we lost 49 pulses at pulse
not gay or straight
black, white or hispanic
this father’s day will be particularly hard on the pulses of at least 49 families
Pray for them
~ Nadine Williams
Strawberry Moon over Boca Grande, an island down Florida’s Gulf coast from me.
Today we honor the Moon. She so bright and lovely.
Ya know when you have a week that you’re not sure if you feel okay or could be depressed if you let yourself. That you’re angry, but know the futility of anger, unless you turn it to action in the opposite direction of what’s got you. And still you feel as if you’re dog paddling. Moving forward, but strained to keep your face above water, breath free. And one morning you actually wonder how you really feel. Sad & yukky, or what. Yep, that’s me this week. But the very day I lay in bed, thought I could go either way, two messenger angels swooped in. An Australian friend wrote on my Facebook timeline Hope you are having a great day. Well, ah, it’s a choice, I thought. I’m lucky. Shortly after, a private message from a friend in Iowa I haven’t heard from in months, Morning Heloise. Such a beautiful day it reminded me of you. I so appreciate you. Have the best day ever!! And I glanced at how many little heart emojis scroll down my wall. I got it. No tunnel vision.
In one 24 hour period this week I learned that every US postal carrier makes an oath to the government they will deliver the mail no matter what. An oath! That others step in, get it done when one can’t show up. Will help if someone’s delayed to work. I also learned an AR-15 full metal jacket bullet pierces walls. Movie-goers in the adjacent theatre, not in the room, were among those gunned down in CO. And that Yemen, a country associated with war in my mind, is known worldwide for its honey! That honey stores with shelves shaped like honey comb once doted nearly every street corner. My mind shifted. Mail’s no longer delivered by a person, but by individuals consciously living their commitments. And war ravages people who from the outside look to live simply, but are so wise they love and preserve bees.
I’m in the midst of recording 6 mos. of my blogs. It’s illuminating to see which stories repeat. Trauma stories, who I am stories. And statements, such as ‘FL for 4-1/2 yrs.’ One day I thought to delete a story because I’d already told it, more than twice. Then I remember why these stories rose to the top. It’s how I reveal some of what made the real me. And I remember the marketing adage, 5 exposures before people see, remember. Shifted today to 8-10 exposures. That it applies when we’re getting to know folks, especially when we haven’t sat down to a meal together. Haven’t had an exchange or brief conversation. + I’m recording a 16 monthlong journey that’s still counting. A journey of me learning to share private stuff about myself. Dipping toe, foot, leg to full body immersion to Taking Off My Clothes. And when we repeat something like ‘4-1/2 yrs.’, it reveals experience and mindset below the surface. Such as, I’ve never settled here in Florida.
We just gotta look between the lines sometimes. Listen, see, shift perspective. For ourselves, as well as others.
Yesterday was the longest day of the year. A full moon called strawberry because it was strawberry harvest time for the Algonquins. A time of shift in nature.
Birdsong’s carried my Soul for a few weeks now. Helped me equilibrate each morning thru grief and confusion. This heightened awareness to birdsong’s new for me. But no denying the marvel of a mockingbird so full, round, and loud, like its voice should come from the big tree it sits in, not its tiny body. Weird like a full-chested opera out of an 8 yr. old. As I walked this morning, listening, gazing up at the moon, I realized my heart’s finally shifted to purpose. That I had a sign at the bay the other day which I noticed, but didn’t understand.
I didn’t head straight to water as I typically do. I walked blocks listening to birds, enjoyed the added blessing of no roars from vehicles. When I returned to my car, a silent mockingbird perched on my roof rack as a bluejay drank from a puddle near my wheel, little birds fluttered about. And as if to assure I’d not miss it, the mockingbird flew to the ground, then back to the rack. Sat a long time as I waited in the street, wondered at its silence. Before the auto-lock beeped it skyward to a tree. But I was still dog-paddling, didn’t feel the movement inside me, yet.
I tell ya, there’s something empowering with this sort of shift. A both/and of space and clarity. The best way I can show it is to say consider how much easier that word shift feels vs. the word change. I think you’ll get it.
Let’s shift. Whatta ya say?
Another small journey. Getting to Wise.
A Writer’s Life.
A secret: I don’t usually go to anger. Frustration’s my modus operandi. True Vata dosha.
A favorite: Palm trees. How they sound wonderful in the breeze. Sometimes like a mountain brook, even.
Photo: Ronald Kotinsky