Sometimes I wish I could be music.
Not really thinking in solid thoughts on this beautiful Monday. I could probably conjure something concrete to get the pen moving, but the words just don’t meld right, today. Yeah, it would be cool to be music right now.
I’ve felt my throat catch on a few occasions lately, seeing kindness displayed between people where you would never expect it. And I’ve had opportunity to wonder at the coldness some people make their way through. Times lacking warmth or hope; horrible situations, and they put a foot in front of the other, and the other, making their determined way to… what? The possibility that things will get better.
Makes me want to stand up and cheer for them.
When life is full and bright, and filled with wonder, it’s hard to remember how lonely and futile it can all seem.
But it’s always beautiful. I donno how, but some way… There have been times I felt most sensitized to creation at my lowest low, when everything felt like it was over. I remember sitting still, and the motion of a branch being blown about by the wind would pull me in. The way the leaves flutter in an ever changing pattern of light and shadow; this isn’t from me, it does not depend on me, these things continue always and ever around me, but they speak to me. Life can intertwine so tenderly in the midst of heartache and strife, I’m disobliged to look away.
Happiness does this too. Is it this, the inexplicable beauty of the living world, that allows people to move forward?
These feelings that extend your nerve endings past the edge of your skin, those feelings are somehow a part; They make your heart so big, you feel everything.
My daughter has gotten so tall. I keep thinking I’ll be used to it, but I turn a corner into a room, and there she is, all these feet and inches of little girl, and it keeps startling me somehow that the chubby cheeked five year old has given way to this half-grown human. She’s still her, you know. Same eyes, same smile, but I want to slow the context down. I’m not ready for her to be seven yet, much less nine.
Yet I’m sending up praises, too. To the clouds in the big, fluffy sky. She’s healthy! She’s happy! She’s beautiful! Look how she grows! And like every mom, I think we play these moments close to the chest, doled out in sharp, short bursts because it is too frightening to reside on the fragility of a flower. The strength of that stalk is relative to the kindness of the elements, so you send a fierce prayer to the world with words for fair weather.
Yeah, i wish i could be music today.
Life is heart-breakingly beautiful, and all we’ve got down here are words.