Seasons of change

Strolling down the less traveled path, often times there is a fork in the road ahead. The eyes can see it, the mind processes the information, weighing the options, left or right, but without any real visibility, it’s very hard to choose the better path. So one can close their eyes and hope for the best…or in other words hope they don’t make a big mistake. Humans have a way of assessing situations, where they relate to past personal experiences in order to process future events and outcomes. Their history tells them, based on whatever life they had ’till then, what is “wise” to do.

Some are conservative, not straying from the straight line in front of them even one inch, even if that may mean better, bigger things. No. Safe is good. It’s known, familiar, can’t come back to bite you. Except that the same ol’, same ol’ makes them lose sight of the very things they should remember to always value and teach their young about. Like respect for life. Like solid christian principles that make a child think twice before any action. Like loving thy neighbor, praising your friend, recognizing your foe for the good things they do. Like believing that the “right way” starts within, and that by being really true to oneself, one can be happy in the real sense of the word. For the only one that we can’t lie to, is ourself.

Some are progressive, skipping steps and hopping over all fences in their way. They are a mile away from every “last thing” they did. They grow no roots and have an “open mind” to anything that comes their way… They have no roots… They teach their children that they can do anything they set their minds to. They teach their children to soar, but give them no real place to land. And how long can  one fly with tired wings? They forget that a good nest is more important and more defining than any set of wings. For a tired soul needs rest, at least from time to time… and how is a child to find rest if there is no base line to land on?

Some are neither conservative, nor progressive. They grow shallow roots, form the seeds of the oaks they have fed from as youngsters. They remember all the lessons. They know all the paths. They can see the future. They tell their children about it, keeping the history alive in the in their souls… But they are afraid to speak. For what good does it do to remind people of consequences, when all they want to see is their own bubble? These times will see no saints…

In the bubble everything is known, whichever type they are. The one common thing they all have is the way they all pass down their experience to their children. Not objectively, but through their own lens. The bendy willow will not break in the strongest of winds. And when the storms come we’ll shut our doors and windows, and only a faint howling will be heard. It will not touch us. And as it’s gone, we’ll re-open the door to whatever is left. Our house still stands. We’re fine.

The seasons of change have been circling above us for so long, like vultures, quiet and dark…maybe the time has come to believe again in humanity. To make sure that all is well secured before the storms start again. To help thy neighbor secure their belongings, for his children will be your children’s neighbors one day when you are gone, and together is a much friendlier word that alone… whatever the storm brings.

It’s all in a day…

I was once told that one day can change everything. I couldn’t believe that.. unless a tragic or otherwise earth-shatering event were to happen.. for why else would everything change? Change takes time. Change takes dedication, consistency, stubbornness… passion! It couldn’t just happen…

And one morning I woke up, got into my car, pulled out of my driveway, crossed the causeway, and as I was turning the corner into my destination, I looked over my shoulder at the ocean… first thing I want to see in the morning, last thing at night… There, on a whispering mass of dark, a sharp cry was pouring over its blood, filling my imagination with the wildest images… and my restless soul with the longing… and it was back to the drawing board… again.. the call of the wild..

The day ran with me, and waves of faces splattered all over my composure, and mid-through I just had to go dip my feet into the cool and listen to the whisper. A rope was buried in the sand, a noose more like it. Brought to me by the deep, laying at my feet, like an ominous  warning. The skies were rebelling and the wind picked up. And then it happened. The world stopped again. Prompted to turn, I felt the pull, as if the dead rope was wrapped tightly around me. I didn’t fight it, I couldn’t anyway. The whispers got louder and louder. I covered my ears… I walked slowly, the wind trying to stop me from getting closer… the heat melted my resistance and I fell… again… for the same trick .. in the same way..

The day fast forwarded through my anguish. And as I stretched my arms toward the high into the first pose, the skies opened again, and called to me. “Look for the silver lining”. I don’t know that I’ll ever find it, but it’s all in a day’s quest… and most times I’m not even trying. It just happens. And it all starts looking new and scary again… silver lining and all…

It’s just a parade…

“Get your camera, the regatta starts in 15 minutes!” a half-breath squeak came from the office next to mine… “regatta, remember? We missed it by an hour last year! C’mon!”.

