rabid bits of time

I’ve been processing time.

I think about it a whole lot. If you’ve ever read this blog, you know I’m always rambling on about brevity and grace and how messy all of this is.

There is so much going on in the broader scheme of things that worry me — that load me down and sometimes it feels like the light can barely get in. It’s an anxiousness. Perhaps even a restlessness that I feel — like a bad dream where you open your mouth to talk and nothing comes out.

This is the dark part. How people don’t recognize their dark parts is beyond me. I am in a constant state of sinking into my body and learning about myself in ways I wouldn’t if I didn’t allow myself to wander around.

I wish I was easier to understand, sometimes. I wish I didn’t speak out as much about things people don’t agree with or comply to the standards of my own name.

I sense the sins of a past. All I want to do is cover them in grace and move forward. Being stuck in that life is no way to live. I have made bad decisions based on being deeply emotional and full of that urge of wanting to be right, and wanting to feel good. We all do that. Then something happens. We change. They change. We get shot out of orbit and find ourselves once again, floating around something that is familiar, but altogether different.

We are not a graceful people. If anything, this past months shows us that there is a force pushing forward and another pushing back. (And I’m not taking sides here.)

I am opening my mind to everything, trying to see the most good, for the most people. To me, some things feel like they’re moving backwards. For others, it looks like things are going forward. This is where I get lost in everything. It’s when I feel the most chaotic and raw.

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God. I have no idea what to do next. Life is mostly simple sounding. We go to work and we come home. Some of us have kids that we take care of — and we do the whole thing over and over again. That is what life mostly is, spotted with bits of sadness and joy and vacations.

We get to have it, though. Just for a little bit. I am not built for changing governments or being in a trench. Truly. I support some people who are, but I’ve always said my place in a revolution is hovering over pots and pans and feeding bellies.

My heart for justice came first out of that. I know that I am not in Calcutta or Chicago anymore. But I am still feeding people, and giving them good memories. I am still caring more than I have to about a silly sandwich and maybe hoping my co-workers still believe in me enough to be a decent leader and friend. These balances are awfully hard.

Most of the time I write I do not come to any conclusions. I don’t have a sense of clarity or any answer that might turn on some switch in my brain.

I write to explore and to explore myself. My little galaxy spinning almost effortlessly in the midst of a vast sea of space and time.

We are moving in rabid bits of time.

It is impossible to know the next step, but we take them regardless.

So, keep pushing on and keep pushing forward. Time has an easier way of moving forward than back. Whatever it is you are hanging on to, it’s time to start loosening your grip. You don’t get a lot of time here.

You are your own little time machine and have the incredible opportunity to use it to the best of your ability.

Open yourself up. Wander around in your own truly unique humanity and let some the light in.

After all, it’s the only way to see where to go next.

past, present and humidity.

My apartment is still so empty.

As I look back a few years, I still imagine the things I used to have. Another home, in another place with another person. Things were so different.

I was on a trajectory to live another life completely.
I guess that’s what I get stuck on from time to time.

My belongings are minuscule, now. Besides the pots and pans, all that resonates in my new space is the silence of missing a person. Borrowed and hand me down furniture. All of it, I am so thankful for.

It still smells old, here. Which I hope changes in the next months.
It’s okay, too. These are old bones, I can’t ask them to change, only just to accept my naivety and hipster music.

Sometimes, I feel it rise in my belly. That panicky feeling of being alone. The great weight I miss being intertwined with; learning, touching, growing.

Sundays are for sweet, soft songs and kissing of the same nature.
I realize my lack of physical touch has been missing. Not getting weird, here. Only exploring the depths of the things I didn’t know I needed then, but know I absolutely cannot do without. Everyone deserves this kinda thing.

It’s easy to want this right away.

That was the hardest part. The part I was so angry with for so long. That was the part that was taken away from me, and I hated it. Those are some wounds, like the burns on my arms, that will always leave their mark.

When I feel alone…that is the hardest part.

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But I allow myself to feel, as I do. I feel the weight of our adult choices and the fine balance of fight or flight. The presence that sits with me in my sadness is here, now. That’s sort of when I lose it. I feel safe. That’s when I let out those big, heavy ones. I don’t just let it go, it starts small and sometimes gets ferocious.

I feel safe, though. I’ve learned how to feel safe when these waves start to approach. I let them wash over me and I get the luxury of being completely self-absorbed, and I get to wander around in my depth.

It feels like my very soul is sitting next to me, that person who is pure love and quiet and peace. I think some of that God-spirit stuff is there too.

I turned my air conditioner off, because it’s a little too loud. Outside I can hear the birds propping back on their branches after a week full of heavy rain. The humidity sneaks through the cracks of this old place, and I wake up somedays feeling damp, though it’s all in my head.

I sometimes fantasize about mountain living in Italy. Or a getaway cabin in Vermont, where I jokingly tell people I will live someday, making cheese and cooking grits for my kids.

oh, but you are free…dear one.

I hear that after all is said and done. I think, if I can change that much in five years, what will this year bring, and the next! It all becomes very clear that I have so, so much here.

I suppose starting over a few different times in the past 10 months has taken a toll. I hold firmly to my constants, and loosely to the things in between.

I start up my air condition again, because there’s 95% humidity outside. It reminds me of my place in this world.

Subject to the elements.

People, time, and nature.

I welcome it all.

I open my heart to all these things because they are important.

I’m living here, now. And as they say,

there is no time like the present.