What were you thinking when you sent this? "This would be a nice, final text for her to see for the next 40 years as she questions the validity of our past 40 years of love and friendship together?" "Maybe there's hope for us after all?" "Should I call her and tell her the dark …
So many of us fall into the pattern of believing what we think, when so very little of it is the truth. We believe what we're told, we believe what people do and say about us. We think people are whispering and gossiping about us, and when they do, that behavior is about them and not us. What others say about us (if they even do, at all), is not about our reality, it's about their perception. It's how they see us, not how we are.
While the practice of meditation is what brings me comfort, being connected to the awareness of the energy of meditation--in the absence of the practice--may be what I need more right now.
Hello, lovely readers. Hope you're having a wonderful, if not warm, weekend. I've spent the last several days with my parents and am heading home tomorrow to dog sit for a week. It's been a nice pause in life, having had the time to catch up deeply and intensely with an old friend, drive country …
Yes, I see the typo, but I kinda like it. Softmess seems to sum up my life, currently.
Just like that Monday, so long ago my answer will be yes. every time, yes. to every question, yes again and again, yes the way it was when we were together. until the demons are gone, yes and you can join me under that blanket, yes and your heart beats under my ear again Yes and yes and yes. I've never not loved you, my big goof.
You might think that on a day involving a cemetery, there is no tiny joy to be found, but you'd be wrong. Those are the spaces where tiny joys abound, if only you seek them out above the pain and tears. I should know--I'm an expert at being around death, as I've been told.
We may lose and we may win But we will never be here again So open up, I'm climbin' in And take it eeeeeasy....
After exploring the recesses of this brain, three tiny poems need released. By the time I write those, I will have two more bubbling about
It is rare indeed when the person who hurt you happens to be the person who heals you.
Lots of thoughts this morning to choose from after literally one of the best and one of the worst weekends at the same time. The thought that keeps bubbling to the surface is simple: no matter how selfish bitter hateful narcissistic miserly self-righteous and miserable you are, it is never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever …
On the 15th of October, around 10:25 a.m., I'll be observing an anniversary of sorts that only a select group of people can fully comprehend and connect with. And one that only I internalize.
From the time you stop counting the minutes between your spouse's last breaths of earthly oxygen (I stopped at 7 minutes and 23 seconds before I called my dad to my husband's hospice bed in the dining room to help me count), shit gets real…real fast.
Dear two bikers coming down the big hill at Battelle Darby Creek, as you rounded the path that parallels the creek itself: