A Dream ~ The Hunt

Ten nights ago, I dreamt that we were being chased by a lion. We were in the hills. I had a small sausage with me, like one of those Hickory Farms Summer Sausages. I started tearing off chunks when we saw the lion, tossing the pieces in the direction we were not going, hoping to confuse him. We started running down the hill. I didn't sense the lion behind us any longer. 

When we reached the bottom of the hill, there were others and a car, built like a deck of cards; it caved in on itself when we approached. There was no protection from the hungry beast. In the distance, I thought I heard growls and rustling, then I saw two gazelle. They were being hunted by the lion; the attention was lifted from us, at least for the time being.

Evening Page ~ The Mountain

The day started out slightly cool and grey–a break from the heat of summer from last week. The day itself was good. 

The mountain that I pass every day looked more stunning this morning as the low clouds embraced its peak; and the haze of yesterday lifted to reveal his true colors. This great mountain mostly speaks to me as an old wise man; occasionally, though, he shape-shifts into a mercurial woman.

Today's photo is a shot of an Iris that I took in the pond of the Japanese Tea Garden in Golden Gate Park. The Iris is one of my favorite flowers.

Little Pot of Words: Life

I stir my little pot of words and they seem to be stuck or am I stuck? I feel that it's all too easy to be hard on ourselves, to come to expect great things from ourselves, that having these expectations leave us flat. 

Here I am, ebbing and flowing to some distant calling; at the same time I am quite still, so still...my ECE summer class is almost done. It has been informative and interesting learning about childhood psychology and development. At moments I have felt little threads of myself being unravelled as I go back to different parts of my childhood with a different perspective for reflection. I think of my attachment relationships and wonder what my temperament was like. I feel that at times I regress--I think we all do, really. I think of how my mother tried to coax her girl out of her shell and how I wouldn't budge. I wanted to stay in the safety of my own quiet world. Not much has changed. I still enjoy spending time with myself doing quiet things, but I also have moments where I surprise myself and become somewhat outgoing--if I'm in a comfortable element, I suppose. 

I say what's on my mind, I express when something is bothering me, even when the best thing may be just to "go with it." 

I look back and for whatever reasons, I've been...it has to do with finishing. I get started at something and I follow through to a point and then I stop or else I continue without a plan. I'm process oriented. That can be great; likewise, it can also create for a  long amorphous path. 

If I dig deep, I come back to those words that echo from a time long ago when my student-therapist asked if perhaps I was experiencing the fear of success. I think that fear is at the bottom--has been at the bottom of my dilly dallying nature. I'm focused and quite efficient and will do my best when it comes to my work, but somehow I seem to sabotage myself by only going so far. 

I've come to another familiar crossroads, only it's all too familiar. I go round and round as though I cannot seem to make the record stop spinning the same song. I have enjoyed both the ECE classes that I have taken. I feel that I have gained much, but after much reelection and thinking, I don't think the world of ECE will be materializing for me. 

I remember an old customer when I worked at the burger joint. He was sitting at the counter. I must have been in my early twenties. He knew I was taking classes at the time and he said he had racked up credits and wished that he at least would have completed his A.A.  That's where I am. I never completed my A.A. because I moved onto working on my B.A., only I never completed it. 

I decided that I need to complete my A.A. for myself, that it's time to at least take the last bit of required classes to complete it. I know it won't mean much in the real world nowadays, since it's not a higher degree, but it will mean something to me. 

I've had a love-hate relationship with accounting for many years and that's what it's going to be. I'm going to take the remaining accounting courses that I need, complete my science requirement, and if all goes well, by the end of 2014 or 2015, I should have completed that goal. 

Fear and lack of self-confidence: I think these are my enemies and my best friends. They are always there for me to navigate. 

The mind is a mysterious creature. Even when we think we've got it all figured out, what were left with is a big question mark. I don't mind. I don't know that I would change much about where I am in life. I think that I'm meant to be right where I am and that's just fine. 

Thrift store, angels cards, and seeing myself

Browsing through the books at the thrift store, I overhead an elderly couple while they were looking at knick-knacks. "How cute, look at this," she said, excitement in her voice. I turned from the books to look at a nearby table that held various items. I stole a look to see what the woman had found. "I'm going to get these."

"What are they?," her elderly companion asked. He peered down through his thick square glasses. "Why, there salt and pepper shakers. How much are these?" She turned one shaker, then tilted it upside down to find the price. She gave a laugh, "Only 99 cents!" 

I saw that these salt and pepper shakers were small. One was light blue and the other a  rosy pink. I couldn't tell what the shapes were, but I thought I heard the woman say Casper the Ghost. I continued looking through a little basket of cards and my eyes spotted a package of blank note cards. Four plump angel babies against a backdrop of sky with wispy clouds. One angel is drinking from what looks to be a golden horn, while the others fly through the air with great joy on their fleshy faces.

The face of the notecard also has six lovely sayings about angels. I felt uplifted at reading each one.