Usually, I don’t comply with commands if I don’t “get it”, but this time the thought of being out in the sunlight sparkled all over my brain. “oh, yeah! out breathing the salt. I can do that”. I grabbed my camera and ran.

The breeze ruffled my hair like a mother’s embrace, and in the cool, shimmering blue, they showed up. Bunched up together, like the floats of a puffed up dandelion.. wobbling on the waves, tiny at first, then bigger and bigger. The seawall was full of photographers, both amateurs and professionals, all trying to catch that one shot that will transform a simple picture in an animated message of greatness at sea. I aimed my camera and shot. From the depths of my soul, not from the tip of my gaze. No need for the perfect photo, just a memento of this moment, when time stopped and gave way to my feelings to go awry without any unwanted consequences!

I looked around at the people, all in awe of the beauty. I stepped on the jetty, among the crowd, trying to get closer. A gust of wind blew my hair undone, and made it float around me like in a fall.. Then time stood still. I heard the squeak near me, saying something I couldn’t understand. I moved to the edge. Took the “one picture I will ever want to take”. Couldn’t see a thing with my hair all over the place… Turned around, and walked away. Walking back on the seawall, I gathered my mane back into a pony tail. Squeak dragged me into the street, we managed to get to the middle without any cars running us over, and as we were contemplating running to the other side, a truck stopped, and gallantly offered us way. I bowed, and my hair came undone again…oh, well! The person waved and kept going.

Back in the office I dared look at the photos… not too bad. But then, again, it’s just a parade… that feeling will always fill me when I see them, but not the others…or maybe they’ll feel a little bit of breeze… that would be great!

I keep time still, what’s your super power?

The words of children carry the most truth, and the heaviest loads.. Lucky for them they start understanding the later when they are out of their early years, some sooner than others… but they are saved from having their immaculate world shattered by bias.

A little game of super heroes left me wondering today. Yes, I played too. How else? It wouldn’t be fun to just watch. And, yes, I skipped rope a little after school… only a little, though, it’s so hard to do it anymore, especially in high heels… So the question traveled the room, splashing us all with a little laughter at our own secret desires. “What is your super power?” As the adult, I wanted to add a little teaching to the moment, so at my turn, I declared loud and clear “I keep time still”.  There was no quiet before the storm. Just the storm. Of words. No laughter like I was prepared for…uhm, did they really “get it?” A boy raised his hand and waved it around a few times to get the floor. “Soo, how exactly do you do this?” he asked. I pointed to my camera. A wave of vowels flooded the room, and then the laughter danced around their faces… I smiled. It’s good to still be able to make them laugh.

But in the quiet of my office, just minutes later, a still world was staring at me from the graphics and photos on my walls. I could feel one set of eyes following me around the room, as I was trying to grasp my super power… and as my gaze met those yes, the world suddenly came to life, and I was transported in time, breathing the whispers… I guess my kryptonite is in those eyes…it makes the world move again, except at a different speed, and backwards, and staying away from locking gazes could keep me safe. But for now, trapped in the parallel universe, I let my heart flutter, and listened to the ocean. Again.

Peekaboo

Yesterday I took 20 kids to an aquarium. I don’t have so many of my own. As a matter of fact I only have one, and even that one, by sheer luck! Or by divine intervention, as you may choose to see it. To me, it was the greatest gift! But that doesn’t stop me from appreciating other people’s gifts just as much as mine. I adopt. Easily. Not with papers, just with words and feelings. I seem to have plenty of both, and they need plenty of those, so, here you go! Best use for my super powers!

I took 2o kids to see penguins. They will create a video documentary that will play at the aquarium for the season. This is the first of, hopefully, many to come. But as we headed back, I looked at 20 kids who got more than just words, a field trip and lots of feelings. I saw them turning into giants! Soft, gentle, childish, powerful giants. And they were whole. And I felt complete.

