Semi-Daily Scribbles
Carving out a corner to post random crap.
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With those new eyes I'm learning to use, I need to carve out more real estate in my heart to comprehend the images demanding to be seen. My brain is quick to label, judge, dismiss, move on. I need to tell it to take a seat. Morning ritual: 'see' my face in the mirror and meet a stranger. 'See' cereal floating in a bowl but can't taste it. Say 'I love you,' and uncertain what that means. The rising sun wants to slice through the murkiness I'm fond of getting lost in. Today I'll let it burn away the Idea of Me.
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the power of observation can bring great joy and balance into one's life. it can also raise an alarming number of questions. when encountering a situation, neurons fire and I begin to babble as the thoughts bubble up and outward, reaching at least one human I will never meet. por ejemplo:*who's causing all these cracks and why are people falling through them?
*habits, ruts, and rituals tarnish the brightest optimism. steer clear of complacency and look at things with a sense of wonderment. this takes daily practice because it's a hard skill to master.
*a routine that eats up a lot of time is navigating this waking space. from what I can tell, consciousness is an interactive training module for the eventual state of perpetual dreamtime.
observing the world around me with a new set of eyes.
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Beverly Mason's faux-fur coat, which didn't resemble the hide of any animal on earth, was one of many vintage articles of clothing her students teased her about. A popular 8th grade English teacher, the staff and student body of Grover Cleveland Middle School looked forward each day to Ms. Mason's outfit. She had a flair for finding unique items, and many thought of her as a living history lesson in women's fashion. Even if she showed up wearing a hoopskirt, which presented challenges getting through doorways, Ms. Mason's attire was always impeccably well tailored.Vintage. The word didn't suit Beverly. Or, rather, it held no meaning for her whatsoever. Kids and colleagues may have seen her throwback sense of style as out-of-touch, eccentric even. Her wardrobe, however, served its purpose when she worked long into the night on moonlight assignments. When Beverly made her rounds, those who received her company never deemed her old-fashioned.
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“Let me settle in first so I can make a nice spot for you.” I gathered scraps of hay left on the barn floor and mounded them up. I patted the pile, nodding for Solomon to lie down. He burrowed alongside me and I covered him in my shawl. As I closed my eyes praying for sleep, I inhaled the smell of Solomon's tangled hair. Despite the grime and muck clinging to both of us, he still had the honey-sweet scent of a baby. I took in a deep breath and felt my body grow lighter. That’s when I remembered the hidden finery tied to my leg. I panicked when I thought it had slipped off. I reached down to touch my calf, careful not to disturb the sleeping boy, and loosened the strip of cloth. The stone fell into my hand and I was grateful for its smooth coolness.
Semi-Daily Scribbles 