Irreverent Eloquence

is my world out of balance, the stars misaligned? have i neglected some portal, window closing on space and time? this feeling is weighted, grave and ominous, impendent in the room,  unfortunately begotten, intentionally untuned.  I have been remiss, I do acknowledge. I have chosen to be ignorant, I am blissfully incompetent.  perhaps there is a tolerance, a permissive margin? grace period incarnate, a manifested bargain? the entity is unknown, an error uncited, impatience certainly broods, Vague obscurity indeed, no light shining in the fugue.  I will need to decide, seek out or still hide...Am I giving or receiving this silent recompense?

Do you remember you are wild? Wayward and cunning,  lusting for adventure... You need to let the sun in. Throw open the window, the breeze beckons with allure. You are indeed a wanton,  that smirk says you are always sure. There is no mirror where you are going. You need not tame the curls,  let them blow long and tangle wildly,  continue running, unconcerned.  I know that you can feel it, in fact you pine for all that pain. Do you curse the stones beneath your feet? Or know with every step you gain that Distance and Perspective and a glimmer more of Memory of that forgotten and keen girl that you my darling were wont to be. 

 Me siento extra ñ o Como extranjero en mi cuerpo Mi alma está demasiada tranquila, quieta como el ruido, orgulloso y llena con silencio Yo s é  que eso sí que es. Todav í a Estoy aquí.   aunque estoy un poco perdido                --- footnote for this bit of randomness is a tickler mostly for my memory. A busy day at work and a frustrated fried brain had my mind screaming for some inspiration and it was trying to reach for poetry. I drove to choir and on the way, words stacked up in my brain, like tetris blocks, not colored but rather in Spanish, which made me smile. Minutes to spare, I quickly found a pen and wrote the words down before we started singing in Latin, a little worried that I would jumble the stack or push it back into English and it would crash into a meaningless heap.  After choir, Eden called and wanted to talk about her stressors for the day. One of the things weighing on her was an assignment...

 Remind me in the morning that this life is a lie. So comfortable and easy, it's all too perfect. Sigh.  Remind me when I wake,  this nightmare is a dream!  this cage is perfect, gilded; there is no need to scream. Remind me when I'm lonesome, looking off with vacant stare that this place is all I wished for, even if I'm no longer there?

 Let me remind you that it was I that chose You no Fate lured me near  It was my web you wandered into In my trap you were ensnared Let me remind you I let You love Me gave you all the puzzle pieces "the whole picture" to deceive Let me remind you You were a means to an end A stone on which to step Minor character in the story I spin Let me remind you lest you start to believe  that you had the Choice, that You could ever Leave Let me remind you So I don't forget I chose incorrectly and have to live with that regret

 be soft and pliable Flexible, kind stand firm, Strong  but Capable         of great weakness, fair in body and Fawn in heart, never a feint.  be enough, Just     Are you ever Enough?  no questions, Fight     have no depth   be a Mystery          entirely Dynamic, multi-dimensional Until you lie flat.    be filled, content      You have value. Not as a dispensary, only Receptacle.    

  When you were young and headstrong, confident and decisive, you could fight me and never relent. Flippant decisions, just refuse to compromise, easily filled me with instant regret.  I didn't learn quickly, could not see inimitable you, thought I could mold and hold you, just to my will, bent.  Small yet too strong, the will of a woman child sized, your brilliance too often caught me by surprise.  My planning fell to pieces when I gave you the choices, predicting that I would easily win.  I watched your thoughts calculate all the options, then choose, aware of consequences and red faced with chagrin.  I had given permission, a misstep on my part, though I knew the game play and rules, I misunderstood how you would begin.  And you followed through, step by step, having committed to your plan, I was flummoxed and floundered in place.  I felt beaten, and lost, embarrassed and insecure, wanting to be angry as I watched your little face. 

 How do I tell you that you are not enough; knowing I should not be so cruel? How to say the thoughts piling up, as I push you away,  when despite my enforced distance, you stay? I see in the mirror the faces that play, the words forming and smirking, "Who's the fool?"  

 "Lay it down", just tell me, the load so heavy and constant.  "Set it aside", say it simply, "take the rest."  Permission granted and hand extended, a sigh so deep and unexpected,  I only want a moment, not help, to feel my best.  Don't do it for me, I am capable.  Don't shoulder my work, I want the burden.  Don't deprive my life of purpose and all my drive.  Don't diminish my effort, I enjoy the struggle.  Don't mistake my fatigue for overwhelm.  Working the list helps me to survive.  Nothing to need, I have it all, energy and self reliance.  A question of want, frustration builds and raises ire.  Decisions stacking, days on wash and repeat,  Maybe someone to hold me and care is my desire. 

to Choose a Life Basic  Simple Complicated Stressed Defined Rote Mundane Exhilarating Exhausting Rich Full Flourishing Relaxing Refined What's mine?

