Archives for posts with tag: we are mortal creatures
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Pause

February 24, 2024 //
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I’m waiting for the sun. Waiting for the gate to the park to open. Waiting to get a walk in, before the many hours of driving ahead of me today. I have a headache, but I wouldn’t have missed the moment by choice; the luminous full moon hung over the marsh, lighting the mists that clung to the ground and the lakes. I sat on the hood of my car in the morning chill, listening to the peeping frogs somewhere in the grass, and smelling the scents of Spring approaching.

One beautiful quiet moment.

The gate opened, and I moved the car and got my boots on and got going. Walking with my thoughts is a practice I know soothes my heart and calms me. Yesterday’s tears become today’s resolve.

Later, I’ll head to the store and do things to ensure my Traveling Partner is comfortable while I am away and mostly able to see to his own needs for a couple days, then I’ll hit the road. It’s not a ridiculously long drive; a few hours, about the length of a work day. I’ll take breaks and put no pressure on myself to manage any particular timing. I’ll just drive, get there, and deal with the circumstances with as much grace and love as I am able to bring to it.

… Saying goodbye can be so painful…

I plan to return as I departed, patiently, with care, and cutting myself some slack on time and timing. I’ll get home and resume living life, and doing all the little things that are part of that experience. I’ll hold my partner tightly and make a point to show him how much I love him. Time is short and we are mortal creatures.

I am so grateful that I have my Traveling Partner to come home to. The thought anchors me and gives me a feeling of safety and wholeness.

Knowing that each ending is also a new beginning doesn’t make saying goodbye any easier. But… I’ll go. I’ll say goodbye. I’ll return home… Then I’ll begin again.

Each dawn a new day, each day a new beginning.

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Categories breathe, gratitude, grief, Love, meditation, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, women

Is This Good-Bye? So Soon?

February 23, 2024 //
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Is this good-bye, old friend? So soon? I’m not ready.

I’m sitting at my desk crying for no reason; it’s not time to mourn. Not yet. It just feels potentially imminent, and I’m not ready for you to go. How selfish of me, I know. I sit here in this sort of quiet space, listening to the city noises beyond these windows and I wonder what you see, and what you’re aware of, right now. I wonder if you are in pain, and if you’re “okay”… for some values of okay… and I wonder what fills your dreams as twilight comes.

…We are mortal creatures…

You’ve been one of my truest and dearest friends for so long… missing you will be hard. I know you are surrounded by family and people who love you. I know you are not alone. I sit here with my face wet with tears and wonder if there’s time enough yet to see you again, and say good-bye properly, and if I were to do so, whether you would know.

We’ve shared many things. Experiences. Words. Laughter. Moments. You’ve “been there” for me through so many experiences. You’ve been honest, and you’ve been kind. You’ve been a mother, a sister, a best friend, an ally, a teacher… quite a package. You’ve been angry with me. You’ve loved me. You’ve offered me all the wisdom you’ve had to share, and a few jokes, too.

Letting go will be hard. I’ve got decades worth of emails and letters exchanged over time, and I cherish your words… but my life will be diminished in some detectable way, when you have gone. I can’t help but feel it, already. I find myself wondering what was the last post, here, that you read… I don’t know that it matters, at all. I wonder which one meant the most to you, and perhaps that matters a little bit… but… what matters most is simply that you’ve been such a dear friend, for so long, through so much, and I will miss you terribly.

I still catch myself hoping you’ll feel better, make a good recovery, and we’ll perhaps laugh about it later…

…It just feels too soon to say good-bye.

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Categories breathe, grief, Love, Moments, pain, Relationships, women

Restless

February 22, 2024 //
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I’m having a restless sort of morning. I’ve stepped through the details of my morning routine, my commute, the start of my work day, and I feel… restless. Like there’s “something more” “out there”, or as if I am unsatisfied with life, generally. It’s an illusion, as much as it has any basis in reality. Emotional weather. I breathe, inhaling deeply, and exhaling slowly, feeling my subtle anxiety lurking in the background fall away ever so slowly with each breath. It’s a practice that works to reduce my anxiety, before it can get out of hand, but it does nothing much to change this strange feeling of restlessness.

