7.4.15 The Fourth of July

After all those years of bringing our kids and neighborhood kids to dramatic exhausting smelly begging-for-expensive-treats-that-made-them-fall-apart fireworks, now that they're all grown and off at their own wild young adult parties , I kind of wonder when all the noise will be done.

7.4.15 We come upon it

Conscious detachment is an innate,  compelling experience.

We come upon it at times when we care deeply for someone

who is sorely challenged ; 
when we will be present and loving and caring

but cannot afford to fall in too deep, with anxiety

and worry about them, and all those confused

well-intentioned codependent places we can go. 

Instead, we pull back with clarity and necessity

filled with empathy, and we remain present for them

right there for them, with that awareness . 

What a remarkable place to learn to be.

What a remarkable way of respect and compassion and of love.

7.4.15 We find ourselves simply wishing

Growing those
long powerful 

vines that reach

way to our core and then

out into the entire world

We find ourselves 

simply wishing to express

with some semblance of grace

our deepest 

and most tender

thanks

7.3.15 The clouds raced, so dramatic, as the rain poured and then suddenly stopped, and the sunset blazed long rays across the land.

7.5.15 Sometimes

Things fall into place sometimes

without fanfare, stripped of

celebratory noise

Sometimes, ease slips into the day

 and assiduously scrubs us clean

7.2.15 I want to thank you all, here, for what happens. For what you do.

You see, I come here and begin to write what is ruminating, rumbling about and itchy to come out. Small things. Larger things. And then, pfft, off they go.

But now, I come here, and see what you’ve gone and dug up. I click on posts you have found, and shared with others, and I think “Hmm. What was it they liked here, and here?” and then I look.

I read an old post, and I think, oh, what a day that was! 

Or I think “Wow. What a rumbling-bumbling-on thought that was.” 

Or I remember the very moment when that one leaf fell, and I was struck, standing there, imagining the entire life cycle it had experienced, until that instant when it was loosened from it’s branch, and floated slowly down through all these molecules and neutrinos and all the funny human-found words we have for what is. And then that leaf settles into that iridescent dark puddle of so many late fall leaves, in water that almost froze last night. Crisp. Clear as the air we each were breathing that day, wherever we were, at that moment, when the leaf descended and landed and settled and began decomposing, after a rather glorious season in the winds and rains and dappled light of the forest.

I sit here now, the feeling of so many moments in your life there, as you read this, and my life, here, as I write. The moments happening all over the earth and the moments happening in the neighborhood where you are. In the place where you sit or stand or lie down or walk right now.

So here I find myself, thanking you for giving me moments. Yours. Mine, back to me, after you peruse and decide to share, and I notice, and I go take a look, and boom. There we all are, in that moment of time, once again.