I was ready to checkout with two books and the angel notecards. Then I saw a pair of pants and while I was looking at them, I heard the woman say to her companion "Oh! Look at this!" 

"Try it on." Her companion was supportive and kind, his voice on the low end compared to her exuberance. 

She held the blouse up to her body and looked down. "This is too gaudy."

"Oh, it's just fine. It would look nice on you."

She begins noticing other little things and I am touched by her joy–humbled and inspired by this woman who could be in her late seventies to early eighties. I am drawn in to her energy and I can't help but smile. Her joy reaches me and fills me, and I realize I feel as though I am looking in a mirror; I am seeing my life flash before me.

When I get home, later that evening, I tell my significant other about my experience. I tell him that it was just like watching myself and that her companion was like him in that he was there by her side–then I hesitate and say, "Well, he may have been a bit more supportive." And we both laugh because we know...because sometimes I notice things too much and vocalize my excitement and it can tend to overload him. 

Older folks hold a special place in my heart and this moment was a gift to me and lighted my day just as the angel cards did.

"Angels are bright lights in the midst of our lives.

Nothing is hidden and everything is seen by angels.

Angels can fly because they take themselves lightly.

Music is well said to be the speech of angels.

Angels shine their light on us so that we may see more clearly.

Beautiful visions for the world are dreamt by angels."

Journal - Lost and Found

I have several journals that I write in, including the Notes App on both my iPod Touch and iPad. I was in search of a journal entry that I wrote within the last couple of weeks. I can't find it anywhere and wonder if I imagined writing the piece I seek–or if I wrote it in my head and it never made it to the page. That's what I fear about having so many journals, that something will get lost. It's not a fear, really...it's just that I feel like even when I write little bits, if I don't do something with them sooner rather than later, they get lost, maybe never get found.

I feel that my whole life has been a process of being lost and found and there were times when the waters seemed clearer. I'm a child at heart, but sometimes I wonder if I've a bit of the Peter Pan syndrome in my bones. Sometimes I feel as though I've gone through life backwards, not so much gone through as much as my mind and my ability to accept responsibility has gone backwards. When I was a young girl, I seemed mature to people for my age. I remember having philosophical conversations with my older brother at the kitchen table in my early twenties. I was always filled with questions and would try them out on customers when I worked in a burger joint. I was attracted to older men who had experienced life, who had something to share, who were deep thinkers. I always preferred to listen in on the boy's conversations during high-school. I was never much of a small talker. I'm still not, but I appreciate the usefulness of it now–the humanness of it. 

Lost and found...I've been churning these words around in my head over the past few weeks. One day during a working team meeting, we were talking about something and it led me to share a few odd jobs that I had, and I said to them that it seems my life is a process of elimination. As I sat with those words–I thought how true on so many levels.

When I was a young girl, all I wanted to do was work. I wanted a job so bad when I was ten. I put beads on wire and displayed them on a poster board and tried to sell my jewels to my grandparents. When my brother would take me to the movie rental store, I begged to have a job there. I don't know what it was in me that wanted a job so badly. 

Now, I don't necessarily have those same feelings. I don't mind working. I enjoy a good productive day, but I sense in myself over the past ten years that something shifted inside of me, and that to a certain degree, I do not like responsibility. I would rather have my head in the clouds, enjoying life, and to a degree I feel that I've been able to do that in the simplest of ways. But of course, there are always small things that bring us to reality, rent increases, uncertainty of our jobs, uncertainty of anything and taking the setbacks as they come. 

I've done enough self-analysis over the years and it gets exhausting. I feel that I've done some good work and I still have work to do. I have issues that I still deal with that I have the opportunity to develop. There will always be growth and learning and that is wonderful. 

Right now, I am writing in real time. Another decade is fast approaching for me. I will have been on this gracious earth for four decades. I'm a quiet celebrator, preferring to go quietly into the new dawn. This one feels more real because in another decade and a little over a half I will be the age when my mother passed on. In another three years I will be the age she was when she had me, after already having two sons that were twenty years of age. In some ways, I gage my time on this earth against her clock–or rather when her clock stopped, yet I know that anything can happen in between that time and possibly afterward. I must be honest. I have no desire to live into my 90s or even my 80s. I know my body will not hold up.

This is beginning to sound depressing and it's not meant to. Another thing that I realized over the past couple of days is that I am truly happy. I love life. I love the earth, the little gifts in nature. I am a child of nature. I belong to the moon and the sun and stars, the flowers, the dirt, to the rain–and I will return one day. But what I realized is that I will always have this something inside of me, a certain small little piece of melancholy that lives inside of me, that allows me to feel as I do, allows me to cherish every single moment of my life and allows me to feel everything to my core, allows me to feel the sadness, but to especially feel the happiness and the goodness that this world offers with open arms.

Sometimes I fall, but I always pick myself up. And sometimes when I need it most, there is a sparrow that flies down and tweets, catching my eye until I can't but smile. Or a crow flies overhead, making me crane my neck and soaking him in. Always, these natural beauties make me feel alive and real and like I matter.