Gift

Pinned.
I can’t move.
His purr vibrates against my chest.
The rise and fall of breath beneath my palm.
Soft golden fur caresses my fingertips.
Warm breath, steamy on my wrist.

We rise and fall together.
Breathing.
Only this moment exists.
His wisdom says,
“This is enough.”

He shows me what it’s like
To push your way into love & care.
“This is what I need right now.
This is what you need, too,"
I hear the gentle murmur.

No need to rush
Or hurry
Or read
Or think
Just…

Feel the rise and fall
The beating of our hearts
The rhythm of two connected as one
In the gentle breaking dawn

My gift for the day.
Take it with you and
Hold this place of rest
Calm
Stillness
God.

Learn from the wisdom of
This one
Who knows only now
Who knows the embrace of
The one who loves

Pondering... Sea Glass

Sea glass. Today I hold a meager collection, fitting into two ounces of crystal glass my mother used to serve Bailey’s Irish Cream. The tiny assortment mesmerizes me, both in the meditative gathering along the beach, as well as here in captivity, nestled amidst my simple treasures.

Pieces of glass tossed into the sea. Like memories some sink to the depths of unknowing – others magically appear on the desolate beach – glimmering – waiting to be collected – taken home and treasured as something new.

Tiny bits of amber, azure, emerald and smoky white. From where did they tumble? A humble beginning? Beer bottle in the hand of a local drunken boatman? Something more grand? The carrier of passionate script from a star-crossed lover? Ancient treasure tossing in the surf for centuries?

How began the journey to now? The essential breaking against an exotic piece of ebony coral? A fate more ordinary perhaps? Colliding with the hulk of a massive container ship or the speeding prop of a passing pleasure boat?

What seems most certain is no one noticed when the change began. Or how long the agitation cycle has spun to achieve these smooth edges. One might consider this not even a point worth pondering…

Still…Can one measure the length of metamorphosis from dangerous garbage on the beach into a treasure to collect? Oh I wonder…

Update: Pop on over to the Mind Sieve and read her take on Sea Glass - & No... we didn't plan this.

'beachcomber' © lucy 1.24.10

Big. Too Big???

I'm not much of a TV fan. In fact, I don't really even know how to use our Cable set up that we installed several months ago. Late one Saturday night, I stumbled across a viewing of an old Harry Potter movie while I needed background activity for something else and that's the extent of my recent TV viewing. Except for... there's often an "except", my guilty pleasure of ordering Grey's Anatomy through i-Tunes. It's delivered privately to my computer whenever there's a new episode. I must admit, I'm hooked. There is drama, PG-13 sex, laughter, excellent music and so many metaphors for life I can hardly stand it. This week I found myself mesmerized, enchanted and in near tears as I connected with the passionate dialogue of a 350 pound+ opera singer. It resonated profoundly, so I transcribed his speech to ponder here.

“I’m big. Too Big. I don’t fit in airplane seats and my feelings don’t always fit the situation. If my food is overcooked, I get enraged. I want to kill the waiter… but I don’t. I politely ask him to take my meal back and prepare it the way I asked for it. I spend my days making myself small... more acceptable, and that’s ok, because at night, when I go on stage, I get to experience the world as I feel it, with indescribable rage and unbearable sadness and huge passion. At night, on stage, I get to kill the waiter and dance on his grave, and if I can’t do that…if all I have is a life of making myself smaller, then I don’t want to live . I don’t. And believe me, honey, you don’t want me to live.” From Grey’s Anatomy 1.21.10

While I do fit in the seat of an airplane, my emotional intensity often reaches proportions that can feel "too big". When that happens I must choose whether or not I will make myself smaller or go with the flow and risk dancing on the waiter's grave.

So, any other Grey's fans out there? Ever land in a situation and find yourself living large or making small?

ever feel like this?

Breaking Open

I need to write these words and I need to have them witnessed. They feel raw, discombo- bulated and important – at least for me. Slowing down this morning, my emotions lean toward the weight of the world – mine, my children’s, the children of Haiti and yours.

Monday, I sat with a young woman who is fighting for her life. She is not physically ill or destitute – most would say she lives a privileged life – and she would not disagree. Still… she struggles. This week, her battle for self-awareness was set against the devastation and death in Haiti… her search for personal peace transposed against a backdrop of events tangibly bigger than her own breaking heart. It is surreal and she paused to decide if she is worth it – to consider if she matters enough to fight for her own life without appearing selfish.

Tuesday, I engaged in a conversation with graduates of a Christian institution. The topic: What makes the institution unique? (i.e. Why go there, donate your money or invest your time?) One young man articulated before he went to school there, he had a 'Save the World' mentality that felt huge and impossible to accomplish. Now he sees things on a smaller scale – one individual - one conversation at a time. This feels doable. This feels like the Gospel to him – and I would not disagree. Can the world be saved on this scale?

As I write, dozens of other faces in this short week flash through my mind. Wednesday’s encounter with a woman who has heart-warming dreams that fill her to near bursting, but has a hard time seeing how those dreams can impact the outer world. Monday’s witness of prisoners in orange jump suits, some angry and entitled – others grateful to be alive and willing to transform one day at a time – some both. The only thing separating them and me is the color of their suit and my ability to walk out the steel-encased doors. Yesterday, I facilitated (& participated in) a recovery group where I am awed by the vast array of socio-economic, cultural, and spiritual representations. All an integral part of the world. All unique individuals. All just like me.

So, I sit here this morning snuggled with my golden cat, slowing down long enough to consider these things. I am near overwhelmed with sadness for my own broken heart and filled with hope for change in the world. Things seem to be shifting – or perhaps it’s just me? I am reminded of Mother Teresa’s prayer for her heart to break wide open so the whole world may fall in. Today, the world is right here with me. In this moment, I am grateful and awash in a sea of other emotions.

Is it enough to care for ourselves when others are dying? Do we not each die a bit every day? Can a breath of life in my body reach across the world? Does it have to go that far or is it enough to touch someone across the room, or closer yet to fill my own lungs?

by the sea © lucy 1.09.10