I thought I could be ready. To 'cross that bridge' To 'weather that storm' Enough time has passed, My fill of heartache endured, Now a new love could form.  Hesitant, unsteady, the path so unsure,  Cautious and tempered in each intimation. Awareness creeps in, a chill to the core, A silent heart denies love's formation.  The want of a life,  Return to before, is no longer the desired destination.  The "should be", the rote,  Patterned choices in my past, now a questionable proclamation. "You are naive and unprepared." "You have no need to explore." "Stop here," my mind stalls.  That bridge will have to wait,  Would I survive another storm?  I back away as uncertainty calls. 

it is the end of the night at the start of the week w ith a list so long it is still incomplete seasons in flux, early plans in the works years in advance, cluttered thoughts in clustered bursts.  turn the engine to off though the music plays on trapped in time, lost in mind  stay still for one more song     lovely lights beckon, you are home, please come in.                                                                                              I  do know what is waiting, just not where to begin  then the song is over and the silence starts  and the weight of the life descends on my heart how long shall i wait? how long to delay?              minu...

  the days so short and dark too quickly the chill and wind, cut and dry to capture and hold any warmth is quite tricky layers on waiting for snow to fly thin rays through the day bring no reprieve, no reply, for the black and silent night  hope for all the glittering, glowing, white, warm, and knowing, make our home full of winter light

          We got away this weekend, the kids and I, just across the state line to Wisconsin for a couple of days in the sunshine. It's a short enough drive with diversions of all types, and we have a few very budget friendly options that fill our time. This trip we shared a hotel room and with two nights of togetherness and quiet, our daytime needed space to stretch our legs and run free.  Witches Gulch was calling to me and after twenty minutes of driving and navigating, I thought we had found the trail to get there. The littlest one had fallen asleep in the last few minutes on the road and I spent some time cajoling him to wakefulness and then played some nature games to boost the mood.           I don't know if there is a better place to be than wandering in the wilderness with my people. One can start a song and the others join in, "can't go over it, can't go through it, gotta go under it." And then we are all challeng...

          It was a long day today. I took a drive after dark for a moment to myself. I am blessed that the kids hold space for me. Home is quiet when I return, with the windows closed, most of the lights already turned out, everyone settled in bed. deep breath, silently 'hello the house'.                                                                                I peek in and see the youngest, asleep in his bed mid-story.    tight smile, shake head. I climb the narrow stairs to wish goodnight to the oldest that I am certain is still awake. White noise of the ocean plays while fans try to move the stuffy air. A curtain of fairy lights fade and brighten to the waves of sound.  raised eyebrows and bite the lip....

The cast iron pans pile up in the sink Left side, They were rusted already don't worry. Weeks they have sat; "I will wash them," I think And yet still they wait and I tarry.  Papers are jumbled in cardboard and sacks Dining table, on top and below, Months of collecting in cluttered array...  "I will sort them," I mutter as I walk away,  carrying baskets of clean clothes as I go. It is chaos and not, living here in this house.  It is messy and yet organized.  It is loud and intense and I'm not qualified most days,  but I look on with pride. 

  I cannot get out all the words inside my head, all the issues that need to be teased apart and the ideas that are still unsaid. There is a bottle neck, a block, or a sense of simple ineptitude that stops everything from flowing lately.  There are moments of pure feeling, a rawness of emotion that launches a statement piece, a title at least, and a springboard for more. Then a breath comes through, a second too long, and the edge of the cutting words and ferocity of the sentiment are dulled. It's like I've lost the "write mood" to sit and let it out.  The space is clear, the page is blank and calling for me to start. It beckons me in and yet I stall. No witty quips or descriptive alliterations are tripping out, clicking the keys and running on without proper punctuation and all the wrong prepositions. It's a frustrating white space that I long to fill. I want to document these days, these thoughts, these feelings and I want to share. I feel trapped and silenced a...

Ever want to skip a day? Make the past obsolete in your memory bank? I pondered it this week when I knew how many old photos would pop up in my apps, the birthday that was impending on my calendar, the inevitable creep of grief that could start to weigh on my heart as today neared.  I didn't schedule a day off work or shop ahead for a memento. I didn't bake a cake or plan a special dinner to make at home.  My wall calendar was marked, "Griffin '9'," with nothing but a little blue star as an accent.  It could be a day, just like any other. And it isn't.  There are constants here. We talk about memories in this home. We look at those photos when they pop up and sometimes search for them when we recall something specific in an odd moment. We touch the feelings, even the soft and soppy, somber and sad. There are plenty of memories though that I think I could hide, should I choose to.  I know there are ways to go blank and numb, both through technology and in m...

               The happy bungalow has been under renovations. I imagine that if these walls could talk they would say that construction has never stopped here. This house is over 100 years old, a story and a half with more stories than we could ever have time to hear. Rumor has it that it was built in a neighboring small town, along a block of houses just like it, whose street was destined to be razed 60 years ago. A developer bought some land in Marion township, new lots subdivided off and platted for single family living. Instead of the new little ranches that others were designing, a bit of ingenuity brought a handful of older homes into the neighborhood and transplanted them on full basements, juxtaposed every other amid the perfectly proportioned patio homes and ramblers. I'll tell you that mine is the cutest on the block by far, having maintained its leaded glass windows and open front porch with hipped roofline and Crasftsman style...

 I got hit today. Usually I would say, "smacked upside the head" is the colloquialism that comes to mind, though I don't know that the imagery for it fits. Sucker punched in the heart may be more fitting though it certainly wasn't as physical of a sensation as that would imply.  Perhaps I should think of it more as a tripping. That I relate to infinitely more. I tripped over my Grief Stick.       Do you know that it is a walking staff? It's something I carry with me, proverbially of course. I can imagine what it would look like though, in my mind's eye. It's a weathered piece, washed over by waves, something salvaged on an old adventure, long forgotten, when I was younger and all I could see was its beauty and not the potential usefulness. And it has become useful in this life, been notched and grooved over a few decades of use now, many moves and countless years of intermittent strolls when I've leaned on it and worn it in places from being stored tim...