Tired of "Keeping Busy"

The poem below was read to the yoga class I attended and again as we are nearing the end of the practice.  Both times the poem was read, the words resonated with me and where I am in my life.  For the longest time I have been in a rut, both mentally, physically and emotionally.  Attending this yoga class and trying to break away from the things to "keep me busy" has been starting a small revolution within myself.  Reading, more yoga, writing, attending to my goals, to my aspirations help the busy-ness of my days - if only I can do these things in longer time blocks.  During the times I keep from "being busy" I will listen for my song.

Going to the mountains has always been a strong reconnection and grounding experience for me.  Whatever the trees I am surrounded by I am able to refill my cup of nature, of love, of patience.  Yet, there is something spiritual about being surrounded by thousands of aspen trees.  The small giants, straight, curved, twisted, however they want to grow, they grow.  Their leaves dance like chimes with wind.  In Autumn, when the leaves fall, it is seeing a gold littered ground.  A great friend has a print of a large field of aspen trees.  The front of the print is a dark tone.  As the trees move toward the back, center of the print, it becomes lighter, a clearing almost.  This has always brought my attention back to myself.  Mesmerized by this print, knowing currently I am in the dark tones but as I keep moving, the light shines through and leads me out.  I would love to have that print with this poem painted onto it.

Do not try to save the whole world or do anything grandiose.  Instead, create a clearing in the dense forest of your life and wait there patiently, until the song that is your life falls into your own cupped hands and you recognize and greet it. Only then will you know how to give yourself to this world so worth of rescue.
                                                                                                   ~Martha Postlewaite

13 Years in, 6 Years Out

Thousands of times I have tried to contact you, to talk to you.  Many letters I have started, etching my words, my story, my emotions, only to tear up each one.  I wish for the day we can see each other again, the day I can hug you tightly.  Jr., you meant so much to me even if it was hard for you to see.  I took out unnecessary frustrations out on you.  I am sorry for my actions.

After 13 years of being in your life, I left and I didn't know how to keep you in my life.  I didn't know who I was, where I was, where I wanted to go, who I wanted to be.  I thought it would be easy for you if I disappeared from your life.  Maybe it was, but I hope I am wrong.  Not that I would want to cause you more pain, but the thought of you questioning why I left and didn't keep in touch, the thought of you cursing my name, the thought of you still wanting me in your life, needing me consumes my thoughts.  I am sorry for disappearing.

You are now 23 years old and surely taking all life's wonders into your heart and soul, absorbing, growing and loving.  My heart remains open to the boy I helped raised for 13 years.  I want to hear about every experience you have had during our long six years apart.  I want to hear your voice, to hear your smile and your laugh. Are you still succeeding in soccer, do you own your own dog, have you traveled the world... a few of the many questions I have racing in my mind so often.  LJ, I want the most awesome son back in my life, I hope someday you have the same wish for me.  I come across the many cards and letters you have written me over the years, my heart fills with love and my eyes fill with tears.  There is a void in my heart.

No explanation or story will correct what happened or why I left but I do hope you leave a small window in your heart to let me be back in.  I love you LJ.  I miss you.  

Does Marriage Have To Exist?

Yesterday after a 12 hour day I needed to stop in at the Salt Lake campus to deliver an envelope to a teacher.  I reach the front doors to find them locked, because I was too lazy at the moment to walk the short distance back to my car, drive around the back and find my campus keys,  I knock on the glass doors in hopes of someone still inside, and someone to hear my knuckles making contact with the glass.  A few seconds pass and then up walks the janitor James.  James likes all things in order, my knocking on the door after he has locked them was not in order.  Yet begrudging he opened them for me.  He even opened the teachers classroom for me so I could place the envelope on her desk, again, not in order.

"Oh Angela, I want to show you pictures from my daughters wedding."  His daughter married a couple weeks ago, very proud papa.  I knew this would be longer than a two minute look at pictures and say goodbye because James can become quite involved in conversation when given any opportunity.  We walk down the long hallway toward his office, enter his office and he pulls a folder from a shelve.  Excited he opens the folder and produces a few pictures along with the very detailed ceremony, seriously, this explained who was to do what and when.  For instance, it described upon arrival at the alter, named sister will adjust wedding gown.  Said name brides maid will take flowers from bride after said message then return the flowers to bride after the kiss.  Yes, very detailed.

