Tuesday, September 27, 2011

I love you, regardless.


What a summer this has been.  Maybe not so different from any other, yet increasingly, I feel time whizzing by me as though I missed the jet-stream.  The wave of life curls over me, thrashes me, rolls me up on to the beach frazzled, dizzy, and bedazzled by the momentum.  (Yeah, I just couldn't resist all those Zs.)


To begin, I wonder how my little Rebekah (#1 Granddaughter) all of a sudden is looking over the top of my head.  Yes, I could become maudlin over this feat, which took her a mere 13 years to accomplish.  Her baby sister, Mary, is 10.  I am beginning to feel that this is unfair.

Pour another cup of coffee.  Add a slip of cream.  Sip.


No.  A life rich with all of this is not unfair.  Cannot be measured in dollars, or even in time.  Perhaps this is from whence the word "immeasurable" springs.

I have been contemplating what freedom means to me.  This morning a crisp breeze blew through the fig tree in the back yard.  The sun was not over the ridge yet, the figs looked like black dots.  I drew water for the coffee, my thoughts trailed off towards a maze of "what ifs."  Mind does that, you know. Just takes off without consideration of peace-of-mind, or belief, or faith.  Increasingly, it is all up to me to reign in unruly mind with a firm hand.  Bring it back to this moment.  The clear water streaming into the pot, circling the bottom, churning up in the center.  Fresh.  Clear.

If I were one of the thousands of women in jail, I would not be standing here at a kitchen window, contemplating freedom, or the slow dawn illuminating black figs dancing with the breeze.


It is easy for me to understand ways of animals, migrations, radish seeds.  I am able to start a painting with little regard for where it may take me; curiosity compels me to stay with it through the whole process.  Human behavior, on the other hand, is a complete mystery, and not altogether a pleasant one.

I am warming up.  I haven't written for too long.  I feel a little rusty, creaky, shy.  How do writers just burst out with truth and honesty?  How do you say I love you and have it mean anything?

What exactly do I want it to mean, I love you?  I want safety, kindness, consideration, something secure, something I can count on.  And I think I want that for you, too.  When I say I love you, I am believing on some level that you are agreeing with me, and knowing what I am thinking/feeling/believing.  And this is where things start to fall apart.  Of course.  For starters, you may be thinking/etc a whole lot of other things; like how to get more, or mine, or theirs.


 Many insects and animals live in colonies, or hives, or nests, and work together collectively.  Their common purpose is survival.  We judge them as simple, complex, whatever.  We think we are the smart ones, the ones with God, enlightenment, we can read and drive cars.  We are the ones.  Special.


Cooperation.  Collaboration.
Mmmmm.  I am getting warmed-up.
xoxoLPC

5 comments:

Gail Larrick said...

A beautiful exploration with O'Keeffe like imagery to go along with it. Like the blossom unfolding, so much open up from beneath the surface of your words here. I hope this contemplative Mind will continue to speak on this subject, Ms Laura.

Ruby said...

It's amazing where our minds take us. "everything to someone; nothing to everyone else."
And freedom? Made me think of my own. Because I am free now..."thank you for placing me so well, and making my freedom so complete. For I am no slave to whistle, clock, or bell; nor weak-eyed prisoner of wall and street..."
xoxo back!

Ms. Moon said...

And it is so nice to hear your voice again.

N2 said...

Love seeing your vision and the flower thread on this one. I am up that bumblebee's butt as s/he crawls into that morning glory. Big Hugs from Here! x0 N2

Elizabeth said...

I think you've warmed up to writing just fine. Your prose, actually, is always burning.

 
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