William Henry Channing

To live content with small means; to seek elegance rather than luxury, and refinement rather than fashion; to be worthy, not respectable, and wealthy, not rich; to listen to stars and birds, babes and sages, with open heart; to study hard; to think quietly, act frankly, talk gently, await occasions, hurry never; in a word, to let the spiritual, unbidden and unconscious, grow up through the common--this is my symphony.

Thank you, Mags.

Going Down With The Ship

I haven't written because it has been nothing but pain all the way 'round. I try to take my moments and turn them just a degree toward happiness, but I am nowhere near it. I have woken up in the middle of the night full of poetry for it, but I force myself back to sleep instead. I want to sleep my way through this pain even though I know I have to feel every moment of it in order to move forward in my life. There is a drive to write that feels as if it's driving me, that my hands are the vehicle and it's not my decision what comes out. I am in love, and always will be. What I want most in this world eludes me. I don't know how this came to be, that I am a person for whom life spreads out beautifully, with such grace and gratitude it has come to me; and yet fruition of the deepest, heaviest desire I have rows away with the lifeboat, one hand reaching toward it, the other caught in the riptide, accepting the pull.

Gone Quiet

In the earliest morning I heard rain slapping on the air conditioner and soon hitting in rolling sheets on the roof. I did not want to know the time, so went back to sleep until I woke for the day around 9. I had a feeling it was going to be a calm day, one of reflection, contemplation, and awareness. Early plans were postponed due to weather, and I began to clear my mind of the litter that has been gathering lately. I feel like a puppy unleashed and running free in the field, my mouth stretched wide into a smile as I jump and dart about, the whole world an expanse of possibility and exploration before me. I don't know what is going to happen, but I feel okay about all of it. I know there will be heartbreak in my future, but I am going to understand it as the experience of the journey, and hope to look up to find myself nearing the crest of a hill, beyond which a new vista unfurls before me.

Is it ever too late?

I began the day meditating for an hour, and the rest fell out before me so wonderfully, like a red carpet unfurling down a wide, paved lane. I know part of this is the reconnection with R, the small indentation I have made on the circle that he is, a circle that was a wall to me only days ago. I am not fooling myself nor pretending; I am simply hopeful and focused. The past is gone. I have the present moment, and the future will reveal itself to me bit by bit. In the present, I am at peace.

Happy Birthday, Peach.

Trying

I forced myself to make plans for today. I chose the brunch party and jewelry shopping, hoping to distract myself and hide from my own sadness. I drove with half my mind on the radio, the constant scan to find a tolerable song, so that as I drove up the long drive and parked; I thought I had prepared myself well enough for the faces and questions of my unknowing friends. As I backed into the shady spot, I saw a car pull in next to me -- a friend I didn't expect to see. It was the one I had not seen in two weeks, the one who had become engaged in the interim.

How does one with a newly broken heart face one in the throes of love's abundance?

She recoils, curling herself into a tight ball around her soul, and faces her friend, pretending. I congratulated her and was grateful that she changed the subject.

It was fine; I was laughing and eating for the first time in days when the wedding came up in conversation. The muscles on the sides of my neck pulled hard from my collarbone and face. I felt the heat rise into my chest, and my eyes dropped to my plate. I was rude, I know, but it was either turn to another friend and begin a new subject, or begin to cry right there at the table.

I am always offering congratulations to a friend when I am in the midst of heartbreak. I would give everything I have to change this moment in time; to dance out the door in airy steps, looking back on the sadness of my life with a bright smile for the departure, blonde hair flying, arms floating windward to embrace love's joy.

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Early Stages

I have not had enough sleep. I wasn't tired until about 2am, and went to bed expecting to sleep until my body was ready to wake. I did not know the lawnmowers and weed-whackers would arrive at 8am, rolling and swinging past my open bedroom windows with their awful summery buzz and rumble.

So now I am up, and within this fatigue I am not as quick to recognize the sadness that tries to inch its way into the corners of my mind. The feelings sneak in, set up shop, and it takes a heroic effort to evict them before I am overwhelmed.

I want this to be over.

Dinnertime Musings

I have spent the better part of my week beneath tears, flattened and curled into sadness. I ride their waves as a small bottle afloat in the sea, my whole life a message tucked inside. Today I began the slow pull against the tide; I have not yet cried one tear.

I have not eaten a proper meal since Monday. I thought about dinner and stared regretfully at the cherries wrinkling in the fridge, the green tea I brewed with raw honey and lemon sitting still in the jug; the kale, chard, red peppers, and creminis retreating from time. I decided to make myself a small dinner...a slice of Portugese bread cut in half, two handfuls of mozzarella, luscious slices of tomatoes just plucked from my vine, and a swipe of pesto before going into the hot olive oil. I don't recall when I've had such luck making a grilled cheese, the bread golden and crisp, tomatoes held strong between the layered mozzarella. I took it out and placed it on the plate, cutting it in half again, pulling it apart in long, thinning strings. It was lonely on my plate...I threw a handful of organic sweet potato fries right into the drying pan, and they sizzled awake. After several flippings of the pan, I pulled out a few fries, and took a hasty bite of my sandwich.

I couldn't taste anything remotely familiar.

I tried the sweet potatoes, and couldn't taste their maply richness.

I think the days without food have altered my tastebuds. I ate half the sandwich and a few fries so as not to be wasteful, but there was no joy. The best meals are when the chef has put in the love. I wonder if the love that has been amputated from my life extends to an inability to live out my days putting love into the daily tasks. It is part of who I am, to exemplify love, to be its personification; but perhaps I am no longer myself, and must find my way to shore, out of the water, back into my own skin.

Thursday Afternoon

If someone hadn't told me that this was the beginning, I would guess it were the end.