I’ve said that writing is therapy, then I read this:
“Writing is not therapy…it’s deeper than therapy. You write through the pain and even your suffering must be written out and let go of.” ~ Natalie Goldberg
And, so, I continue “writing to heal, healing to write”💙
Running, walking, sometimes crawling.
Splattered against “that” invisible wall…
~ A – G – A – I – N ~
Unrelenting, suffocating, penetrating.
Embraced by “those” invisible cords…
~ A – G – A – I – N ~
Whispers so loud, so relentless…deafening.
The pain, the agony of “that” invisible voice.
Inquiring minds want to know…I have questions…lots of questions.
I’m thinking that maybe my next “project” will be a “Gym Etiquette Manual”…ha!ha! Not really, but that might not be a bad idea.
To the man who wears only a towel to the steam room – why? Seriously, why? Working out with long pants (pajama bottoms), long sleeve shirt (thermal) and your head and part of your face covered, but you shed it all for the steam room. You do know this is a co-ed gym, yes? You do know that towel doesn’t cover you while you are doing karate kicks?
To the man that wears only long john underpants to the sauna – just not sure what to ask, but that image hurts my eyes 8-\
I don’t know about you, but “if” I have a (clears throat) wedgy, I yank that puppy out promptly cause, well, that’s just what you do. Not this other guy! Does he know? Should I tell him?
So I thought only plumbers aired out their crack. Well, I was wrong…oh, so wrong!!!
To the efficient, new male employee, ummm, coming out of the shower (in the women’s lockers/showers) to find you there just doesn’t sit well with me. Not sure if you read the memo. Not sure this is proper etiquette…just sayin!
Enough inquiries for today. I think I’ll go work on my first draft of that manual 😉
Hi Angie! I miss you so much. I wonder what you are doing? I wonder if you think of me? I wonder if you talk to God about us? Do you look the same? Well, not like you looked before you left, but like you looked when you were healthy. I miss you! It feels so weird to not have you around. I feel lost without you. Your brother said that you always needed me so now I don’t know what to do with myself. Crazy, I never thought you’d leave so soon, or that you’d go before us. Although, I’m glad you’re in heaven totally joyful and complete. It would have been so difficult for you to see any of us go.
Guess what? We went horse back riding. I know, your thinking your crazy Mom. You’d probably worry about me. You always “took care” of me. I remember when the nurses would come and ask you if you needed anything and you’d say, “I’m fine, but can you bring my Mom some coffee.”
So on our horse riding adventure, as we were all waiting to start the trail, a huge butterfly hovered around us. My eyes filled with tears thinking you weren’t with us, but God sent us a reminder.
I think we did good for your Dad’s birthday. He said it all felt like a dream. He loves horses, you know? Even your brother went. Oh, and he has a girlfriend. You would like her. She is beautiful and sweet. She loves cheese. I can picture you and her eating cheese together, cause you loved cheese, too.
After the horse ride we went for a yummy dinner. Yeah, I didn’t cook, nor did I make your Dad a cake…I just couldn’t. You were the baker of the family. And, you loved celebrating all of us. How we miss you! Our celebrations aren’t the same without you. But we are trying.
Much love and tons and tons of hugs <3<3 ~Mom~
As it was the custom of that culture the boys in the families would help out their father tend to the land or they would be hired out to other ranchers for meager pay. However, the “dream” was to be able to go to “el norte”. That was the ultimate job! Poverty was part of life in the village, so the only way to be able to take care of ones family was to be seasonally hired to head to “el norte” for a hard job and little pay.
Finally reaching the magical age of fifteen, he ventured out with just the clothes on his back. Little is known of his trek, but he finally made it to “el norte”. His father and three other siblings were already settled in a small apartment. He was so excited to join them. He knocks at the door. He is waiting in expectation. The door opens…it’s his Dad. They stand there looking at each other. The silence is broken with a growl, “What the hell are you doing here!? You look horrible, whose kid are you anyway?” The boy’s shoulders slump, his smiley face turns into a frown, and he stands at the door of his “Dad’s house” for what seems an eternity. He is finally let in…
And so life went. Always pensive, always “away” in his mind. Not sure if that “frown” ever disappeared. Ah, but the moments he would lose himself in his writing or composing were magical. Playing the piano brought him great joy, but the melancholy of his songs was palpable.
Marriage…fatherhood…other endeavors…BUT something was always amiss.
Disappearing at the young age of forty-eight. Never to be heard from or seen. Talks of a torturous death haunt our minds. Did this really happen to you? Are you still alive?
Your hopes and dreams shattered in the canvas of life!
An empty canvas comes to life as words fill it’s space.
“To write means more than putting pretty words on a page; the act of writing is to share a part of your soul with the world.” ~ Anonymous
The soft strums of the guitar; the beat of the drums.
You come near…extend your hand…the silent invitation.
My hand in yours, our feet begin to move, our bodies sway as one.
What bliss! What intoxicating abandonment!
Dancing under the stars…losing ourselves in the moment.
There’s laughter…there’s joy…there’s pleasure…
Is it possible?
The canopy of sorrow and grief is lifted…
for a moment…
a moment in time.
Under the stars, we dance…we dance…what bliss!
AND…just for a moment…everything was alright.