She Nose

Not knowing,

yet fully balanced,

she may or may not

Be.

She sits on the edge of his nose.

Who could she 

Be. . .

who sits so

comp . fort . a . blee?

Does she even care,

and

if she does

who is she?

I am Enough

My current petty struggle with my partner is nothing other than the familiar go ‘round I seem to reach with each of my long term commitments: my former husband, my last partner, and my present beloved. It always comes down to my expecting them to fill up the needy places inside me. I expect some One person to love and accept those things about me that even I have trouble liking about me. It brings out my sometimes-feelings-of-not-having-enough from someone. Not enough time for me; not enough understanding; not enough fill in the blank.
 

 At such times, I seek elsewhere for whatever will make up for this lack. A good book, a tasty sweet, a walk along the river, time with my cats, an exchange with a friend, writing, or creating a piece of art. Anything that might temporarily plug up the hole.

Eventually it all gets resolved.

I find what I’m ultimately looking for, but have forgotten. . .

a bit of calm and unexpected self-acceptance.

A new insight.

A sense of fulfillment.

I reclaim my place of knowing it is only I who can find the solution. And I turn back in the direction of happiness. I allow the light. Open to hope.

It’s taken a lifetime worth of effort to learn this. Thanks to those I have loved and who have loved me in return, I have finally come to accept that I must be my own best friend.

Now, finally, I can look in the mirror, smile, and say to those blue eyes looking back at me. . .what a wonder filled being I am.

Gift of Hummingbird

I must be spending too much time "back in the convent", because I've been on the edge of depression the past few weeks. Digging into the past has brought up a few of my shadows. Darkness that I would rather not know about.

So, as I was watering my transplants this gloriously colorful, fall morning, a hummingbird flitted into the direct path of my hose. His little wings were getting wet and I thought he wanted a drink. I stayed as still as possible, not wanting to disturb him. He stayed in midair and then flew off in the bushes again. A second later, he showed up next to the spray from my water hose again. I couldn't have felt more honored, had he been a prince or king. At first, I wondered whether it was a sign that someone close to me had died. Then I realized he had another message for me. Hummingbird represent joy and lightness of being. I checked out a few websites, and liked best what I found here.

Without Stories

I grow increasingly aware of the thoughts traveling through my head. 

Stories about me and my world. 

Neither thoughts nor collection of stories 

are who I really am--no matter how glorious or ugly they may be. 

I am beyond. 

Wanting very much to let go of the whirl and stickiness 

of condemning and overly demanding words. 

For much of my lifetime, I have cultivated being nice and good. 

If I am every able to let go, who would I be?
I imagine feeling lighter. 

Less serious or worried. 

If I were able to reach this blank slate, 

would I finally know freedom?