a tree falling in the woods

i used to write everyday. i did it because i needed to be heard- even if only by a blank page. my life was like that tree falling in the forest, it needed to be heard to know its existence. and it felt like it was falling, so i wrote to move. to get somewhere that i couldn't seem to get with out writing. to find a spot of beauty in the chaos. to see purpose in the days. to force reflection. to make sense of things. i somehow had a lot to say because when life gives you stuff you didn't plan on- when things get turned on their head, there is food for fodder. 

but then there are times when the stuff you didn't plan on gets so big and when the compass breaks and life gets so turned upside down, that you would actually be okay with landing on the forest floor with out a single sound. falling into silence is preferred. being heard no longer matters, being held matters. the finding and seeing and reflecting are replaced by just breathing.
 
you are a downed tree. you can't move even if you wanted to. you can only wait. and look up at the sky through the forest around you. the patterns of leaves and spaces between. the light. you can watch the waving of others branches. you can notice how far away are the stars. you see things now from the bottom up. you are no longer holding your branch arms out for small animals to climb, no longer supporting shade giving leaves, no longer stretching tall, upright, boldly weathering storms.

you have fallen. with an earth shattering bang, that silenced you.  who you thought you were, you are no longer. same bark, same wood, same bleeding sap, but totally different. you are down with the moss and the dirt-y-ness of things. you are in the real. there are mushrooms and worms and a dampness- things you didn't know existed. the ground now reaches your whole being and you feel its warmth and coolness. the small animals that used to chase each other up to reach your peak are now climbing over you to get to others trunks. 

at first there was shame in the newness of your surroundings- not where you were but where you were not. but after some time passed, you could look around at the forest floor and see that the earth is made up of fallen things. and shame gives way to humility. you see yourself as you are, when you strip away the grandeur of your height and reach, you are wood and bark. and you realize so are the waving trees above you. yes. you are lying, downed on the ground, but you now know the truth. you now know the view from up high and from the very bottom.

you have been gifted with a perspective that only falling could bring. a knowledge that is held on the forest floor, shared by the community of broken things. and you receive it. the darkness of the woods changes. you are overwhelmed by the rich smell of the soil, pungent and sweet and layered, so much more complex than you'd imagined. you feel yourself embrace the dirt beneath you. you now feel the weight of yourself differently, as you hold things you didn't ask to hold, and release things you didn't know you held. you have a deep love and a compassion for life- all of it, from the moss to the pines. you have been told the secret that is often only heard when we get close enough to the bottom to hear the ground whisper, life is full of fallen, broken things, you are one of them, so am i. look up, see the grace, you are loved as wood and bark, valued standing tall or bent and broken, so listen and love and share from where you are.

and from there, i know that my stories are many. that in time, i have much more to say. i no longer need to write to move. my movement now gives birth to writing.

waiting

today, out of nowhere, it turned cold. cold as in the sun is setting and i'm wearing a down vest and socks. i never wear socks. it is a welcome change. and a reminder that things do change. even when it seems like they never will, they eventually will, they do.

i'm sitting alone outside and enjoying it. all of it. the reflecting sun sky, the wiggling banana plant leaves, the chiggering of the night bugs, the slow blinking of lights on the hill- and the lack of motion and voices because the house is empty. sometimes that change is needed- just for a few hours. so the rest of the world gets a turn to be noticed, or so that i get a chance to appreciate. because alone and outside is usually when the Holy Spirit speaks - or when i hear. it is the presence in the air. the fullness. the knowing of not being truly alone but abiding with something that never takes and only fills. only gives. something that doesn't leave, but is there, waiting for me to sit still.

sometimes it just says, 'see?' as in, look at what you are sitting in, how you are breathing, see the world around you - notice your place in it. sometimes it asks, ' what do you need today?' and i say, 'to feel loved' and the smiling leaves shake saying back, 'oh dear you are so loved.' sometimes i say,' what am i to do?' and it says, 'you know what to do, but i know it's hard for you to do it', and then it invites me to stay a bit longer, to fill me up before i go, and try. sometimes it reminds me, 'i'm always here. and you are always welcome.' and all that gives me enough to stay in the heat of the times that are full of sun and humidity, stickiness and challenge, and seeming never-endingness.

because as we are holding on to the promise of change in those waiting times,  it's as steadying to remember that some things stay the same- for always and forever.

supposed to

it was supposed to be a day alone. a day to unpack and settle into the new place after our move. a day to regroup. a day to put myself back together after a hard week. a day to get some work done.

but.

i got a text. zoe is having a hard day. it was only 10am. i was supposed to be emptying boxes, hanging mosquito nets, organizing cupboards. zoe can't seem to get it together to be in class or even to work out of class with her aide.

oh dear.

change is especially hard for zoe, because daily, stable life is hard for zoe. she struggles to find her things when they are in their proper place, now her life is packed in boxes. she doesn't know how to navigate this new kitchen- she hasn't found her place, her routine in the new house. i was supposed to be making it easier for her- creating systems, getting control of this dis-order. and my mom is having a hip replacement - zoe's ama- her safe spot- she's terrified something will happen, and 'home' which is my mom for zoe- could be gone. i was supposed to be figuring out how to send flowers. and zoe forgot to take her meds, because things are different and especially confusing. it was a lot. change, worry, lack of neurotransmitters. so i called her to find out what was happening.

'it's like all these voices from people from all of my life are talking to me and i just can't think!'

it was supposed to be that time in life when we had a high schooler,who might be thinking about colleges, not struggling through 8th grade, not unable to sort through her own thoughts. it was supposed to be lots of things that it's not.

so i walked down to get her and bring her home and try to help today feel better. i wasn't mad at her or at God. i didn't go to those scary places about 'the rest of my life' and 'what does this mean for next year'. i just got her some mango juice and sat beside her. i held her head on my chest and i remembered. i remembered all the ages of holding her head on my chest as her hair has turned from white blonde to brown. i remembered the struggle with every milestone this child reached. i remembered wondering if and how we would just get through 9. i remembered wondering what 16 would be like? and then i remembered that there is no such thing as 'supposed to'. 

supposed:  generally assumed or believed to be the case, but not necessarily so 

how much do i like to rely on supposed to? how much do i like when my life matches up to the clear path i'd envisioned. when i can see down the line of our future. when, even if there is trouble ahead, it's somehow 'okay' because i can prepare for it. how much do i like 'the known'?

a lot. i like it a lot. because i don't like the thrown monkey wrench or the rug pulled out beneath me.

you'd think, after 16 years of life with zoe, i'd have let it go. that by now, the known would be that i live in the great unknown. that i could catch the monkey wrench, and stand firm on the rug. but isn't it just so hard to not return to that favor place we have called 'supposed to'? it is for me.

we sat on the couch, she asked if i was mad, i told her no, because i wasn't, and i told her that i loved her. that was all. i remembered that that really is all. we sat on that couch and looked out the window of our new yard together. and something magical happened.  i realized, perhaps for the first time ever, that THIS IS MY LIFE. my life is an often daily detour. my life is not doing what i thought i'd do. my life is interruption. my life is and will be sitting on couches with zoe and spending my days with her around me. my life doesn't need 'supposed to'. my life is the 'not necessarily so'.

it was like finding a new way to breathe. because instead of fighting the difference between expectation and reality, instead of taking the time to feel sad and sorry and scared, and then attempt to create plan a, b and c, i was free to look at this girl, this beautiful girl, who i only know as she is and who i love so deeply, and go unpack boxes with her.

so we got up from the couch together. we went to her room and started to unpack the book boxes together. because that is what we were supposed to do.