By the lantern light I go.
The birds, now used to my early morning
walks in the dark,
stay in their nests.
The lightly fallen snow,
crisp underfoot, as dawn
slowly approaches.
Rest creek-side in the early light
brings me back into myself.
Every precious moment comes and goes, then is gone forever except in memories. Enjoy each one if you can.
If consumed in thought, or worry, the moment will be missed. These are my musings while walking in the dark before the birds even rise. The last episode of self given beatings over my challenges that are no fault of my own have dissipated till another round comes. Energy returns because sleep, good rejuvenating sleep does too.
Taking the lantern swinging at my side, it swipes the earth back and forth with my stride. A cotton ball tailed bunny, perplexed at this human walking so early, frozen in place till finally hopping away when coming very close.
The stars on a clear night shimmering, a bare wisp of light beginning to appear over the hill with each lap. Who gets up so early if not having to work?
These questions do me no good, as the answer is always… my body! So why not enjoy it? Lap after lap brings my blood alive. All my senses are revigorated, recapturing the sublime magic of summer- though the morning goddess is not yet up to reveal her mystical secrets. But the critters are awake scurrying in my lamplight as we share all the wonderful charms of nature.
Photo by Cory while visiting over Thanksgiving. Very young children give need to rise early…
What a difference a day makes.
“I feel so much better,” I said excitedly to Shane when he called on the way back from dropping his son off to middle school.
“I walked a lap and sat awhile by the water. My toe didn’t throb, so I was able to walk more rounds completing 5,” I added.
Walking and nature is so curative, the fresh air, movement, my blood waking up all other senses. Joyful feelings coursed through me once again thrilling as the sun burst forth spilling stripes of turquoise and pinks across the horizon.
Such a simple pleasure keeping all parts of me happy, hopeful, and healthy. A slide to depression occurred so fast without it!
Recovering from a simple virus compounded with headache and slight fever, it took my happy away. Camera in hand, down to the meadow I go discovering joy again.
The peace of earth sustains me, flocks of birds getting ready to fly south, startled at my approach, waving grass greening after the rains, a bunny hopping away, and quiet, peaceful quiet settling my mind of its morbid thoughts.
My granddaughter, Cindy 9, spent the night and we had such fun together! We made tiny Easter baskets from cut up egg cartons, painting them one night so they dry by the fire, decorating them the next morning hardly one second after she rolls out of bed.
We made Easter bunnies out of toilet paper rolls, and colored huge eggs with markers that I previously had printed off on colored paper, then added sparkly stick-on adornments.
The morning flies by and she has so many goodies to take home and decorate with.
When my body changes and unwellness sets in, fear come with it. Even a slight change causes concern making me fearful. So that voice of comfort was needed. It’s ok, it’s ok. Probably just one day of side effects, a feeling of a 24-hour bug after the fourth Covid shot; slight headache through the night and the next day body aches, even a loss of appetite, not a common occurrence for someone who eats their feelings.
Why not after the first three vaccines? It could be that in facing all that lies inside with equanimity and compassion, my parts, spirit, mind, emotions, and psyche, have come together as one. There’s more awareness of bodily workings. In touch, like most others around me whose connections come naturally not having trauma tear them away from it.
The rip came at age 8. The repeated smashing shatterings making it about impossible to ever reclaim what is mine. The incessant craving haranguing ever since to come back inside me, yet the flurry of me remained suspended above and about spinning, always spinning.
A relief this morning waking to the feeling that my body is back to status quo. Good health is the number one of riches. But when health faulters, the other comparable wealth is the voice of reason, comfort, and compassion.
It isn’t earth shattering, what I do. Waking after a restful sleep with deep gratitude for that simple bodily need fulfilled, there it is. What do I do?
A puzzle, a craft readying for the kids to visit over the weekend, or what? Movies play almost non-stop, as if that is my safe way to interact with people. While listening to the voices known by heart because they play so much, household chores are accomplished, or the next meal is prepared- which means a lot of time over the sink.
That is such a pleasure when the morning sun splashes on my face warming my upper body. So, it isn’t earth shattering, what I do.
