Still

I went for a massage today. I almost cancelled because I wasn't feeling well yesterday. "Go," my husband said. "You'll feel better." And I did. I went. And I feel better.

In between my massage and a facial, I sat in the quiet room drinking cucumber infused water and nibbling on a chocolate covered strawberry. Once I finished, I set my plate down and looked straight in front of me. There opposite me on the wall, was just the reminder I needed. Be still. It was a simple piece of art, waves rushing at the base of a mountain, and the words Be still.

I took a deep breath in and pushed my chest out, let the breath out and allowed my abdomen to deflate. I closed my eyes and did it again. It was just what I needed.

Still
Beware of frenzied routines. Stop, inhale and
Exhale. Pull breath, life, in and out through your nose
Sometimes busy-ness is a self-created distraction from
Thinking difficult thoughts
I heed the warning on the wall, not a warning, a reminder
Listen to your heart and to G-d
Let the quiet bring you peace

Vocabulary Study

He stood in front of me apologetically, talking about his tumultuous marriage with a seemingly introspective expression on his face. He told me he finally figured out the problem, and I was anxious to hear what foolishness he came up with. We have had these presentations before. I'd like to call them conversations, but they rarely are two-sided. Mostly, I'm just listening and trying to get an intelligent word in edgewise. "I am a narcissist," he declared. It was as if he believed his problem was solved. Of course, now there was a label and an excuse, and a new word in his vocabulary. The only one who thinks labeling himself a narcissist is an excuse for his behavior, is a narcissist.

Wildflower

You belong among the wildflowers
You belong somewhere you feel free

I really don't know where I am, but it is always the same place. A cool, breezy early spring day. The bright and warm glow of the sun just enough to keep the chill away. I'm me, but I'm not quite me. My hair is a lot lighter, golden almost blonde like it was when I was in nursery school. And longer, looser curls that blow in the wind gently away from my face in tendrils. I'm a couple of inches taller and several pounds thinner. But I assure you it's me. I can feel her soul and I can see her clear as day.

I am not sleeping. The dreams don't visit me in the night while I sleep. They come to me in cinematic visions, through the windshield while I drive, or while I gaze wistfully out a window in the back seat of a car, in the waiting room at a doctor's office, or during long drawn out meetings in a conference room.

Run away, let your heart be your guide
You deserve the deepest of cover

I'm running through a field with my arms out to my sides like wings and my head tilted back so I can feel the warmth of the sun on my face. The grass is tall and there are wildflowers of different heights and colors all around me, in the field and on my dress. Small, delicate ballet slipper pink ones, paper thin, translucent. Bright buttery yellow ones that remind me of the buttercup flowers we used to hold under our chins while we sang. Pops of deep red color, puckered kissy lips. And purples, violet and lilac. The field is fragrant. I smell honeysuckle.

It's a beautiful scene really. Care free and youthful, running barefoot through the field. No ants, just bees and caterpillars and I'm not bothered by anything. Butterflies flutter by, and there may be a bird or a child in the distance with a kite flying high overhead.

You belong among the wildflowers
Far away from your troubles and worries

I don't know where I'm running or who, if anyone, I am running to or from. It's strange actually. I don't recall ever having run barefoot through a field of wildflowers when I was a child. At that age, I was uncomfortable being alone. But there, in the country field, I am all by myself. I am gleeful and at peace. I know because I can feel the tingle and exhilaration inside her as she runs, giggling and twirling.

She is me.




*Italicized verses are lyrics from Tom Petty's "Wildflowers."

Nosey Notes

Things I can't stand the smell of: Fresh cut grass, construction site port-o-potty, fabric softener, maple scented candles, new car, and tuna fish from a can. 

Things I love the smell of: Cotton candy, wood-burning campfire, fresh brewed coffee, salty sea air, cinnamon, and bread baking.

Sugar Sugar

I am here for a dark roast mocha iced coffee with coconut milk, no sugar. But there you are on the shelf, slanted ever so slightly to offer a tempting up-close and personal view of your powdery sugar, and your rainbow sprinkled sugar, and your shimmery crystallized sugar, and your pink and brown and white icing blankets of sugar and your glaze coat sugar. Your sweet scent wafts my way shouting, "This is a doughnut shop damn it, not a coffee shop!"