Tag Archives: inspiration

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Planetary Pleasure

Before settling down with my youngest son to sleep, I snuck another look at the night sky. Beauty beyond all beauty calling me.

As I stood in my back yard among the pool and other back yard objects, I felt like I was enveloped in the night sky. All the lights disappeared. It was me and the night sky, the stars and the planets aligned like never before in my life time. Uranus, Jupiter and Mars, then Venus. Amazing. How could this exist? I never knew such contrast of light and dark with amazing celestial allure.

Why didn’t I become an astronomer? Why didn’t I trust myself and follow the science in the beauty of this planet?

Instead I followed the community service provider. Working in the community has its benefits and rewards, but the awesome and infinite swallowing of space and the stars whispered to me, ‘We have more stories and immeasurable findings to learn from. We don’t frustrate the way human behavior frustrates.”

Pulling out my ‘Night Sky’ app, the sky revealed its intricate and crowded universe. Mars, Jupiter, Uranus and Venus shined brightly overhead. They seemed to be on parade announcing their once in a lifetime universal meeting.

I stretched my neck up and back feeling the dark night. A movement caused the neighbor’s motion light to turn on. Its brightness made me squint. Then it went out. Blackness again. I smiled to myself.

Water burbled like a fountain, soothing the darkness into a welcome surrounded by the glittering stars. I breathed deep. Inhale. Hold, then exhale. My body relaxed and I felt joy. Stars of different colors, not just bright white; yellows and reds and some specks of green or purple.

The patio chair supported my reclined body while the umbrella waved its fake grass like whispers in the breeze. Fresh and cool, the night air took me back to my youth to camping at the end of summer in New York. Remembering the open field and the stars so close, lifting my hand to the sky felt like they were close enough to touch my body.

How amazing and what a pleasure to be able to enjoy such revelation of space and time.

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Grateful Grace

A beautiful intro to the morning. Nothing makes me feel more thankful than seeing the moon and the sun share the sky together.

As I struggle these days with consistency and clarity, I feel so grateful for these moments given to me in grace. How beautiful are the heavens. How grateful I am for another day to try again in every endeavor; faith, family and fortitude.

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Waiting

I’ve been doing many things; writing and reading different things. Things that have meaning and things that are distracting to myself. The constant struggle to find focus and purpose without falling asleep creates a journey of spinning my wheels in the mud. I need sleep, yet I can’t because I yearn to be successful. Hence the productivity isn’t where it should be. It’s a horrible cycle that leads to failure. Why am I so tired and exhausted and impatient to write?

It’s in me. The struggle. The pleasure. The yearning to produce something meaningful is deeper than anything else.

I feel like Jeremiah put in a cistern, waist-deep waiting for the rescue.

Then I think of Maya Angelou’s poem “I Rise”, and I feel hope returning. And here I am writing this post about writing. Hallelujah. Amen.

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Still the New Year

When looking at the calendar, I find it still time for new endeavors and renewed enthusiasm for the goals made previously.

This year is an interesting start. Sometimes I think of other authors and how they journeyed towards their work. It reminds me of Charles Dickens. He wasn’t a poet in the formal sense but his prose had so much “poetry” in it.

Holiday hustle and unending bustle, I worked on achieving some zen.

Calls were made with “business as usual”, all to ensure that daily activities were not delayed by holiday hurry.

Its brilliance is the universal truth of reflection. I can’t help but think that Dickens put himself into all the stories. He had several children, and worked while in their presences. He would have to have some Scrooge-ness. His ability to hyperfocus is too much to believe. Let his example be my challenge at this traveling phantom year.

As I write, I’ve attempted writing while in the presence of family.

Qué susto! So much harder than when I’m alone. I read the same sentence two and three times. I got up from my work and came back for another attempt. Better. I wrote more. Stop. Scratched my head and twitched my mouth. The words come slow but sure. I think I can do this.

If Dickens did, why not me. I think with practice, I can improve on my writing schedule, utilize every time and day. Strategize, not for efficiency, but for more words on the page. I remain hopeful. Each new moment spent dancing my fingers along the page strengthens my endurance.

Progress makes its best success in small moments that keep occurring. Yeah that’s it. Frequent small moments that keep occurring will give me more stamina for longer sprints.

Progress arrives with practice. …and tenacity.

Dickens and his family.
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Struggle

I noticed that my fingers are sore in my right hand. This is the hand I write with , but for some reason the bones in that hand are acting as if the are healing again. Or as if they were broken again and needed to be reset.

It’s very painful. It may be due to my using one finger to type with because the rest of the fingers aren’t in a natural position, like when typing.

All I know is that my right hand cramps up terrible to the point of pain when I have a spoon or knife in that hand. I was making supper for the boys and when I released the knife, putting it down on the counter, I had a pain stab through my hand.

The words and ideas keep jumping in my mind. Sometimes I respond to their demand for acknowledgment. Each time I do, there is a release of joy, purpose, satisfaction for the creativity on the page. I like it. It feels good. My mind forgets the pain in my hand, and I feel redeemed.

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Holding the Spark

Last week, I was contemplating a degree in Creative Writing; an MFA. Today, I’m contemplating the personal experience of my son’s tragic accident of four years ago. My mind spins with constant activity of new goals. New ideas and new projects, want to leap to completion without the drudging of daily plodding. This daily plodding often becomes Continue reading →

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Moody

Sitting with my 8 year old disabled son on my lap as I listen to the solo performance of Breath of Heaven, I feel the tears fighting their way to the surface. I hold my son because the seizures seem to avoid him if he feels comfort from an embrace of love. The soloist’s voice carries my tears closer to the surface as I identify with the pain, struggle and loneliness of being a caregiver. I adjusted his shirt, his position, searching to slow my breath and keep the tears back.

As she sang, “I have traveled many moonless nights with a babe inside, and I wonder what I’ve done.” The truth broke through my wall of protection.”You’ve chosen me now, to carry (my son). Iam waiting, in a silent prayer, I am frightened by the load I bear. In a world as cold as stone. Must I walk this path alone? Be with me now. Be with me now.Breath of heaven hold me together.Be forever near me….” My tears rushed and broke my walls. I struggled to keep them under control.The words from the soloist’s song were so true. My role in caring for my son gives me the knowledge to know the nativity story at the most personal level.

I sat in the third row, clearly seen by the pastor, yet trying to hide my tears. The journey is so long, ardorous and without rest. My son’s full rehabilitation still not within sight. “Breath of heaven, lighten my darkness, pour over me your holiness. Breath of heaven”.

I continued to listen to the words and know them as my own; “Do you wonder as you watch my face, if a wiser one should have had my place? But I offer all I am for the mercy of your plan. Help me be strong, help me be, help me.” I couldn’t slow the tears because it was all true. The pain, the wonder of my angel’s miracle is real too. He’s almost walking by himself. He wr

My middle son turned to me, seeing the tears and asked me what was wrong. I replied, “I have a headache.” He hugged me. My mood lifted. The soloist sang, “Breath of heaven, hold me together, be forever near me, breath of heaven”. My encouragement taken from the words of a song and my son’s embrace, I stopped the tears.

Not knowing a fellow parishener was watching, she came over to say, “You’re  the best mother, I’ve ever seen. You care for him so well.”