Never Too Old

I would never have imagined myself in a million years taking an early childhood education (ECE) class. Two classes ago we walked through the different day care rooms at night on the community college campus to get an idea of how the environments were set up. The infant room brought an instant calm to my being. There were soft toys, books, organization, neutral colors, and pictures up high to look at. As we walked through the different rooms, notebook in hand, I felt that I could see myself in a setting like this one day. I especially liked the pre-school room. There was so much to explore, inside and outside.

I have to admit that I've always been more of an animal person. Children brought up fears in me–with infants, there is a fear of how fragile they are. With the older children, there is the fear of how honest some of them may be, and how well brought up they are to know what's nice to say and not so nice.

On the flip side, that's what's so great about children: They are totally honest.

Somewhere in my early thirties I was in a Safeway and I've always had tendencies toward shyness and insecurity. On this one day I had stopped off at Safeway on my way home from work. I used to bike to work then. I had my bike helmet on my head. It was a hot day and my face was hot and sweaty. I walked by an older child sitting in the shopping cart. she must have been five years old or so. As I walked by she pointed at me and said, "she's ugly." I just kept walking. Her dad was near by and I think he walked over to her and who knows what he mumbled to her.

All I know is that I felt about one inch tall. Even though I didn't know this child, those simple words fed into an insecurity that I felt. From a rational perspective, I could talk myself around it or better yet ignore the comment. But emotionally, it planted a small seed–and not that I had considered working with children then–I think I told myself I never would.

I can tell that a shift has occurred in me, and at this stage in my life, my relationship toward children has changed–is changing in positive ways.

I've said it before, and I don't mind repeating that I believe we all learn and grow at our own pace. In looking back at my childhood, there are many instances where I've had to battle with self-esteem issues. It feels good that as I continue going through life, the layers continue shedding, being replaced by new ones–stronger ones.

We're never too old to learn and grow.

Alchemy

Alchemy

Rosemary and myrrh
in the pestle,
rose petals, frankincense.

Crushing bits down
to size. Blowing
dried pieces of fragrance–
ideas into the wind.

Rejecting and accepting,
taking nothing at
face value, diving deep
below the rubble, tasting, spitting out,
'knowing that I know nothing,'
knowing that I am but a remnant of all
that have crossed my path because
as the muse, Vincent, once said, I'm
"a song I've felt since before time."

We are all bound by consciousness–
stretched beyond the atmosphere,
in orbit, old souls–all souls–meeting again
in different forms.


**
Originally jotted down June 17, 2012
Vincent's quote added September 15, 2012

Night

Tonight I drove home with my mouth agape staring at the moon; trees streamed by, blocked my view as I ducked and searched–where is the moon?!

A champagne moon spilled out on its side, close enough to touch.

And the tree I've been admiring each night of class, in her bare beauty, was clothed in beautiful pink blossoms tonight. She looked alive. I like her bare and also in full dress.

What a beautiful night. The air feels fresh. The streets are empty and class was quite satisfying.

Evening Page

Spring is teasing with sweet blooms appearing here and there. The sweet scent of honey catches on my nose, causes me to stop in my tracks, to stand and inhale the freshness in the air. Dear Spring, it's so nice to see you again–to see traces of you on the horizon. I look up into that wild blue sky and want to spin and run through the grass.

Tonight my mind is content, yet it wants to see the blinking cursor change from a blinking cursor to words and thoughts upon the page. I'm distracted by the fact that I'm usually asleep by now and by a homework assignment that is due tomorrow and I'm distracted by a book that I want to read and another and another–and the night air and the moon that was full on Monday night and how lovely it was peeking down at me through the bedroom window and the stars looked bright last night and I always look for you dear moon and I'm sure to wish you a good night; I smile at you and I know you'll be there even when you're not.

My mind is still and at the same time its active, but it's not making any sense except in its own orbit.

I've been thinking about you

I've been thinking about you
since I haven't seen you in
weeks, now months.

At the intersection, as I wait for
the light to turn from red to green;
the streets seem empty without
you rolling your cart around. I often
wonder what you kept in that case of yours.

I used to see you at the cafe, smoking your
cigarettes, smoke rising above you.

If I had to guess, I would say you were in
your seventies and I would only hope to
age as you have–you had a certain spark in
how you walked with purpose, slightly
stooped, not letting anything stop you.

I used to see you walking and walking, walking
everywhere and I'd pass you on the street,
and so many times when you were sitting at
the cafe puffing on your cigarette, I wanted so much
to stop and say hello, sit down, have a conversation.

You see, I saw something of myself in you, rolling
along–alone–alone in a way that makes being alone
lovely–like a single flower on its stem.

I am a weeping willow

I am a weeping willow;
I do not weep tears of sadness,
but tears of joy.
My long tendrils hang, cover
my naked body, protect me
from the elements and
outside forces.
I stand here and weep–
weep for no other reason
than for the simple
reason that I can.
I will shed tears of sadness–
tears in all shapes and sizes.
And I will know that I am alive in this
world because
I feel.

Insignificant Intention

About a month ago, I looked down at my thighs and regretted donating my ThighMaster to the second hand store. That ThighMaster hung in my closet for years unused, so it made perfect sense to be gone with it.

I looked on Amazon to see how much they cost and didn't feel like paying full price. I practiced restraint as I was about to click on "add to cart." I told myself that if I saw a ThighMaster in one of the second hand stores, I would buy it. What are the chances, I thought. I really didn't think I would see one. I finally put the whole idea out of my head.

This past weekend, my significant other and I were browsing through one of the local thrift stores. He was in the men's section with other knick knacks and I was looking at shirts in the women's section. I had a handful of items in my hand, not certain if I really wanted the shirts and one sweater. My significant other called my name out, I looked up from the rack, then he lifted his arm to reveal a ThighMaster. I let out a happy gasp and hurried over. I took it from him and found a chair to sit on to test it out. This one seemed to have more resistance than my other. I have to get this, I told him.

He noticed that I had set aside a bunch of shirts and asked if I was getting them. I showed him each item and we agreed that they weren't that exciting. I put all the clothes back and left the store with a ThighMaster.

This time, I hope to keep it out of the closet.

Though this is a trifle in the scheme of life, it reminded me of the power of intention, stating our wishes, and having them manifest.

My one significant intention is to take my significant other to New Orleans. I've been there once as a solo traveller and loved it. I'd like to take him there and experience it together. I will have to save every penny.

I've visualized being there with him and am working toward this goal. It will be tricky to put New Orleans out of my mind–In my experience, intentions seem to manifest best when you've completely put the thought out of your mind and leave it in the universe's hands.