An Arrow Pointing North

I hear a door close and wonder what adventure it's owner is on. I hear a child's laughter, like a tinkling bell. I hear music, a melody that conveys what I cannot say. I hear my own breathing, the steady in and our that reminds me I'm alive. Whispers of memory float through my mind, like leaves following the wind. My thoughts move by, the sounds of passing traffic on the hallway. I hear the small thumps and crackles, the drumbeat of the day's activities. I can imagine the sounds of chirping birds and crickets, the hum of cicadas. Something as quiet as the beat of my own heart or as loud as a symphony. Isn't it strange how our brain can hold close the sounds that make up our world? I sit in stillness, but not in silence. I hear the life that exists all around me when I stop to listen.

I long for a moment of stillness. One drop in the cup of my being, quenching a weary soul. To experience a connection and feel the essential nature of myself  in synchronicity with the universe. To take a deep breath without worry, anxiety, or fear.  To accept life's flow for what it is, not what I want it to be. To remove myself from the constraints of a mold; to let my spirit soften into the shape it was designed to be. To know that every synapse, every neuron, every cell belongs exactly as it is.

We live in the land of instant gratification,  where waiting feels like torture,  where “no” feels like a rejection of self.  We cling to things that empty us,  swearing they make us whole.  We swirl around each other;  always moving, never touching.  We settle, telling ourselves we wanted this all along.  We judge those who don’t try,  and those who try too hard.  Our mirrors reflect a thousand things we’re told to be,  but never our true selves.  We want everything and love nothing.   We live by newsfeeds,   but we’re in the dark about everything outside our immediate space.  We can’t hold space for things and people  who do not fit inside our mold.  We grow old, but pretend we don’t;  forgetting generations of wisdom.  The world is so much static and noise,  we can’t hear our inner voice.  Or maybe we don’t want to;  we're afraid of what it might say.   Th...

There is beauty in righteous anger.  The feeling where your body knows the wrongness;  The need to put to rights the injustices  inflicted by a careless world.  Release the torrent of emotion  beating at the shores of your soul.  Tell the world the pain you’ve been commanded to carry.  Tell those who hurt you that you will no longer be tethered in their chains.  You will no longer fear your own anger.  You are a beautiful thing to behold;   fire and fury wrapped in a loving embrace.  You are forged by your pain  into something they told you that you could never be. 

  I wonder, what did you think about when you were a little boy? What made your heart leap, what filled you with joy and wonder? What thoughts filled your head? What were your greatest hopes and fears? How did it feel when a wish came true? How did it feel when a friend hurt your feelings? What made you happy, and who did you turn to when you were sad? What did you think about your life, and how did you imagine your future? What did you love most about birthdays? What food could you eat forever? What movie did you watch a million times? Sometimes, it's easy to feel like we know a person; like a snapshot of one moment  encapsulates everything about their soul. But you were a whole person before we met and, everyday, you reimagine a little piece of yourself. And maybe, knowing these things will help me to really see the man you are.

Something they don’t say about grief i s how often it feels like longing. I long for the chance to say goodbye, to tell you what you mean to me, to explain how much I miss you. I long to show you how fare I’ve come; how my daughter looks like me, and my son reminds me of you. I long for your guidance, your comfort, your wisdom. I long to hear your stories, to understand your truths. I long for the moments, big and small; to share what shapes a life. I long to tell you all the things my heart tries to hold. I long to remember the sound of your laughter, the feel of your hugs. I long to watch you get ready at your vanity one more time. I long to hear you sing the hymns that spoke to your soul.  I long for the times when you showed me that imperfection is beautiful and grace is a gift. I long to learn from your strength, hope, and humility.  I long to know you, one adult to another in a way that I no longer can. I long to share with you stories of love and loss, things that have ...