Drifting

In a daze, the haze lifts upon the morning lake. Like glass the water feels smooth on my fingertips as they just touch the surface. They tingle with delight sensing the depth just inches below where the turtles dance. My body finds the strength to pull itself from my board to find myself a drift in the middle of the lake. The only life around me, the sounds of nature and a lone fisherman standing so still I don’t consider him there.

The push of my paddle stroking the water is intoxicating like a wet dream. A three dimensional moment as I peer into the lake and watch as the seaweed sways, look up to the sky as the egret takes flight and breathe deeply this life’s emotional wave.

When I’m here, I’m no where else. When I’m somewhere else, I’m here. When the world tries to swallow me whole, I run to the place I can drift. Where no one can catch me and my mind, body & soul belong to me. Here there is no need to scream or cry. No need to run. The turtles seek nothing other than sunlight. The fisherman cares are gone and my own are too. My mind seeks only what is right in front of me.

Schedules, deadlines and responsibility do not live on the lake. And when they live in the present and I feel so trapped I can’t breathe, my mind takes me to the silky, cool water that sends me only where it chooses to go. Without a sail, I am pulled away from land so I may breathe deeply again. This place I go, the natural world, with no preconceived notions or judgements. It embraces my soul when I’m feeling alone in the world. No longer on an island, this is where I am free, drifting into the water’s embrace.

Lost

I can’t remember the last time I saw her. But her image has always been burned into my mind. I remember being a young age the first time I felt empathy. Maybe I had prior, but this would be the first I recall knowing what it was. It felt helpless. I remember thinking of her knowing she was alone even though I was aware that her loneliness was brought on by her cat like persona, pulling people in only to later push them out.

It was like an art form, the way she was able to manipulate those who saw her beauty, her intelligence, her mystery. Bringing them in was easy for her. It was easy to be attracted to her long black hair, olive skin and petite figure. But her ability to adapt to others personalities, whether it was their kindness, intelligence or artistic mojo she was just that. She could be sweet and giving, even working with the mentally disabled, and doing it well, for a period of time. And then so cold, her glaring stare could burn a hole in your heart.

Being a younger sister to this maleficent being was, well, an interesting ride. In our younger years, we played like sisters did…at least I thought that’s what we were doing. Now, as an adult, I realize even back then, she had already shown signs of…something different. I will need a pardon on that one as I, and those who were closest to her, still don’t know what that “different” quite was. At first maybe it was the idea that something was a bit “off”. Then, as you spent more time in her presence, you could almost feel her negativity fill the room quickly like a cloud of smoke forming from the oven burning the last bit of oil that had dripped from the pan. It filled your soul, no matter how light your mood, somehow it would swallow you up and leave you as charred as the remains of that oil left to suffer at the bottom of the oven.

But then there were days where a smile might peak through. Something would connect you to her and she would glow like the sun setting over the warmest of waters. It would make you feel like you could be friends again. Remembering the days where you would practice your dance routine based on the show “Fame” that you both loved so much together. Or the nights spent painting pottery and watching “Night Rider” until the parents picked you up. Even though she was better than you in all facets of life be it painting or writing, hell even talking. Somehow at every age I felt I was in the presence of an extremely educated girl, a girl that never did come to graduate high school. It was impossible to keep up with my older sister, but that was ok. I only wanted her to like me.

The things that made her happy….punk rock music, guys with mohawks and Doc Martens, Fells Point (before it sold out), patchouli, beads and scarves and weird ass jewelry. But all those things were the things that my 10 year old self wanted so badly too, because they were nothing like anything I’d ever seen. While my friends were listening to Debbie Gibson and Van Halen, I was being pulled in by the sounds of Pink Floyd, Dead Kennedys, Sinead O’Connor, The Sugarcubes, Siouxie and the Banshees. I remember the blank cassette tapes in her handwriting she would give to me, dubbing the coolest new tracks. I felt like I was the only one my age privy to this information. Hanging with here punk rock, teenage friends, full of angst we would walk downtown and throw quarters in the sewer grate sipping on Jolt soda outside of the Pizza on Wheels. I was turning into somebody, somebody different than everyone else. And it felt cool. Not good, but cool. So I went with it.

Unfortunately for me, this was during a time when I would be entering middle school watching my friends move away to different schools leaving me with bus rides full of newcomers to town. Growing up in a safety net of a neighborhood, riding bikes and wondering through corn fields with my besties, that was all demolished to allow for affordable housing and the development demons that stole my childhood. The loss of my innocent childhood was unfolding before my eyes to be replaced with pissed off kids, complacent parents and years of defending myself from girls that thought I was trying to steal their boyfriends to boyfriends that only dated me to break up with me in front of the entire school, loads of gum in my hair and even an unbeknownst sucker punch to the eye.

I reveled this by buzz cutting my hair, wearing combat boots and pouring myself into my studies. This only made matters worse for me, of course. Middle school is already a cluster of puberty, emotions and awkwardness, unbeknownst to me, I just added a target on my back. But all I wanted was to be like HER.

