Cynthia Lee, at it again, as my prompt-ess. Sigh. I’ve got bones to pick, and i’m no hoodoovoodoo goddess. (although i can see myself that way at any given moment.)
She said this: Today, let us touch the past. Let us allow our moving through our what is now to connect to our what was. (my italics there.)
I feel like there are bubbles of the past around my house that I walk into by accident, and am transported. Or maybe they are spiderwebs, and i’m caught off guard by memory in a way that has me swinging wildly at the air around me. It is not just a bad marriage or what I did to myself during that time, its more than that. it’s the ability to fall down a hole of recrimination, negativity, hopelessness. I am asked to straddle the past and present and I do, but it’s a horse, and it takes me places that it wants to go. I do not feel in control. No fencing here, not stable, immobile straddling.
And not pleasurable. Let it be known. I do not like horses, animals that big scare me. Don’t even get me going about cows. (almost terror)
So what is it I can touch? that is just calmly faced, recognizing and not reacting or reliving? I see cardinals and think of my dad and that is a good feeling, sad but I don’t linger there, just miss him and wish him well and thank him for the bird. Touched, I guess, is how I feel. And I live in a place where there are a pair living, so it happens not rarely.
Another part of cynthia’s prompt says that she sits at the end of the day and writes her noticings, and I think I’m incredulous that there is an ‘end of the day’ that holds that space, and I look at my life and how I’m just thrown around by the lives of my kids, and that’s fine, its what I’m in, but I wonder if I can massage it into something different.
I’m just finally this month, sleeping by myself, guys. Really. The 8 year old is in her own bed every night. Last night, I had a thirteen year old with me, who had a massive headache and needed medicine. the medicine of snuggling with him mom after ibuprofen. But alone is the new normal.
And since I’m choosing to go cold turkey on men, again, alone is the new normal there too. No fiddling, no faddling, just sitting. reading books.
soon, in this next 30 days at least, i’m going to make fires again.
and while i’m there, i’m going to think about the end of the day, and how i can make it mine.
thats the plan, man.