There was a special penguin that helped build those spirits. Her name is Peekaboo. She looked helpless, staying close to her “mom”, one of the caretakers. She “seemed” helpless. She darted boldly toward one of my kids when she thought he was a threat to her brood… very similar to my kids, standing around me, tall, strong, and ready… and yet, so small, quiet, and fluttering with uncertainty. Real peekaboos… now you see them, now you don’t… but you just know in your heart of hearts that their strength is there… the humanity in the making! And, so, life makes sense again, and hope starts growing, shyly, tentative, and reaching for the warmth of the good news…

Falling into greatness…

It’s Fall. I know, understatement. But it’s falling all around… People I knew to be as tall as the oaks, are laying on the ground, limp, with no shadow… This fall is painful. For so many that I can see…

And for the first time in my life I wish, a huge, big, great, without boundaries, kinda’ wish, that somewhere, somehow, all pain would stop. Or that, at least, there was huge pond of an elixir that gives life back to people… like in those old stories my grandmother used to tell me in the cold winter nights, when tucked under safety of my warm covers, I could only hear the harshness of the times outside the window. But none touched me… though it was sending shivers down my spine just listening to the screaming of the wind…

I wish there was a pool of greatness, to just take people there, so they can see their refection in it… and then shove them straight in, only to help them out renewed, refreshed, and re-great. If only they could fall into greatness…

I guess it’s always much easier to focus on the pain, than on the road ahead, especially when carrying Sisyphus’s load in vain. I pray that they last, that their tired and sore hearts carry them all the way… to the warmth of a good word, and some better days…

I hope that you, wherever you are, have a safe heaven to run to when you’re exhausted, but if not, you could always fall into the greatness of a day full of colors. Stay warm!

books make you unstupid… and creative…

I read this somewhere this morning and it made so much sense! Yes, don’t they? In a day and age when people are proud of their mobile devices and the fact that they don’t have to carry the load of a hardcover, it makes one wonder if there is any resilience in actually completing a reading on such a “mobile” and distracting means…

To that is added the type of lecture that is left on a hardcover… the ones that really sell anymore… you know, the highly interesting, the shock factor book, the tabu… the “Fifty shades of grey” kind of books. Great to captivate attention, and give one a rush of adrenaline. And then, what? I guess the times of reading and imagining unseen worlds and times has passed. People look to the future. It’s there that lies the hunger for knowledge… what will happen then… but an old saying keeps coming to mind from time to time, more often lately, and it makes me think that the past might be as valuable as the future… “those who don’t learn from history, are bound to repeat it”. Stereotype. I’ve been told. Retrograde. Unfuturistic. Stuck-up.

But reading Balzac in original at 12 gave me wings to fly over past times, into fantastic or maybe real events, take part in historical moments… imagine. Books do make one unstupid. Might not be the best word, but it sure describes the process in short…

Curiosity is the mother of all learning, they say. But there is no curiosity without creativity. And no creativity without exposure. And no exposure without visibility. Someone recently blogged this sentence “will the books disappear in favor of the ebooks?” Is that really the point? Or should the question have been shorter “will the books disappear?”… I hope they won’t. But one flower doesn’t summon Spring… so maybe more voices have to rise to the heavens and carry the reasons with them to the Gods. Maybe then our children will be spared the threat of never knowing what happened in a different country, in a different time, and maybe history will re-take its place in our minds, and remind us of paths already traveled that are good, or bad for that matter…. and maybe they will not make the mistakes we foolishly make, for they will remember the lessons of time.

And sometimes I lay on the tracks…

I’ve often thought about the reasons why some people think their life is useless to them and others, and decide to do away with it in the most Kareninesque ways…. you know, jumping in front of a train, from a bridge, slitting their throats, slashing their wrists, upsetting the mob, or simply crossing the boss…

I thought about the whys and the what ifs, and I didn’t really come to any conclusions… I mean, I couldn’t do it, and my life is a roller coaster. Literally. Emotionally, events wise… Not a second to be bored. I have the strangest and most extraordinary things happen on a daily basis. Take romantic gestures, for example, and it’s just one of the many examples, too; how many “girls” get a flower from a complete stranger “just because”, not once, not twice, but every so often, each time without the expectation of a rendez-vous? The first time it was awkward, the second time was puzzling, the third was already becoming familiar… I’m not a beauty, to think that it may have been my ravishing charm that compelled the poor gents to abide by their inner calling… But I must posses the “strangeness” if it keeps happening…

