Coming home to myself…

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Every day I’ll be sharing here this month,
kind of  coming home to myself,
a season of rest from the overwhelm
that my life has become.
Somehow I got a little lost
in other people’s lives
and gave myself
too little room
on my over- crowded plate.

Have you ever done that?
Forgotten,  for a while,  to live your own life?
I’m taking the month to come untangled,
get loose from the noose,
be  free from the buzz of the be
in my head….

be (overly) productive,
be responsible (for more than your share),
be a fixer,  a saver,  a rescue-maker.
And faster,  please.

No,  I think I’d rather not.

Today I choose instead to be
simply me,
and oh so glad
about it
.

Care to join me?

(I’ll be here every day this month,  tending this space that helps
grow the quiet and glad in me.)

“Overinvolvement of any sort can keep us in a state of chaos.
If we’re focusing our energies on people and problems,
we have little left for the business of living our lives.
And there is just so much worry
and responsibility in the air.
If we take it all on ourselves,  it overworks us
and underworks the people around us.
It doesn’t solve problems.
It doesn’t help other people.  It doesn’t help us.
It is wasted energy.”
-Melody Beattie

teardrops in the wind…

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It was the March of 1979.
Breezes turned balmy
and I pulled off my shoes,
letting swollen feet tramp across warming earth.
I was pregnant with my first baby,
due on St. Patrick’s Day.
For weeks I had ached for time to stop,
squeezing myself shut
to the coming separation,
the word “relinquish” hanging heavy on my heart.

But today the weather had turned
and hadn’t everything somehow changed?
Spring had come with her own dreamy wildness
and waves to ride far beyond the looming loss.

I spent the day sunsoaking,
watching the wind gently stir the tireswing
I’d played on not so long ago.

I was newly seventeen,
an “unwed mother”
with an unwanted chore:
to give my baby to someone she deserved.
Soon she would come apart from me,
gone before the leaves flushed out.
Their buds were fat and ready to pop….like me.
I went quiet with the knowing.

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But this day was vivid lovely and it got inside me.

As the sun began to dip low,
a storm of pain rumbled
and hammered down urgency inside my belly
and grownup voices began
herding me into the night
and toward the hospital.
I wanted to crawl into bed and hide beneath the covers,
cradling the life inside me one last time.

My body was betraying me,
forcing me into a cold,  sterile world
of tight lips and disapproving eyes.
As my frightened parents gathered my things,
I lunged back inside
for just one last moment alone
with the tiny life that had shaken my own with her gentle worth.

I lowered my heavy frame onto the bed
and tried to sing a last lullaby
but could do only tears,
a fragile goodbye.

I followed strong contractions into the night,
returning home with only fierce memory
of her tiny fingers and face.
But I’m forever marked by her essence,
often swept away by her melody
as it drifts across my heartstrings.
I recognize her song.

Thirty four Springs.
I honor each of her days.
Today I tenderly comfort the girl-in-me who carried her
before she was transplanted into the garden
that nurtured her to thriving
and remember those shimmery days when we were just us,
when she was still mine.

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Thank you for taking the time
to read my story.
It’s sweet comfort to share
what life tried to bury in shame.
I welcome the light.

dear heart of mine,

Dear heart of mine,

    I’m writing to you…..yes,  you
~especially that part of you I’ve draped over the line
suspended in time
dangling and exposed
like the rows of diapers I used to hang
from rough wooden clothespins
while my sweetests
clamored happily in the grass below.

Yeah,  the wildly stretched part
where I’m deep marked and lumpy around the scars,
not at all smooth
and, I used to think,
kind of ugly,
squishy,
an embarrassing,  easy to dismiss sort of heart,
worn too far out on my sleeve
(cover that thing up,  for crying out loud).

Or so I judged.

Today I see you through some clearly different eyes
and I’m done with the harsh hating
of your soft and fragile sides,
the parts that break easy and thump loud with wound
because they love so effing hard.

And I’m fiercely grateful
and glad to call you mine.
So stretch out free and easy,
make yourself at home
because,
you want a shock,  heart of mine?

I think you’re beautiful.

“Don’t give me fountains,  I need waterfalls.  And when I cry my tears will fill an ocean.
The pain of love I’ll accept it all as long as you’ll join me in that emotion.
Cause half of lovin’ is no fun,  give it all,  give it all to me.
I can stand it.  I am strong that way.”
-Carly Simon

nuzzles and nestings….

Life found me crying over yesterday,
held my heart firm in gentle hands
and whispered “sadness is joy running backwards.”
So I turned face-forward into the soft breath of today,
coming alive to the wild rumpus of grackles in the treetops,
and joined hands with the woods to laugh at the ruckus,
letting simple joy
~like soothing arnica for my body
  and tiny ginger cupcake for my soul,
nuzzle my dreams out of layaway
and nudge me to nesting again.


Joy stood on tiptoe to tickle me open
to looking close for the twinkle in now roomy spaces,
a newer nest for the next things
fluttering in my belly
~breath of spirit like bright rush of breeze
squeezing stomach wiggly with beautiful beginnings,
churning  fresh buttery hope.


So I’m opening wide to the lovely of nexts
to drifting leaves swooping like swallows
and dancing in warm speckled light.
And I plop right down into here and now
like a toddler in the sand
and let the smile of this present moment
disarm the melancholy of  missing.


As the life I’ve nurtured wobbles into powerful flight,
strong with love and lift
I sweep clean the sweet downy feathers of the past
and say yes to hovering over new things
……nesting again my own ripening life
~wallflower dreams.
brand new songs
and fledgling wings.