Yet being in my body, and in my life, following that inner voice that often is ignored or detached from, can cause a reversal of negativity in my closest relationships opening them to growth and better lives for all.
Not just in my life but also in those I touch. Since childhood that voice was ignored. How could it not be when divided from it at age eight? That voice calls in the night preventing sleep till listened to. That or the PTSD devil, haven’t decided which.
It is an upheaval of deep angst and unhealth, but when re-connecting and following through…that IS earth shattering! Asking for what I need takes an extraordinary amount of energy and is exhausting. Others have become accustomed to my placidity and apologetic tendencies. When persevering for what feels right repeatedly and doggedly until the desired outcome, well, that must be surprising and difficult to ignore.
It is the little things that shatter the old ways creating new and wonderous ones…
It is interesting, though tragic, how much the insidious comments from the eldest abuser brother throughout my life has made me into this older woman who still believes such rotten things about myself.
That every choice and decision made must be selfish, stingy, unkind, and base. When really what lies inside my being is great generosity of spirit and sensitivity to others. So much so that living who I am became quite impossible because the pleasing instilled made me plastic.
It is only in tearing away the façade of what my family built in me that the true person shines through. But in that reality there are choices. Go to where the real feelings are even though they might cause others pain, or keep pretending?
Giving myself away so that a loved one won’t be hurt, means continuing with a robotic life. Eyes looking back in the mirror look strained, unreal, cold and soulless.
But in digging deep internally and letting old wounds open, flow, and heal, even hurting another in the process because these wounds bleed on others, also brings the joy of knowing who I really am and getting out of prison. The prison holding me captive for so many years.
In knowing myself you will truly know me.
Shadows appear longer, with mornings dark, cool and wet with dew. The usual fall into fall with a lower mood seems less severe probably circumvented by the incorporation of exercise and a long path to healing which has taken decades– yet continues. The meadow dances with yellow mustard dotted at the edges with sunflowers opening happy faces as if nodding when walking by.
Pumpkins gathered in Samuel’s patch decorate the house and some are fun to paint. Others await painting by grand-children at the next birthday party in October when my son reaches the ripe old age of 40.
How did that happen, as the memory of him in a little powder blue sun-suit carrying his sand pail out to the sandbox is still so vivid? Memories of over 50 years ago are also in sharp focus, my first apartment in college, cooking hamburger helper in the evening, but also the feelings of loneliness that never quite left since childhood.
And that slowly melts once getting to know and make friends with myself. The loneliness of childhood sexual abuse is unlike any other, sharper, emptier, so painful one runs from it until learning to stop, be still, and let it up with all the gunk that my origin family would not hear and barely acknowledged.
Healing is a life’s work…
There are changes. The drop in mood, the drop of reddish leaves along with hickory nuts in the path walking by, the earlier darkness, a cooler feeling to the day despite it reaching high temps, and moister air in the mornings causing the train whistle to sound closer.
Hermie, the young buck in the back woods and meadow I’ve come to know, is growing antlers as they curl forward with more prominence day by day. Always changes. It is hard to keep up with change, my being usually feeling behind trying to catch up. Being able to be in my body will do as nature takes me for wild rides.
The meadow, like a color-changing magical flag, has flown several colors, from yellow buttercups to white daisies, now white again with Queen Ann’s Lace dotted with lovely purply flowered plants… what a sight. And soon it will all turn over to deep yellow as mustard blooms.
Butterflies flit in groups among the butterfly bushes as my float swirls round and round in the pool late in the day. Their antics are more inviting than a drive-in movie. Bees love the sweet blossoms too. Staring at the puff clouds a turtle appears like a mirage in the white fluffs slowly morphing into a dog or goat drifting by overhead.
The floating relaxes as if still in the womb, cooling me off for the evening, hair still wet by morning. It is a quiet life, but suits me. Longing sometimes to have the ability to travel more easily, the quest is to come to terms with my real life and stop chasing what wasn’t meant to be, not for me.
There is still so much beauty. Just still myself to let it in, and let the newly found respect for my real needs satisfy my soul.
Patricia J Grace 