The line of light under the door.

There is a tiny door in my mind now, behind which there are things I do not wish to even deign to imagine. I prefer to keep it firmly shut. I turn towards the light instead. I cannot see clearly looking into such dazzling light but I am going to trust that walking forward into it will not be a bad move. However, what is the substance of this blinding good light? How do I add to it and not dim it?

What creates peace in this world? Is losing my temper with my kids while I'm trying to do any other thing (especially unrealistic-in-the-first-place things) disrupting peace really or just a natural part of this journey? Sarcasm? Rolling my eyes? Is keeping anger to myself violent? I know these actions and copious examples of inaction can diminish peace in a thousand splintering ways but where is the line between that and violence, between violence and no violence being committed? I already know the answer but I don't always act like I know. There is no line or if there is, it is a swervy, curvy, blurry one. And I have to be diligent everyday to ensure that peace means more than no violence. We all do.

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A Small Craft

I accompanied my mother-in-law to an appointment this week. On the paper, preparing her for the appointment, it invited her bring along something to read or a small craft. As soon as I heard about this invitation to bring a small craft into an otherwise austere waiting area, my mind started to do bouncing somersaults in many different directions. Googly eyes? Glue gun? Feathers? Play clay? Friendship braclets?

The words coming out of my mouth

These days I wear a mask. I don't wear a mask all of the time, only when I am indoors or unavoidably up close with people who I don't usually interact with. I wear one when I am ordering things, or buying things or attempting to enjoy some form of public entertainment. I cannot rely on reading others lips. My lips are hidden. We ask each other to repeat. We move our eyes or our whole heads to try and enunciate more clearly. I say fewer words, more carefully chosen words behind the mask. Sometimes that is helpful, sometimes that just causes more confusion. I walked into the woods. I did not need a mask. I only saw a few other people and they were distanced. Masks were unnecessary. After so much talking and not talking and avoiding talking out loud I am forced to examine when I speak and when I choose not to. This is not a bad thing since I can be an insufferable chatter box, just a new thing for my brain to adjust itself to. When I am not standing aro...

Bringing her back

As the first anniversary finally passed, I exhaled. The sadness still nibbled away at the edges, but not clawing deep into my chest like it had been with varying degrees of ferocity in the twelve months previously. She died in early summer, so I plunged into ocean and lakes and ate fruit straight from the plant. The grief became softer, the folk songs carried me along in the potato patch we planted in therapy. But then, I started to miss her. The deep grief kept her so close and now as the pressure eased, so did her presence. I held my breath and decided to be really sad this morning just to see her face. To sit in her prescence. My breath became jagged as I cried for her, for us. This Taylor Swift cover by Marc Maron broke me right open this morning. Here's to staying broken open enough to keep your loved ones close. And then, I walked into her garden. The garden she envisionied, planted over and over and still pre...

Growing Versions

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