stomach. Now she is living on her own, Been surprised by the sense of well-being since she is home visiting. I didn’t know there’d be a little worry in the back of my mind No matter where she is or where I am, I am conscious of her in my subconscious. Been surprised it is there for her all the time. I wonder what new lessons about love I will have Been surprised by what I learned from this creature, my daughter. I didn’t know if I would love my boys the same way. They are so different and a unit–twins. Been surprised that I love them every bit as much–but each love is different. It was the newness of the eldest child that first taught me about love. My learning now comes from daily practice of carrying them with me in my...
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Rebellious ones write poetry that doesn’t rhyme, They ride dark horses through the land of joy and plenty. They re-invent wheels, organize troops , and accomplish the impossible every day. They are visionaries, rebels, convicts, actors, saints, thrill seekers, rabble-rousers, children, and circus performers. At best they test the waters for good and expand the consciousness of nations and facilitate lasting change. At worst they court evil, dance in darkness, cause harm, abuse substances, are opinionated and hateful, are self-righteous and are not righteous at all. As a group they are spice to the bland food of human mediocrity, a private butchery against the tyranny of apathy, and the joyful part of the chorus. They are both bad and good and everything in between. The revolutionaries are heroes when their side wins. The change of consciousness of a nation never occurs without someone being willing to challenge the status quo. Traitors are martyrs from the other side of the war. So, I wonder, can rebellion also be quiet? I picture Gandhi and his robes and his quiet rebellion changing the consciousness of a nation. I hope that I can learn to be a quiet rebel. Not going to war but edging my way toward peace. Knowing that a loving place awaits me when I rebel against anger and judgement and walk with acceptance and love. I want to choose a quiet path, knowing I am by nature a heretic, a changer, a catalyst, and a powerful force for change in my circle. I flaunt the rules and color outside the lines. Sometimes I don’t even color on the page. I want to help people see endless possibilities for light and love in their...
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Beautiful day full of silky hot strands of sunshine in the air Watching my children exploring, making a limbo game from a fallen tree Taking off their shoes to tip-toe into the water Recklessly hanging upside down from the play structure. “Mom, can you take my picture?” they yell. I fill with pleasure just watching them play. Soon their little bodies will be brown from exploring in the sun. Kissed by the light with a loving residue left behind as the brown of summer fun. I sit, talking to my grown-up daughter feeling strangely like there is something I should be doing but it is just the memory of the busy week. I feel my body start to unwind. I yawn. “Let’s go get ice cream, ” I say. The crowd goes...
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