life as i know it...

alteration in time...

Fast-forward exactly one week and it will be the morning of my wedding day.  How quickly these months have passed, time coursing out before me so rapidly that it feels as if I must have missed a few weeks here or there.  It seems that time has taken on a novel pattern of unfolding, as if perhaps I might find an extra week or two hidden beneath the pile of laundry or stashed haphazardly between the weathered bindings of my delicious books.  And yet there is a sense of irony in this new way of perceiving time.  Amidst a tumultuous swirling forward of moments, days, and weeks, my own body has seemed to slow down, adjusting its own internal patterns. 

 

Whereas night has always been the time in which my soul is beckoned to rise and create, I now find myself comfortably settled beneath the rustic colors of the summer quilt, glancing at the clock only to notice that it is well before midnight.  The mornings come earlier, much earlier, and I awaken to Nature’s sights and sounds, overwhelmed by a sense of fragile serenity.  The birdsong whispers into my ears, a gentle ode, lyrics having lost their raspy quality of the previous evening.  The drops of dew glisten on individual blades of emerald grass, shadows dancing across the earth in diagonal patterns, the tall pines waving their branches ever so slightly in a morning greeting.  It is only in these early morning hours that time seems to stop for blessedly long moments, an offering that allows me to feel rejuvenated and enlightened.

 

As the sun rises higher in the sky, the pleasant warmth reaching a peak of almost fiery heat, time alters itself again and the moments pass rapidly, skipping forward in haste as if to compensate for the morning’s lingering. 

 

Each day is filled with appointments, all in preparation for the upcoming wedding.  At the florist, we discuss whether the ranunculus and roses will be predominantly ivory or scarlet.  A large bucket of fresh, delicate spray roses are placed before me so that I might better judge their size and form.  I long to touch the tiny blooms, remembering a time when I felt as delicate and fragile as those flowers.  At the bakery, my senses are heightened even greater.  I shiver from the cold air that emanates from refrigerated glass shelves, the sight of succulent sweets beckoning to me in lines of chocolate, mango, coconut, and vanilla.  The scent of heaven overwhelms me as I hand over the ivory, pearled ribbons I have so carefully prepared, demonstrating where each layer will be wrapped.  Satisfied that one more mission has been completed, I leave, breathing deeply once more in an attempt to hold that delicious scent in my memory forever.  More appointments follow, last-minute details exchanged and balances paid.  More checkmarks are made on the long to-do list.  It is in this manner that I have spent each day this week.  Now the week is over, the final days being counted down, and I am ready to indulge in some serious relaxation before the festivities begin.

 

In lieu of a traditional bachelorette party, my dear girlfriends have planned a day of celebration much more fitting with my spirit.  This afternoon we will meet at a delightful pottery shop called “Earth, Wind, Fire” where we will paint our own pottery after a mid-afternoon snack of hummus and white wine.  Our plans for the evening are equally relaxing, firing up the grill as we lounge beneath the cool breeze of the ceiling fan on my sister’s back deck.  Comfort foods, beverages, perhaps a few of our favorite board games, and several hours of nourishing conversation.  I cannot imagine a more perfect day to celebrate the beauty and treasure of female friendship.

 

The next two days are less planned and I am immensely grateful for the stretches of open time that are offered.  I am eager for church tomorrow morning, the vitality that springs forth from deep inside as I sing lyrics of love and grace, the melody of acoustic guitars and pianos filling my ears and my heart.  I long for the sound of the preacher’s strong, passionate voice, his friendly greetings and jovial laughter radiating upward to reach the high wooden beams and beyond.  A late-morning brunch with family and then the afternoon awaits, with promises of new adventures found amidst the pages of books and playtime with my goddaughters.  Monday knows no plans at all.  A new day of endless possibilities, my last full day of quiet and solitude before the arrival of family and friends. 

 

And so it is…this magical time that has already begun to fill my heart so completely.  I am brimming with love, full and complete, blissful and grateful.  No matter how time seems to alter itself in this coming week, I am content and fulfilled.  When the moments pass quickly, I will allow my body to keep moving at its newfound pace, breathing in my natural rhythm.  And when time afford those moments that linger, I will kiss each one and savor the delicious taste.

breathing beyond the heat...

It is morning and I can see the sun rising higher in the sky with each passing moment.  I sit here in the cool air-conditioned comfort of my home, thankful that the full heat of the day is not yet upon us.  The sultry days of sticky summer heat arrived suddenly this year, the changing of the seasons harsh and blunt.  The cool breezes of Spring evaporated quickly and Mother Nature has been determined to make her presence known this year.  In a place that rarely sees snow, there were numerous snowfalls.  With the snow barely melting came a trail of tornadoes, wrecking cycling chaos upon the slow pace of the South.  Just a few weeks ago, the evenings brought cool air and the morning dew was chilly upon bare feet.  It has only been in the past week or so that the characteristic heat of southern summers has decided to invade.  And its invasion has brought a sense of suffocation.

 

The flowers in the front beds that once stood tall and proud are now drooping from exhaustion.  The hibiscus have appeared to give up the fight to survive, their once vibrant leaves of green now tainted with the brown crisp of surrender.  Only the roses still bloom bright and full, in shades of brilliant yellow and red, reminders that the beauty of friendship and love cannot be stifled, even in such overwhelming heat.

 

I awoke early this morning after a long night of deep, restful sleep.  While the day’s brightness beckons to me, I know that I must stay inside today, away from this heat which so easily brings about sickness and fatigue.  It is difficult to watch the world from inside, through a thin pane of glass, to literally see the warmth burning into every blade of grass, and yet remain still.  I have always been naturally drawn to the sun, the feel of its rays beating down upon bare skin, the belief that life itself opens greater in the presence of the sun.  And yet there is a fine line between my pull to be closer to the sun and my realization that there is a certain degree of heat that is simply unbearable.  And so today, I can only watch from the safety of this room.  My rejuvenation must come from inside today…perhaps I need this internal rejuvenation, not only from within these walls, but from within my self. 

