It arrived at my door a couple days ago. I was anticipating its delivery but had nearly forgotten, having ordered it in a bleary eyed middle-of-the-night shopping spree. I swiftly but gingerly unwrapped it from its dull, mustard-colored envelope.
If it’s possible to know that you are holding something sacred, I knew it the moment I held it in my hand. It nearly glowed with its black and white camel caravan graced jacket; a paper lantern, waiting for me to read by its delicate light. Within the first sentence it felt like she was writing directly to me, a special message left years ago for me alone to find, you know the way extraordinary masters of words seem to always be able to do.
I cracked the cover of the aging book, the fore edge stamped and branded as library property in some other place, some other time. A time where books were held in such reverence, to speak in their presence was forbidden in halls lined with their spines. Perhaps my sentimentality is a sign that I’m getting old, and if so, I don’t really care. I have decided I rather like growing older, but it seems that reading has become dulled by a cold computer-hued glow; a paperless coolant sanitizing away the warmth of antique yellow. The computer age has summoned the erasure of secrets held in foxing; the fading of soft paper between your fingers and of sharp edges that slice your flesh should you be too hasty to ravage the next page. Continue reading “The Lines and In Between”
It’s quiet at 3 am and you notice things when everything is in sleep mode, on vibrate; when the do-not-disturb sign is still up on the doors of the world.
The groan and pop of the tea kettle cooling from across the kitchen as I settle into a spot by the window. The big dipper now turned on its handle sideways, upside-down from the time I went to bed, spilling stars like dice from a Yahtzee cup, into a new, unfamiliar configuration.
In the quiet you notice that the world is turning. Did you notice?
Did you notice that while you slept, the world whirled on its axis? While you slept, our world was literally spinning, suspended in space among the stars and planets and the moon. The moon– Hanging there so innocently, so perfectly reliable and romantic.
It never gets much recognition for the vital role it plays in her precise place in space. She’s the shiny platinum blonde whose brains are dismissed for her beauty, everyone distracted by the glowing sheen of her tresses. Continue reading “Changing States of Matter”
This is an exercise Jen does at her retreats that is eye opening
What would you write to your younger self? Here is what I wrote to mine:
Dear 16 year old me,
What the hell? Seriously?
I don’t mean to be harsh but I had to get your attention. I have a secret for you that can only learn via a Delorian in a lightning storm.
Time isn’t waiting for you or me.
You make everything so complicated and you are wasting all these moments, all this time!
Yes, older, wiser you might seem to be a little bitchy but you mistake my urgency and passion for harsh reality. You aren’t ready for that, so I guess that’s why you skirt around it as if it were an ice rink. You could use a little tough love, in fact, you could use a whole lot of it and thank God you meet some people along the way that love you the hard way. Continue reading “Dear 16-year-old Me”