Thoughts come out

I felt like writing something.
Today was wonderful, and so many emotions are crashing through me that I am almost overwhelmed. But not enough to fail to recognize the significance of it.
Even while lying on my bed, full of delicious Chinese food and exhausted from an afternoon at the river, I am utterly content to be still and feel.
The tingling in my arms as they release and relax, the heaviness of my legs as they let go of the burden they've carried for all of the day, my spine releasing all tension and stress, my breath as it slows.
My mind goes as fast as it usually does;
thoughts flicker in and out, some morphing, some simply vanishing from consciousness and waiting to pop up at a later time. I can see the glimmer of my nose ring when I look down, pausing,
waiting for the next thought to flow from the pads of my fingers.

Utter contentment.

I'm not going to talk about the celebrity deaths that have occurred, though they are on my mind. I feel the weight of that loss, surely, yet a rising up and floating outward presents itself even in the most dire of times.
Poetry is born from death, and I am certain that this time is no different.
I sometimes imagine what it would be like if those close to me died suddenly. It happens more often than we would like to think, and although it seems a morbid situation to dream of, I do still.
I imagine what I would feel, what I would do and think, to the point where I begin to feel those things. I may start to cry, or feel the empty cradling gap that aches so.
Yet it doesn't take over, so that I am consumed by it. It is almost like temporarily visiting that place of disorientation to touch a moment of reality that we repeatedly come across but never linger at. Except when
poets express that moment in poems,
song writers in their lyric,
the musician in their draw of notes that pattern pure emotion, or
painters in their swabs of paint or charcoal pressed into canvas and paper with painful intention.


It strikes me as amusing
whenever I realize I to care about someone more than I originally was aware of.
That “Oh... shit,” or “Oh good lord, it's happening again” thought flits through my head before I proceed to obsess over what it means,
what I'm going to do,
and all that fantastic stuff that I'm sure we've all experienced at one point or another.
It's not as if I can simply avoid the sensations from occurring and transforming, and I wouldn't want to; but the uncertainty of the future nevertheless shakes my reserve.
I shall see where the hours and days and weeks take me.
At the very least I am grateful to have the gift of articulation, however limited its expression. I suspect it will be my closest friend through this, as honesty is my tried and true method, whatever the result it brings.
I reside in the shaky balance in utter contentment this evening, and will enjoy the moment as it lasts.


Yoga sounds like a splendid way to wrap up the day, don't you? I venture off!

More rambly than I intended, but oh well.

I was carting my dad around today, doing a variety of errands. I went grocery shopping for him at Wal Mart before I drove over to his apartment. It took an entire hour to get everything and actually get out the door and back to my car. I hate shopping there, not so much because it's Wal Mart, but because of the atmosphere; that crazy, busy, chaotic vibe drives me up the wall. Like I want to run to the nearest fitting room and lock myself in it, just to get some peace. But it amuses me the little things that make you smile, and grants you a bit of sanity (or insanity, whichever the case may be) in order to maintain that precious bit of happiness. I don't really know what it is about me, but when I'm in that centered space, open and friendly, that's exactly what I get back. It's reminiscent of when I worked in retail. If I could consciously make the decision to be upbeat, it was infectious.

Anyway.

I was contemplating my relationships with the people who are living, and that how I maintain those bonds greatly impacts who I am. One of my biggest challenges is letting go, since I seem to obsess so much over small details, or that one conversation, or that one incident. Do I give that person a second chance? This person is family, how should I respond when rifts develop in the relationship? Is it really important?

Many people who I consider to be my family are not blood relatives. The notion of building Queer Families has been a foundation for my idea of what family is, and because of my personal history, I have an... unusual understanding of what it means to build and have a family. This is probably why I had such an easy time with my parents' divorce. Regardless, because of this idea, I don't typically feel that blood-relative loyalty to everyone in my family of origin. Therefore it's not so clear cut (at least in a conventional manner) for who I choose to let go of and what bonds I feel are worth fighting for.
But my parents are two family members I obviously cannot choose so easily, and I'm in a remarkably lucky situation where I don't need to choose. It seems in this day and age unconditional love from your parents is no longer a given, and I consider myself one of the lucky few to have two very loving parents who are willing to go the extra mile for me. My relationship with my father has perhaps not been as traditional as some daughters have, and I think some pity me for it. For a variety of reasons I am better able to interact with him on a peer level, not so much an emotional one.

I was reminded today of how lucky I am, while driving him around from place to place, sitting in a too hot car for longer than I thought I would, and having to remind myself that someone who just had knee surgery is of course going to move a lot slower than usual. I was reminded of how much my dad was willing to do for me and how much it bothers him that he can't provide as much as he wants to. I think it's so rare nowadays, that kind of unconditional love, and how can I brush it aside when there are so many people I know who don't get that from their parents. Not because they're “bad” kids, but because their parents don't understand them; maybe it's one key thing about who they are that their parents deem morally wrong, or at least is unacceptable. Some endure emotional or physical abuse. Some may go through their whole lives never knowing if their parents really loved them. Knowing that I will never have to question that about my own brings me to tears. It just reminds me of what I want to be able to give to the world, if not just one person at a time.

If I learn anything in this lifetime, I hope it's how blessed I was in knowing the people I've known, and who really mattered the most.