Chapter One

Yesterday was Christmas.

Chapter Two

I am constantly astounded by how my perceptions become altered by the actual life events that take place. I envisioned my Christmas holiday to be spent doing a set number of things in a particular order. I had set my day up all ready and planned. And then life happened.

My friends of a long time messaged me that they wanted to visit. I hesitated. I wanted my day to go my way. She said they wouldn’t stay long. I acquiesced against my heavy heart.

Old friends, inappropriate for the day, (I judged)

arrived full of merriment and joy.

Boisterous stories with fucking punchlines

Laughter spilling from them like beer

free-flowing,

I’m grieving. Inappropriate.

I feel like I’m the one who is inappropriate.

I wandered through their words, but I can’t

connect

I refocus, finding deep concerns of their own

Ones they came to share as their gift.

Just them being everything they are and I,

I sat in judgement because of my own sorrows.

How can I hold space when there is too much

detachment?

Chapter Three

As you may know, dear ones, I am no longer a chicken mom and I’ve taken it pretty hard. A role I treasured in my heart has been taken away by time and the realization that no matter how much you love someone or something, they will have to leave in whatever capacity.

Change is inevitable. It’s when we pretend that it isn’t, is when the expectations grow into a catastrophe of events. I thought my life would be a simple little chicken farmer in an urban setting. I planned on my husband and I would build it together. That vision got disrupted when I moved back down here and he and I chose individual happiness instead of mutual dissatisfaction.

Chapter Four

By passing my thoughts of yesterday

through the filter of sleepy wisdom

I process.

I’m grateful for my fucking people

just as much as I am for my church people

(Some of which are in both categories)

That they arrived enough

to disturb my lamentations

My sorrow of a vision lost to time

My sorrow of a chosen different path

My sorrow of little friends I knew

My grief of the loss of my vision of family

I’m weeping. And lonely for that path I once walked.

My roots dig down to the depths of my grief.

I have blood in the soil here now.

I have committed my earthen peace

I have swallowed oceans of sorrow until I drown

But that first fresh breath of holy air

that first hint of growing comfort

The absolute trust in knowing living love

Is beyond priceless to my clandestine spirit

I welcome the shift from despair to hope

I am open to the changes in my life

Life is a mighty reminder set like a tiny alarm

that goes off without warning

It’s digging down into the core elements of your humanity;

like excavating a deep conversation

with just the right person

at just the right time.

It’s remembering that your very existence,

exactly as you are,

is your contribution

your glory is in honoring

that which you were created to be

Every depth of truth discovered

is closer to your personal divinity.

As I sit in reflective silence,

My refrigerator hums to life

I notice when it stops

silence once again.

I attempt to release all anxiety

(to give it to the Universe)

I’m resentful of my own inadequacies.

I relax into my “Captain’s Chair”

I focus on my breathing

In

hold

exhale

hold

I am soothing my inner child

the one that got frightened

angry, furious

I let go of anger.

I can’t hold it to my chest as I once did

suckling it like an infant

Loving the bitterness of my tears

I was encouraged to lie

to hide with deceitful heart.

I sure do want to, but who would I be then?

I know my spirit holds a different truth

a deeper meaning of who I want to be

while sitting in reflective silence

Grab my magical hands as we gather

as we dance in spirals of laughter

as we greet the muddy earth with

deeply extending roots from our heels

Celebrating the turning of the wheel

Embracing the darkening moon ever blessed

The time for planting that is to manifest

In a conversation I had with my mother, Linda Looney, I noticed a repeated pattern, often punctuated with a tsk, or, and, in addition to her favorite “So…Anyways…” Here is what it sounds like to listen to my mom. This is primarily jotted notes of how she speaks. This is merely the art of her rhythm Used with her permission.

“So…anyways…

pay the bills

wait to die

(Laughs)

You can count on change

but fer sure

(chuckles)

death and taxes

(Describing a trip to Missouri)

like dogs down the highway

heads out the window

Just trying to catch a chill.

You know…So…Anyways

Oh God!

What a hellish year

instead of crap going on

why can’t we have peace

I’m smirking like the Grinch

That’s about correct.

I guess.

So…anyways…

“Ma, I’m gonna let you go. I love you.”

“I love you too, dear daughter.”

I’m reaching out to you.

You are such an incredible soul.

I love the me I am when I’m with you.

I am gifted with faith in trusting

the love I’m learning

for myself.

I am shown every time we meet,

how lucky I am to know you,

Thank you for sharing your heart,

your time, and your love with me.