Word Vomit

Today is a day for word vomit. Most assuredly.

Often these days I feel the need to write a chapbook on my thoughts and feelings or I am a dry desert with absolutely nothing to say.

Today is vomit.

I feel nauseated a lot these days, low-level, comes and goes, and it feels like it’s because of the world around me and nothing else. Not my immediate world, which feels good, warm, protected, but the other. The outside.


I’ve been through what might be described best as a crisis of faith. Or at least others might understand that phrase. It seems to mean that you come out the other side…. And you do, and I have. But I am utterly changed.

Some changes have been very good, and some not-so-much. But it’s growth and change and that seems always to come with pain.

Why do people stay in the same place their whole lives? I know why. Change is hard. It hurts. It’s desperately lonely and confusing, and all the things you thought you knew just aren’t there any more, and those things were comforting. They were somewhat false, yet very comforting, like a small child that is protected in the home of its mother. There is bad out there, but I never think of it, I’m safe here in my cocoon.

I guess I’ve seen more of the world and I know why people don’t want to see it, not really. It can be ugly and painful and dirty and all-too-real. So we close ourselves off in different types of protective cocoons, and thank God for them, because without them, we’d all surely go mad.

I now know more about myself, about who I truly am, than I ever have. (The good, the bad, and the ugly.) I have more confidence, more of an ability to stand up for myself and others, that’s a good thing. More love, more compassion than I have ever known possible, yet I feel as though my eyes are more open than ever before. And with eyes open, one sees the bad as well as the good. We feel the pain AND the joy. Maybe it’s something to do with a lifetime of hiding and stuffing, stuffing down those feelings, pains, hurts, hiding from the harshness. I’ve emerged, ready to face it all. Stronger in many ways, yet utterly changed.

To face one’s self, to see yourself for who and what you are, to unpack it all, it’s a journey. And one that only ends when your time on this earth is done. (And if you believe in the eternity of souls, then a new journey begins.) I tend to believe it, maybe because I always have, and there is comfort in believing that we don’t just end. It boggles the mind. I am not sure I’d ever choose to believe that there is nothing after our bodies die. I understand why people do believe it, more than I ever have understood, but I don’t think I can go there.

I think most people’s lives aren’t set up to have the kind of time needed for deep personal/soul reflection. To excavate it all. It takes massive amounts of time. Maybe that’s why it often comes to people as they age and their lives slow a bit. I’ve gotten off the hamster wheel, I am blessed to be able to, and I am grateful that I can work as much as I want to. Or as little.

I’m off the wheel, and it feels mostly great, but also, I sometimes miss the madness. The pace of life with children always under foot, massive amounts of responsibilities to others. There is a feeling of purpose in it.

But this—this time—there is purpose in it as well. And I search for it daily. In words, in the blank page, the empty canvas. I see it in the eyes of family. I hear and feel their love for me, and I know it doesn’t hinge on my duty for them, or theirs for me.

That rare gem of a true friend, the one you can always call or email or text, and they are always there at the other end. It is a priceless gift.

Thanks for listening my friends.

Wonder or Fear

Sometimes in the midst of the most mundane of things, I will become overwhelmed with a feeling of gratitude. Today it happened while doing laundry. I am struck with a sense of blessing. Many don’t have what I have, do not enjoy even my own level of health and well-being. I can become caught up sometimes in the day-to-day of my own issues and forget that, in the grand scheme of things, I really don’t have it too bad.

I’ve been watching a Netflix program about the world’s most extraordinary homes, and they have been—each one—so beautifully original, unique… they each have their own personality, each visually stunning, but in most cases, it is the homes that manage to insert themselves into the majesty of nature around them, that are the most breath-taking. I am, like many people of the artistic “bent,” a very visually stimulated person. I’ve found myself so inspired by seeing these images of nature, of our world, the oceans, trees, greenery… no matter how good an artist you are, there are some things you just cannot compete with, you just can’t touch.

As a chronic “deep thinker” I think a lot about this life, this planet, why we are here. Hubby and I had a huge talk about it all just yesterday while on the way home from an outing. I’m as obsessed as any poet and philosopher has ever been, when it comes to thinking through the deepest of questions about our existence. I told him that, there are a few (very few) conclusions I’ve come to about this life. One is that we are undoubtedly here to learn lessons. I know this, because I have experienced that I will hit the same wall, round the same mountain, a hundred times, until I have learned what I am meant to learn. There are many instances of this in my life. Once I “get it” I am allowed to move on to new and different lessons.

I believe we are here to experience humanity, experience life in these “skins” on this planet, for some unknown purpose, (perhaps for our own betterment).

I’ve come to believe that there is very little that I know beyond all reasonable doubt, so when I come to any epiphany, it is so powerful to me. But for the first time ever, I’m okay with the “not knowing.” This recent mountain I’ve trekked around has taught me that it is okay NOT to have everything all figured out. I’d even go so far as to say that acting as though, or thinking that you DO, is hubris at its worst.

It’s such a human trait to try and figure everything out, and we’ve done it to such a degree that we have killed all of the wonder and majesty, all of the mystery, in the unknowing and unknowable. It’s a hard thing to just accept that there are some things I will never know for certain.

I think hope and faith dwell there, though, in the unknown, the uncertain. All sorts of wonderful things dwell there. Wonder. The wonder and awe of a small child seeing the ocean for the first time; trying to grasp the ungraspable. Humans try to “think” all the wonder away. I’ve found it is something I want, even need, to hold on to. I’m not a person who can live well or peacefully without hope, faith, wonder, magic, fantasy… the unknown. My soul actually craves it, and gets excited at its prospect. Maybe that’s why I enjoy fiction so much… the world of the unknown and unknowable.

Anyway, today, I feel extraordinarily grateful for life on this gorgeous blue marble. For whatever purpose I, or we, were created. I will live it gratefully and in awe and wonder, I will continue to walk the path, learn the lessons, trek around those mountains. And I will hold on to the unknown with awe instead of fear.