Thunderstorms have always thrilled me. You wouldn’t think it because I tend to be a ninny when it comes to all things dangerous but for some reason I love the bright flash of lightning followed by the loud, booming sound of thunder.
This afternoon I sat on my porch and watched the clouds roll in as if they had a date with the coastline. Grey and brooding and gloomy, they crawled across the sky and, to announce their arrival they carried with them blinding bright flashes of electricity coupled with the type of thunder that makes you want to take cover.
Maybe it’s just me but I find thunder and lightening consoling. The way they work in tandem, overtaking the sky. My chest reverberates when I hear that deep crack of warning, reminding me that I’m not the only thing that is attempting to reside with restlessness and obstacle course of feeling.
Yours In Running Indoors,
Tammy Take Cover
It’s all relative, I suppose, the way we clink and clank and rattle toward that thing that will bring us solace, that will envelope us in calm beauty.
Like that time I was nursing my father down the path of Alzheimer’s and I heard Christopher Reeve’s son CROON about the fact that his father had been able to move his little finger on his own.
Pain is relative, I thought. Pain is that thing that gathers us up and places us into a hollowed out crevice where we realize that all the agony is the same.
Like the mother, on the news, who can’t find her child. Like my best friend who wishes every day that her son’s leukemia won’t return. Like the man who lives, crumpled, outside of the library who always asks for money.
It’s all relative, I suppose. It’s all that rumbles in our minds and our hearts—that keeps us looking into each other’s eyes and hearing each other’s words, reminding us there’s an inch between our one and only struggles and theirs.
Yours In Restless Wonder,
Thelma the Thinker
I’m walking, I’m walking, I’m walking and BOOM I fall into the abyss. That place where things get bleary and confusing and, overall, unsettled.
The way I attempt to soar upward is to admit that I don’t know the way.
I don’t know The Thing that hooks me and drags me down into the murky depths. I don’t know what it is that shifts me from joy and contentment to abject sadness from one day to the next. But, oh, I try to examine what might be the cause of my dissension, and that’s what keeps me busy and that’s what may be the thing that saves my whirlpool life.
I take my trusty flashlight and I venture down into the basement of my soul and I scavenge around for clues until I decide it’s better to turn my face back up to the light where I might find remnants of solace, remnants of the me who has a knack for knowing how to live in joy.
But in the meantime, I am on an archeological dig to discover what it is that unravels me so quickly and what tools I need in my pockets to try to prevent it from happening again even though I know, in the deepest part of my heart, that this pattern might be the process that keeps me moving forward, digging for awareness, digging for gold.
Yours In Introspective Gloop,
Dear Boss Man,
I know your rolodex is stuffed fuller than my email inbox with Groupons but if you could find it in your schedy to make a little note to remind me of the following:
Some days I am able to see an inch in front of me and some days I am capable of spanning the frontier in front of me as if I were the space shuttle. Who knows what mechanism enables my brain to do either but if I were to be perfectly honest I prefer the expansive, wide open, heart filled view. The one where I can see far past my own stilted idiosyncrasies and I, for a half a second or for half a week, can picture the whole of it all. How we’re all connected and we’re all removed in our own painful ways. How we make our way through the landscape, handicapped and blessed.
Could you plant a seed in my brain? Could you embellish my days with the reminder that there is never anything that does not include the rest of it all? For that I’d be so very grateful then gracias amiga and furthermore thank you for your efforts you may be seated amen.
Yes, Please and Thank You,
Nellie of the Ninnies
I’ve been so dull at times, it feels impossible to remember what it’s like to consistently shine. During those periods when I feel like I’m underwater, I can only half grasp on to that all-encompassing sparkle that happens when I am just so with my own rhythm, my own soul.
But the memory of the vibrance keeps me going.
It was not long ago that I felt sated and warm and comfortable, I think, as I grapple with the unsteadiness that keeps me antsy and off-center and wild. It wasn’t but several months ago when I sat in a chair and felt warm.
And so the whole of my little journey here is to get back to that settled place that I remember. Whether it’s conjuring the memory up in my restless mind or reconstructing the experience from whatever dulled pieces I can find that make up that distant way of being, that place that found me content with things just as they are—I’m forever diving into the depths again until I once more find myself relaxing with how things really are.
Don’t Hate Me Because I Ponder,
Rita the Ruminator