details

It’s getting ridiculous. What patience the universe has – to tell me this story over and over and over, and over again. Today, once more, the universe and I must go through it again, once is not enough. We have to do it twice, no really, three times today – in one day!

These startling stories which in the end all turn out to be the same story. And aha. I think I am finally beginning to see it now. It is my story.

The universe keeps presenting me with these stories, forcing me to be confronted by person after person who has done this amazing thing, had a vision, followed through, and been rewarded. People who have changed everything, and changed nothing at all.

But now the universe is getting very specific. It knows me, after all, all too well. Where before it had not escaped me that I was hearing the same thing over and over, now, the universe is delivering up details.

Dammit. The handwriting appears to be on the wall. And it is pushing me up against it at the same time.

 

dreams ago

I just don’t know how to let go of this place. I walk back toward the pond, glance toward the ancient barn, and two sand hill cranes fly silently, low above me. Back at the pond, the red-winged blackbird is fit to be tied, and hounds me all the way around the pond. The precious little pears are coming out on the pear trees. Over there is where John had the most amazing garden, he just seemed to know how to do it. Sometimes, he would take a lawn chair into the middle of it, and just sit there happily with his cowboy hat on. Hidden in the weeds by the pond is what’s left of the Monarch, at one time the sailboat of our Swallows and Amazons dreams. Upstairs in the barn is where the boys discovered the crated up model airplanes, and history was altered. How many treks did we make down to the back barn to look after the ponies and the goat? Often I was down there by the light of the moon, the barn cats were happy to see me, even if the coyotes howled.
Inside, it’s not the walls, it’s the floors. Where those little feet trod, and grew into big feet. Where projects were built. Where kittens and dogs were hugged. Some of the rooms are almost frozen in time, and it’s almost unbearable to look. And the rooms that are sort of emptied are still filled with memories, and the boxes that sit there spill over with them.
I sit here in this most silent of places and wonder. Where is home?

not. virtual.

Life. Is not virtual. Life is not virtual. Life.Is.Not.Virtual.

I’m the real thing. I’m alive. I’ve got it all. Feelings. Thoughts. Sex. Sensation. It’s all. Real.

When I see the empty windows. The wild style. The paint on the bricks. It’s real. I’m one hundred percent.
I’m the butterfly.  I gotta butterfly to be.
So you just go ahead. You do whatever it is you think gotta do. While you’re doing that, I’ll be living. You can catch up later on. Mebbe. Like I said.

That’s what it was all about anyway. Right?

Um. Do I know you?