Universal Unity

The aloneness felt now is not the one haunting most of my life like a double edged sword, a searing loneliness to run from. This aloneness is to sit with, explore, and accept in its entirety. Because we are born on the path from womb to air on our own, and leave this world on our own.

It seems so very odd at times, this craving for less stimulation or fakeness found in so many people, choosing instead the bluebirds, the swaying meadow grasses, and other creatures living under mother’s hand.

Then, the realization that we all make choices about our lives, though mine didn’t begin until recently, the freedom to make my own. Cages of the past confined me, but the door of the cage began to open and daringly my being began to slip free.

My choices. Not what you think I should do, or more so, my critic always yammering about abnormality and get your ass moving and doing something other what you are doing. Choices that move me towards a peaceful life looking at myself with new eyes that see a being as normal as you and everybody else.

That is a miracle for someone who believed she had no right to be here, that she was a ‘fluke of the universe.’ I am the universe, and so are you.

SNAIL’S PACE

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.