it is a sound that warns of interaction.
too late in life i realize that my mind requires long stretches of silence. my heart needs deep feeling. my fingers ache for stormy messes of art projects left on the kitchen table for 3 days. forget eating. certainly forget cleaning away the paper scraps for some one's milk cup or coffee mug. just create without any end in sight.
i adapted and coped my way through life because, well, that's what you do. expect for folks who don't do this. the reptile people who amaze and frighten me- how they plan their life, how they know themselves essentially and are able to guard and create a life that serves them.
i suppose these reptile folks were born like this- knowing their scale and knowing that digging into the cool sand at noon was the only way to stand the heat. but maybe not. maybe they learned this. maybe they stayed out in the high sun and watched their body wither to the point of dry cracking twigs- and then they whispered, their throats parched, oh shit. oh shit- this is me. i cannot do this again.
so they listened to that. the went deeply and learned and listened and carved out a life around those needs. the body needs, the soul needs. the recognized the parts of them that they could not change- and then changed their behavior, the surroundings to protect- or even to nurture- those strong, stubborn parts.
yeah, so i clearly missed that phase of self-awareness.
i went from classroom to classroom listening to people tell me all kinds of things about the world, the brain, the words, the colors. my mind was awash in Information. i mostly stayed safe. i mostly followed the rules. i mostly was numb.
(of course, there were moments when i was none of these things- but right now i am fully living in shadow of this memory. bare with me.)
now i straddle a life of bursting, bustling boys. they never stop. they wake up and begin to talk to me. expect contemplation- or at least eye contact from their mother. from the homebase. from me.
it is a hard, painful place to be. this place of clinging to a lifeline- the quiet space on the porch where i can sit in the sun and be cat-like where thoughts swim through my mind, inspiring me- and being pulled out of that space by sometime so precious as my own children.
there's a metaphor somewhere here. something about gardens and hummingbirds and unexpected rain storms. but i haven't been able to sort it out yet. my mind doesn't have the depth for metaphors right now. right now my mind is wondering if i can finish this post before someone wants orange juice or for me to wipe their butt. but i want to know the metaphor! i want to to write it down here. i'm struggling to find it, damn it.
i struggle. i earn. i want. i want.
and i need.
i really need to be able to somehow balance this. to balance the part of me that needs to be fed with the part of me that feeds others. maybe most curious, is to do this with grace. clear, rather than the cloudy thoughts coming out as mumbling excuses. sweet, rather than the....
time for breakfast...