 

Today will be a day for productivity, creativity, and relaxation.  There is cleaning to be done and much organization needed.  All of the papers that have been scattered about for many weeks now…it is time to file them away.  The books for school will be placed upon the shelves with my stack of summer reading taken down as their replacement, bright covers to adorn the bedside table.  The closets will be cleaned out, filled with light summery fabrics to replace the heavy sweaters and boxes of hand-made scarves.  The mirrors will be cleaned, the previous reflection of worried anticipation washed away with a new reflection of hope and excitement to appear.  The art supplies, carelessly heaped in various corners will be dusted off, brought out into the open, and readied for a new surge of creativity.  And when my urges for productivity have been fulfilled, I will lounge upon a freshly made bed in the company of new books and light cotton yarn.  Under the coolness of the ceiling fan, I will knit a baby blanket and read Joan Anderson’s latest journey. 

 

In the suffocation of this southern heat, I will breathe.

birdsong...a night for singing

Today is over…this day I have anticipated and worried over and lived in not-so-pleasant dreams for weeks now.  This day…this monumental day in my life…it is over and I am finding it difficult to put into words how I feel.  Certainly I feel a sense of relief.  I have officially completed my Comps successfully…I passed!  The mere fact that this day is now over is a relief in and of itself.  I feel a sense of happiness of course and pride in myself for making it to what is often referred to as “the other side.”  I also feel a bit disoriented and overwhelmed.  For so long, I have spent so much time focused on preparing for this day.  Now my mind is running in circles, curious as to what is happening now that the papers and books have been stashed away in boxes, pushed far out of sight.  It is a wonderful feeling but also a bit unsettling.  My mind and body are desperately trying to adjust, to decompress, to somehow figure out how to realign themselves with a world of endless possibilities.

 

I recently wrote about this pull I have felt towards birds.  In browsing through art, I’ve been finding myself most attracted to the pictures of birds…captured mid-flight or perched on a telephone wire or sitting on a rooftop.  This connection, this sudden fascination, was something I did not understand.  I wondered about it, questioned it, explored it.  Last night, as I was struggling to calm my mind enough to sleep, I stepped outside into the darkness.  It was three a.m. and I was surprised to hear the song of a single bird.  Amidst the silence of the night, the quiet and solitude that seemed to wrap the world beneath a heavy blanket, I sat beneath the night sky in the company of a bird.  While I could not see the bird, I heard his song and I began to understand my connection to these creatures.  I could not tell if his song was one of loneliness or a calling out for others to join him in his own joy.  I could not make out his silhouette within the shadows, but I imagined him perched on a tree branch, oblivious to the silence around him, perfectly content in his own being.  As I listened and imagined him, I realized that, in many ways, I am that bird. 

 

When the skies begins to darken and evening appears, I am that bird that sits upon the rooftop, looking out on the world and deciding once more whether to rest for a bit or spread my wings and fly.  When the blackness of night is all encompassing, I am that bird hiding amidst the tree branches, singing alone, my own song of sorrow or beckoning.  In the pictures, I see myself mirrored in the birds dancing across the sand of the shoreline, the ones caught in mid-flight on some unpredictable journey, the ones nestled together in nests with their babies.  In the air outside, while the rest of the world sleeps, I listen to the song of the bird and it is my own voice that is singing.

 

This thought process has led me to some interesting ideas about the way that I see myself and the way that I long to be.  The field of psychology is known for analyzing individual’s answers to random, seemingly pointless questions.  One of those questions is: If you could be any animal, what would you be?  The response given to this question can supposedly provide insight into one’s deepest desires and yearnings.  When I worked in the prisons, I often got the “bird response.”  It is not hard to understand the desire to “fly away” or the wish for “freedom” that occurs when someone is locked up, trapped, caged against their will.  Every time I asked a patient or inmate that question, I wondered what my own answer would be.  That was years ago, but I knew at that time that my own answer would certainly not be “a bird.”  I considered many possibilities…dog, bear, turtle, zebra…but none of them really seemed to fit.  After a while, I stopped thinking about it.  In the past several years, it has not been a question I have asked of my clients as it was no longer relevant to the more structured assessments I was assigned to complete.  The whole aspect of asking such questions became viewed as irrelevant, less important than the information provided by a standardized personality measure. 

 

Although I am not sure why, I know that my answer to that question now would be “a bird.”  It is not the desire to fly away or the wish for freedom now.  It is about me being at a point in my life where I am able to embrace my aloneness at times, to appreciate the opportunity to look out upon the world and reflect on which journeys I most desire to take.  It is about the joy in hearing my own voice and knowing it is now a voice I have created, one I am not afraid to share with others, and one that is not dictated by the song of those around me.  It is about facing my fears and choosing to fly anyway.

 

So maybe after all my ramblings about this new connection I feel with birds…maybe now I do understand a bit more about how I feel now that today is over.  I feel a sense of freedom, of accomplishment, of willpower and determination.  I feel as though I am that bird perched upon the rooftop, looking out on the world, preparing for flight and singing my own song.  Tonight, I am not the bird standing precariously on the wire.  Tonight, I am not the bird in the nest, with the need to feel nurtured.  Tonight, I am brave and strong and spirited.  Tonight, I am singing and my song is one of courage. 

 

If I happen to venture out into the darkness tonight and hear that single bird singing in the silence of the night…I just might sing with him.  Because tonight…what I know most…is that it is definitely a time for singing.