abillionbeautifulbutterflies

While I lay there motionless, a billion beautiful butterflies took off from my field, their two billion pairs of gentle wings cracked a windstorm into my painstakingly manicured landscape, and with them they steadily carried away the shattering pieces of my perfectly planned life.

Category: Love and Divorce

A thread amongst threads, only.

            you are a thread amongst threads- I am the weaver.

SOUND OFF!!!

Dear you,

I write letters to you…. all the time– Letters I will never send. Or better yet- that I send and receive simultaneously.

Do not misunderstand.

Like our marriage- I write these letters not to you- actually- but to the mythical you in whose place you briefly resided until it was clear you didn’t fit.

So understand this. You- are mine- my you. Not your you. So don’t be flattered. Don’t feel guilty. Guilt is a misinterpretation like a circus mirror or phony fortune tellers crystal ball telling you only what you want to hear. I have left the carnivàle.

Do not lament that your absence left a broken heart, a poor weeping soul. My soul weeps splendid tears of pain and joy larger than you or us or me, with or without you. And a heart is a muscle that when used- breaks- only to grow stronger.

Be at peace, my letters have little to do with you.

My soul writes letters to itself…stitching new realities from past threads. You are a thread amongst threads. Find yourself there only.

You are a thread amongst threads; I am the weaver.

Sincerely,

Yours.

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and for a moment I fell into the rabbit hole again

August 7, 2013 at 8:57pm

My destiny is unfolding.

Solitude is important. When we understand our connection to the whole, we are not alone in solitude. It is a time to commune with Spirit, with the universe, with what is at hand, with our deep selves, and our deep purpose. When we are alone- then our creative mission is revealed.

I took the little Dove to run some errands today. I caught us both standing against the shopping cart shaking our asses to the beat of the current Trader Joe’s soundtrack. I always have such a good time with her at the store.

It was my night with the girls. We had one infraction. The little Dove says we all handled it well in the end- a quick and explosive fight, a sweet discourse, and a loving group hug. She was overall content with the affair. I thoroughly appreciated her account. The older Dove was in agreeance. She informed me today, that “what I appreciate about you is that, I don’t know how to say it, that you use kinda big words.” I believe she’s referring to my flamboyant use of language. She and I share a love for people, storytelling, and essentially, grand and flowerful gestures of language. Oh the things that bind us.

After dinner, the doves decided to brush Quin while I put my TJ groceries away. I unpacked the perishables into my mini fridge and reorganized my one cabinet into a tiny pantry. I was starting to feel really good about my neat and tidy teeny abode. I took the old toilet paper roll off the slightly loosened wall mount holder, recycled the cardboard, grabbed a new roll and started to unroll it and when I turned away from the newly placed roll to survey my home, I had that rush again, what it must have been like to fall down the rabbit hole. I had a loss of air in my throat and sinking in my heart. I love this life and it was so unexpected as is, not at all what I had originally planned.

When you walked away from me, the ground beneath my feet shifted, an imperceivable fractal of a tectonic shift forever setting into motion something previously, not entirely, unexpected. You leaving so abruptly was the most humbling experience of my life. My life as I knew it was getting sucked into a black hole. When I caught my breath I realized I was being held by so many hands as I reawakened to what was grounded in me. Many things, mostly projections of the future, were crumbling around me. It felt like when I’m in the sweat lodge and everything is so damn hot, it’s unbearable, and I have to bend down to mother earth for her coolness. And it is so relieving, and then I can get through that edge and sit with the unforgiving heat of it all. The ground that I so desperately, with immense gratitude, cling to for relief- it’s always there beneath my feet. I just have to hang on to this one little bitty piece of earth, this faintly perceptible spec in the universe, and everything will be alright.

It takes me a couple breaths and some sappy Avett Brothers songs to catch back up to my life again- so different than I had planned it.

I go outside to sit on the little deck of my home, the Doves are sitting in the grass communing with Quin. The older Dove gets in my lap and whimpers, “I’m so sad that Quin will die.” “Oh honey, I will miss her too. I’m learning a lot about the life, death ,life cycle of things right now. Do you know that every moment is a death and a new life. Every moment is over as a new one starts. Its a miracle, true magic.” To which the little dove chimes in, “yeah, right now there is a baby being born, and a person dying, and baby being born, and a person dying.” To which I add, “And, every single person ever on this earth, was the only one like them. We have to let things go, so another new and amazing thing can be created and expressed.” We sat there for a bit, in the most lovely dusk, with that understanding in our hearts.

love is like a bruise on the hip.

It’s like when you are dancing and someone starts dancing with you, and they’re rough and maybe a little inebriated- and maybe you’re a little inebriated- or just new at dancing- but you go for it full force and it is fun and thrilling and you want it to last forever but then the two of you go crashing into the nearby table and you smash your hip hard- or maybe your partner just drops you on the floor cause they had no idea what they were doing either and when you are done wincing over the pain and open your eyes, they are gone- probably cause they are embarrassed or perhaps they got tired of dancing- maybe they’re trying out biking- who knows- they’ve disappeared and all that is left of that magical moment is the fabulous memory and a gargantuan bruise on your hip. And that shit was fun and so you practice some more- get a little less sloppy, and the bruise heals up, mostly- but not completely- ever- you walk around with that soft spot forever and sometimes, a new special someone will poke you right there, on that tender spot and you will wince and remember from whence it came and you will steady yourself to brace the clumsy feeling of learning a new dance, because not dancing, is not an option.