…I could plan a camping trip… It’s a bit early in the year for (me to be) sleeping on the ground, but I enjoy the exercise of planning, and I don’t mind planning well in advance – in fact, some places I might wish to camp require quite a bit of long range planning (they’re just that popular, I suppose). On the other hand, I’m not feeling any sort of urgent need to be away from home (quite the contrary). This feeling of restlessness is inconveniently timed. I sip my coffee and think about it for some minutes – what am I “running from”? Something? Anything? Am I tussling with unaddressed urges? No doubt I’ve got my share of those…

The morning sky has clouds, and broad streaks of blue between those. The sunrise surprised me with it’s earliness, and was gone before I gave it much thought. It’s definitely morning, bathed in daylight diffused by the cloudy sky. Pretty. I gaze out the windows awhile, watching the streetcar make the trip around the block, from one stop to the next, heading the other direction. As early as it is, there are already people in the park below me, walking, sipping coffee, sitting on a bench. The water features are bland brown blocks of earth tones, not yet reflecting the sky above in any visible way from this distance (and angle of view). I wonder to myself when the Koi fish will be there, again, and where they go when they are not in the pond. I don’t care enough to look into it further, I’m just momentarily curious.

I breathe, exhale, and relax, taking stock of my pain and considering how best to manage it. I sip my coffee, and pull myself more upright, correcting my posture (again). I think about my Traveling Partner, his recovery, and how much I adore him. It’s hard being injured and being patient with the tediously long time recovery can sometimes take. Some injuries don’t heal quickly. I feel for him and kind of regret coming into the office, when I could be working from home where I could easily do things to care for him and make life easier. I sigh and shake my head when I realize I’d also very much like to just go back to bed and maybe nap awhile… Fucking hell? Really? The day has hardly begun…

…I hear a flurry of negative self-talk comments begin to develop in my thoughts, and put myself on pause; there’s literally nothing whatsoever wrong with wistful thoughts of sleeping in and napping, especially for a woman who struggles to get adequate healthy sleep! I laugh out loud in this quiet room and remind myself silently to “be nice” and treat myself with care and kindness – to do otherwise puts me at risk of losing sight of how I treat others. If I’m a dick to myself, how can I expect to treat others gently and with compassion? It’s something I’ve been working on a lot, lately.

Another sip of my almost-cold-now coffee, and my thoughts slide towards far away friends, and a dear friend struggling with mortality. Maybe that’s really the thing driving my restlessness, I realize; I miss far away friends, and I know I will regret not making time to see them (more often than I do). I find myself wondering if I should simply plan a trip to see my ill friend, and make a point of doing so while I can. It clearly matters enough to fuck with my head. I think that over quietly, and the restlessness begins to ease. Okay, so I got there, eventually. Now to do something about it, I suppose…

…I finish my coffee and get ready to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, pain, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, Summer, The Art of Being, winter, women

Be Present, Time Is Short

February 20, 2024 //
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I’m sipping the last of my iced coffee and finishing a bowl of oatmeal. Healthier choices are on my mind a lot lately. I look out the window at the stormy looking gray sky and wonder whether the sun will come out, or the day will be rainy. It makes no particular difference, I just wonder.

The hint of blue in the morning sky reflects my mood back at me.

I’m not weeping, nor feeling bereft or despairing. I’m just a tiny bit blue, and contemplating the potential that I may be saying a final good-bye to someone dear to me, if not “soon” for sure sooner than I want to have to face it (which would frankly be not at all). We are mortal creatures. Fucking hell, doesn’t that suck all the damned ballz?? I sigh out loud and think about dear friends, far away family, and peculiarly close others that I feel, sometimes, in my day-to-day experience as “ghosts” of times past. Yes, even in spite of my fondness for solitude, I too am a social creature, and I miss those dear to me whose geographical distance keeps them from being with me “in real life” (isn’t it all “real life” though? email, text messages, phone calls… all real). I make a note to myself to reach out to more of them, more often; time is short and the clock never ever stops ticking.

…Let’s not make that a grim thought, it’s just one of many truths upon which to build our perspective…

I woke once during the night from unpleasant dreams of loss and loneliness and disconnection and mourning. I didn’t stay sad, once I woke. I had reminders of love right there, welcoming me back to the safety and comfort of home. I said a silent thank you to my Traveling Partner for the glow objects he’s added to my space alongside the art I’ve wrought over the years that also helps ground me in my “now” when I wake from a bad dream.

A lotus votive holder and a reminder that I am loved, greet my wakefulness in the night.

I take a breath, exhale, and relax, letting the lingering recollection of my dreams fall away as I watch the sky turn from moody shades of morning blue to shades of gray that threaten more rain. It’s a new day, a new week, and it’s time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, grief, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Moments, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, winter, women
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