but i do exist.
it’s been a tumultuous season in my life. and there are parts too fragile and raw to post here, but let me say that every transition feels exactly like my sweet little t, who is walking more and more. she wanders here and there, her hands open to the sky. she falls down, stands up, repeats the same gestures. but above all, she does not give up. she is resilient, and she gets that from me.
this tree hovers over the edge of a lake, i believe. the belly is full of nests, sparrows and finches, each one tucked into tiny nooks of the bark. the tree leans and sways in the breeze, but is held firmly to the bank, by deep roots that go on forever.
when i think about her, i am sad. she works so hard and tries to raise those kids with good manners and sharp minds. how do i tell her that less is more? we break bread together so often, that i forget that her eyes are still blind. she can’t believe me when i tell her there’s good news. without anything to worry about, what will she do? she sobs in my arms, released from the stress, even for just a minute. the next worry creeps in, a rat stealing eggs from my tree.
our tree, the one you and i built together, hovers over the deep waters and harbors those souls, a few sacred minutes at a time.
“When we feel lonely we keep looking for a person or persons who can take our loneliness away. Our lonely hearts cry out, “Please hold me, touch me, speak to me, pay attention to me.” But soon we discover that the person we expect to take our loneliness away cannot give us what we ask for. Often that person feels oppressed by our demands and runs away, leaving us in despair. As long as we approach another person from our loneliness, no mature human relationship can develop. Clinging to one another in loneliness is suffocating and eventually becomes destructive. For love to be possible we need the courage to create space between us and to trust that this space allows us to dance together.”
our beach trip is winding down. in some sense, i am sad, but in another sense, i am full and grateful. it has been very restful to be at the beach. we haven’t had a schedule or definite plan for any of our days. except for yesterday when we had reservations to ride a boat to an island with wild horses. 🙂
we have been here for 9 days, and i think that my belief about going for 10 days is just right. it gives you plenty of time to get used to not working, to relax, to feel and process. it’s perfect.
yesterday, we stopped at the maritime museum in beaufort, and they had a lighthouse light there, made entirely of prisms. i loved it with my whole heart. it is called a fresnel lamp, and it uses one light to cast light for so far. it was amazing. for me who loves prisms, i imagine it was my special beach find that i have been searching for. too bad i can’t bring it home with me.