Is it the stillness
of the rock pool
that draws me
again and again?
Authority eludes –
is not my own –
I dodge hawk-eyed
critics, am weighted
down…struggling
to resurface…
Crave tranquil
company, a chance
to breathe…
unseen…
Nature always the key
(Image my own)
You are not responsible for everything. Be accountable. Strive to be self-aware. Know that there is so much more at work than you could ever carry on your own, so don’t even try.
Note to self.
Petulance is actually the word that comes to mind at the moment. I feel as if my inner child, not getting what she wants fast enough, is throwing a temper tantrum.
I just need to convince her to give the grass time to grow.
Thanks Richard Adams.
Hubby says it is the best dish I have ever made. So tasty! The secret? Keep it simple and let the flavours of the garden speak for themselves.
Feeling like this cat in the long grass – unable to see what’s ahead and patiently (or impatiently) watching for a sign.
Tasks are lined up this morning to prepare for another house showing, and then the wait.
And so it goes.
Evening light casts a hopeful glow
A gentle summer breeze harmonizes
shadows fascinate, stretching into mystery
My breathing, shallow, betrays the mood
Uncertainty an unforgiving foe –
soul whispers a prayer of longing
A swarm of winged insects dance
where walnut branches part
undaunted by ensuing dark
My wings, folded in doubt’s wake,
weigh heavily on anticipation –
a learned habit of mine
Sun lingers in this season
of emerald charm, and I am reminded
that time evokes change, and I too
Am but a part of nature’s cycle
and what worry robs me of now
will not find its rhythm in Winter’s chill.
(Image my own)
Back to back showings and an Open House Saturday, and I’m falling into the perfectionism trap.
Then I found this note I’d written to my younger self:
Discard the concept of perfection:
choose to embrace vulnerability
and imperfection as fertile ground.
Taking comfort in my own words.
I lied.
The initial seed of disappointment has fermented,
and in the absence of confrontation, grown roots
written sorrowful chapters
conclusion: unworthiness
Why couldn’t I just have said:
I don’t understand
this makes me unhappy?
Where did I learn that prevarication protects
that I alone am responsible for emotions
that I do not matter?
Decades later
I still cannot uproot the weed.
The lie remains.
(Image my own)
Therapy is drudging up old feelings – places where I tend to get stuck. I don’t have the answers I need to move on yet, so all I can do is breathe through the moments and be mindful in the present.
People ask: “How can you be so sick; you’re a strong person?” Or I am too positive of a person – how is it possible?
What if it is because of these very things that life has chosen me for a master class – a spiritual quest – not for the weak of heart? What if it’s because I’m a good student?
(Image and art mine)
One Woman's Quest 