Today Isn’t Yesterday

The sound of Spring is heard through the chirping birds on a chilly, damp night. It teases us filling our hopes with thoughts of hikes in the woods and rides on our bikes. But the chill in the air reminds us we rather stay home. We remember our last walk when the sun was kissing our cheeks and our feet felt light.

Today I woke knowing I would be responsible for many things, but tomorrow I will wake knowing I can go back to my bed. Freedom of time makes me smile and never came this easy before. No schedule or commitments to grasp my day I will delight in the ability to choose. And even though I have these thoughts, tomorrow is still not a given. Not really knowing what it can bring is half the fun. My son said to me tonight, “Mom, I wouldn’t want to know my future. Then it wouldn’t be a surprise.” I now know my son really does like surprises.

Some nights I have my dreams to ponder. Memories of sand in my hair, grapes upon my toes and kisses on my lips. Many mornings wakening to the sound of guitar and the smell of coffee. Weekend getaways, delighting on wine and delicious bites. Cobblestone streets under my feet while the sound of drums pound in my ears drawing me into the music playing no matter how dark the street may be. Sizzling steaks and records playing become an art form in my kitchen. These were the moments I will never forget and the hopes that there will be more to come.

A rainy day bringing the gift of a rainbow or a flat tire turning into a chance meeting. The crack in the sidewalk making way for a growing tree. Strength found in times of difficulty and weakness reminding you to be strong.

Today isn’t yesterday and tomorrow will be what you make it. Sleep well, life isn’t a period of time meant to be wasted waiting for what you think you want, but to be lived for each today, tomorrow and yesterday.

mexico

RAINBOW MOON

My feet are bare and cold as they cross the threshold to the porch where I often go after my son is asleep and there is nothing left of the day to give. As I open the door a cool yet gentle breeze comes across my face with a tease of Spring in the air. I stare up into the sky looking for something to gaze upon. But tonight, the stars are not shining. There is a haze over the moon that moves like fog. As I stare and ponder I think I spot a shooting star as light seems to twinkle and move. A faint drop of rain touches my cheek and I step under the cover of my porch prepared for a passing storm. But time goes by and the haze begins to dissipate.

A glow of purple seems to appear in place of the night sky and I slowly move forward out of the cover once again in curious delight. Forgetting my bare feet, I walk further where now I am almost to the sidewalk staring up at the sky not taking my eyes off of what I’m about to see. And as if it was a summer day after the rain, in all its glory, a rainbow emerges glowing from the light of the moon.

Still with neck stretched out and eyes wide open, I stare now in complete wonderment not believing in what I am seeing. Every color of the spectrum is above me now on a canvas of soft grey, the night sky, illuminated by the brightness of the moon. I whisper the lyrics of “Comfortably Numb” to myself taking in the moment not able to move. A feeling of enlightenment and peace has overcome me and I am still.

Suddenly in this moment, I feel the cold cement on my feet once again and in an instant of swift moving clouds, the rainbow moon is gone. Darkness fills the sky once again in a haze and I am saddened that I could not somehow be quick enough to share this experience with my son who lays asleep just a few feet inside. But then I remember, a story he was telling me not so long ago of a “rainbow moon” and the dark sky that it filled. Trying to appease him, I asked, “and how would a rainbow come about in the night?” and he said to me “it really is a logical explanation. it had been raining.”

So there in the night sky lives a rainbow and on each rainy day it appears. But if you wish to see it, you must believe in the imagination of a child. Otherwise, you will just be left standing in your bare feet thinking you see “a distant ship’s smoke on the horizon”.

The Enchanted Island

Neil told me a story tonight. I will do my best to remain accurate.

There is a place in the middle of the ocean called The Enchanted Island. But you can’t see it. Ships sail by without a notice. Unless you believe. On the island it is always dark. This is so the sparkles of blue and green can be seen that flow within the waters edge.

And within this island lies a portal. To access this gateway, no one quite knows, but if there is a story than it must exist. The portal will take you to depths of the ocean to places unseen by any man. Like entering space with no space suit where you are just free to observe the vast depths of the ocean and all the magnificent creatures that live there.

As if you are in a bubble protected, yet still very much vulnerable to a simple shift in wind, this is how they say it feels to enter the portal. This is why the island remains a secret. It is beautiful and unspoiled so in an effort to protect itself it remains a mystery. If your intentions are selfless and good, maybe the island will open itself up to you. Just maybe you will be lucky enough to float among the sparkles. And if you are quite brave and confident, maybe you will walk through the dense jungle of palm trees and sand to be rewarded with fruits filled with the most decadent of flavors and see magical sights of strange and beautiful animals living in the canopy of the trees. The purple and red frogs frolicking below, the tree monkeys flying up high with their wings and the horses that roam with their scales and fins allowing them to swim in the crystal waters that border the island.

But if you are false, you may not even see the island, better that you don’t. Because for those that are untrue dare enter won’t see the same beauty those that are genuine do. The frogs become black widows and the monkeys turn to vultures. The horses are dragons with breath of fire. And the portal will suck you in to the depths of the ocean where certain death awaits you.

Be kind, be genuine and just maybe the Enchanted Island will find its way to you. Just follow the shimmering waters and the warm breeze and remember to believe.