Two days after we landed, boxes and all, I fell ill with the flu. Friends and family unpacked while I slept my way through feverish chills and sweats and all the other fun things that come with this bug.
Yesterday, I regained a sense of normalcy, and could finally focus on my new surroundings. Of course, that called for a few pics to get my bearings.
Loving the new view.
A cruel master
the ticking clock
So much potential
Get it done!
I rush past shadows
crumple the pages
failed attempts
mounting
What of dreams?
Of life’s destiny?
How I worship
at the altar of should
Even with positivity
fantastical notions fall short
I argue against uncertainty
meet only disapproval
There is no magic
no pre-destined fame
just dust gathering
The dead are unimpressed.
(Image my own)
It’s so easy to spot in others – those that constantly complain about everything – but, do we catch it in ourselves?
These days I admit to feeling overwhelmed. Everywhere I look there are things to pack, and dust balls waiting to be scooped up. I lie awake thinking about it, instead of getting much needed rest.
So, I’m adopting a new mantra. Each time I fall into a mindset of lack, I’m consciously telling myself: There is time enough for everything. I’m getting it done.
It’s all about focus.
I’ve been pushing and pushing and I’ve hit an impasse. Luckily, I booked myself a reflexology treatment for this morning, so I can lean into the feeling and melt.
The sky, mirroring my mood, is a big grey blob.
Hopefully, the clouds and this lethargy will disperse later.
There’s a river runs between us,
you and I.
Our thoughts, like tears, are liquid
carried effortlessly by the current.
But you and I,
we stand on the banks, oblivious;
ignoring the connection,
proudly touting our individualism.
Still the river flows,
and all you’ve suffered,
and all I’ve suffered,
or dreamed, or imagined, or hoped,
flows with it.
Step into the water with me,
feel our connection,
do not be afraid.
for it is sacred.
Wade deeper and know
you are not alone
for I am here
in this river
that runs between us.
(Image my own)
It may be foolish of me, at my age and in my current condition, but I hang on to the hope that the pain of this effort is leading somewhere: renewal, new purpose, or at the very least, a blossoming.
Saturday we packed up the garage (with help). Dusty, dirty, and exhausting.
Sunday we attended and then hosted a farewell party for our Ukrainian roommate, who is going back to Ukraine despite all our protests. Yes, two separate gatherings. Heart wrenching.
This morning, we visited our new apartment building to get set up with a storage room and took a load of stuff to charity. I’m asleep on my feet.
I feel just like the tree in this photo. Stretched beyond.
Tomorrow, some of the furniture moves out. Hope I manage to stay upright.
Like an orphaned tree
shivering in a coat of frost
my soul wanders
dreamless, alone
a nobody, nowhere
in the pre-dawn chill.
Beckoned by first light
body twisting wakens
Consciousness clings
to desolate slumber
then, reluctantly
reality brings me home.
(Image my own)