I also draw the most intense emotions out of people in life-and-death matters, like when they make choices. I’ve known people five minutes and have heard their life story in the last 3… people who have never opened up to anyone before, that nobody could remember even mentioning personal life… It’s not a gift. A gift is when I could help them find the right path. But all I can do is listen. And then words come out and I don’t know if they help or frighten the poor people back in their shell. Well, sometimes, I can tell…

But lately I’ve found myself laying on the tracks of life, mind you, on the retired ones, where no train will ever pass again, stretched against the cold metal, looking at the skies above in complete abandon. With no feeling. At least not my usual hyped up feelings. No shadow of remorse, no regrets, no longing either… Just still and inanimate. Like  a rock. Testimony of time and actions that went past my humanity, my core, my outer self…

Have I changed? Not really. Not that I can really attest. But there is a pause in me when the world gets silly. No knee jerk reaction to the impulse anymore.. And sometimes I lay on the tracks. Not waiting. Just pausing. And I look at the skies. And that is fine.

mornings of my heart

Mornings are the most important moments of the day. It’s the morning that sets one up for greatness, for sadness or joy, for enlightenment, for settling old accounts that suffocated one’s thoughts the previous night, or maybe for a longer time, for the hope of another chance, for the truth of another try, for the strength that will come, or for the weakness that will take over.

Mornings are new beginnings. Do overs. Quick sprints or slow, lush, lingering laziness. Chances for a new love, or the same love with a different take. Bursts of passion, or pools of deep. Whatever they are, in whichever day, different as they may be, they give one the chance to do things differently, to feel wholeheartedly, to hope obliviously.

My mornings are heavy and young. Maybe they are heavy because they are so young…or maybe because, at heart, I am. They play the cords of my soul with the fury of the wildest colors, the most heavenly views, the simplest, rawest, strongest feelings… and with a touch of nutty drivers… it’s morning for all, I guess… and while we can all be dreamers, some aren’t even consciously in their cars yet…

But there are mornings, and mornings. And this morning, the heavens were not yet awake when I left, but shimmers of gold cut the dark, and clouds were stretching their puffy, cottony floats in complete abandon. It seemed as if the rain wanted to come, but wasn’t sure all will be there to see it…and wanted to wait and make a full splash in the full surmise splendor. As it did. The skies exploded in a frenzy of yellows, and time stood still. And one could feel God reaching out from the high, gently touching the very core of His creatures… and they all rose, stretching their imaginary arms and filling their imaginary chests with the new day. And they came alive.

May your day be as lively and blessed as the sweetest touches of the first sun!

Distraction…

“I can’t afford to have you there, you’re a distraction!” came the words, without even a blink… then he realized the impact of his words. They echoed in the room and whirled in the fury of the moment, then eventually floated around in a slow flurry, until they lay on the floor, lifeless and cold.

Once in a while we get a bouquet of marvelous surprises like this one. They come out of nowhere… they’re surprises, aren’t they, they’re supposed to blindside you! But some come when your soul is wide open, trying to catch every last sunshine from that very important spotlight… the same spotlight that would never hurt, how could it, it makes you feel so good! They come to slam, frozen and sharp, right in the middle of that soft spot. Like a clean paper cut, no noise, but deep and painful… like a shard of glass through the heart.

The shock is greater than the pain initially, and day in and day out, you try to find the reason why the words were said so freely. Could it be you’re all wrong about everything? The answer is more painful than the cut! Because it changes everything you knew to be true. And, yes, you were… and who can accept they make mistakes with their most precious moments? well, easily accept, that is….

A distraction is explained by Merriam-Webster as: a. a diversion of attention, or b. mental derangement. Either one is not a compliment to anyone! Let alone had it come from someone you trust… But being called a distraction can also mean you made your mark, be it good or bad, and will not be soon forgotten. But who would want to be remembered as the distraction? Or am I wrong?! And it’s actually good to be noticed at all? Either way… in the quick sands of doubt nobody was left standing… and no movement was seen. Just a reverberating echo, pulled back and forth by the wind, lingering over the quiet. Distraction…