I comment on the beauty of his daughter and his wife.  Make the necessary comments for any wedding you know nothing of the bride and groom.  Then his opinions rise, they fly out from thoughts into words, daggers out of his mouth.  "Angela, she is 35 years old!  Finally at 35 years old she marries.  35.  She is 35 Angela."  My response is to start walking slowly backwards toward the door as I smile and say, "35 is a great age to marry, she is confident in who she is and what she wants."  Oh boy, those were fighting words to him.  "Angela, she is 35."  "And very beautiful James, congratulations."  "Angela, when are you going to get married?"  Here we go...again.

"Time isn't right now James", trying to keep my smile big and not show my vampire teeth.  "Angela, she is 35, you need to find a man to marry."  "James, I am older than she is (almost laughing now)"  "Angela, why are you not married? You are beautiful and smart."  "Thank you James, maybe that is why I am not married, I am smart and this scares guys."  This finally brought a smile to his face.  I bid my farewell and quickly walk out of his office, down the long hallway to the doors.  Happy to hear them latch behind me.

This morning I am riding the train with my friend and tell him this story.  He too is shocked that it is of anyone else's concern whether someone is or is not married.  As we are discussing the issue, it was welcoming to express my desires of being single longer and he too.  He is continually harassed by his parents for not being married, I am harassed by others.

Why does it matter to anyone else the status of my life, or your life?  Some act as if they are losing sleep at night because I have decided to not settle down and marry yet.  Do people expect for all to be married, whether they are happy or not?  Why is it, in our society, and many others, that marriage is the perfect Hollywood ending?

Happy Father's Day and Summer Solstice!

Happy Father’s Day and Summer Solstice!  The day has been great and challenging.  Rushing out my door to meet up for a Father’s Day lunch, my car stalls idling at a stop light. She refuses to turn over even though there is power happening.  In the middle of a  three lane road, next to the left turn only there I sit.  I try a few times to get her to start back up but don’t want to flood her.  My hazard lights are now busy and doing their job while I pull the handle to release the hood latch. Look at my door to make sure no one is going to drive by and take off my door or me, there sits a biker guy, to my left, stopped.  I open my door and begin to exit, he then whistles in approval and I glare at him holding back my tears, walking to the front of my car and raise the hood. He then says, “You really are broken down!” I nod with a bitchy smile.  He tells me he will be back with help.  Great...!  In the short seconds after, a nice young family pulls up besides me and asks if they can help.  I do not turn them down. As the guy gets behind my car to start pushing her over to the nearest parking lot, another from the theatre rushes over and joins him.  A HUGE shout out to them and the wife and kids!!!!  You all helped me greatly! Safe in the nearest parking lot, both the men start doing what men do under hoods and both agree that it is not the battery, it is a spark...a spark.  

The best is when I return to her after hours apart to find she really was not going to turn over and take me home, I tell my mom to sit in the drivers seat and steer into a parking spot while I, in a skirt, get behind the car putting my hands on the hot metal and push her in  My dad would have been proud :)  

Tonight she sits in the parking lot, tomorrow morning she will be towed to the mechanics.  Oh the one who has been with me for over 15 years sit alone.  She is going to be okay.  Tomorrow she will get the attention she needs and provide me with more years to come. I think the mechanics should mentor me while they instruct me on how to fix her for half the cost! I so do love my Civic.  

Do More

 

 

 

Do more than exist, live. 

Do more than touch, feel. 

Do more than look, observe. 

Do more than read, absorb. 

Do more than hear, listen. 

Do more than listen, understand. 

Do more than think, ponder. 

Do more than talk, say something.

         ~John H Rhoades

Where is the Emotion, the Feeling?

Five years ago, in Spring of 2010 I met him, feel in love.  Numerous "fill in the blanks" why, I did.  He did the little things I love and meant so much to me, holding my hands, kissing me, really kissing me.  Pick me up and squeeze me, holding me close to him.  He listened to me, talked to me.

Throughout the years he changed, I changed.  But we did not change and grow together.

Five years later, I couldn't do it anymore.  Numerous "fill in the blanks" why, not another minute.   When I said the words, "I'm breaking up with you."  There was no begging for me to stay, no questions as to why, no determination to work on what went wrong.  In my car, I drive out of the driveway slowly, looking in my rearview mirror only to find he is not chasing my car down the street.  Since then, no phone calls,  they only texts I receive are those saying "this piece of mail came for yo. I miss you."  I do not doubt he misses me, but I feel the same void as before.  An emptiness that was already there, it just grew louder when I left.

I miss him, who he was.  I miss our first years together.  There was too much wrong, disconnect in our relationship to return, but I do miss him.