Posted by: alegra22 | August 9, 2011

gentled

A color wheel is my new desktop background. Next to me, a pile of books and notes waits for my attention. Dan moves from kitchen to dishwasher, clanking and clanging. Empty baby bottles rattling. Containers stained with spaghetti sauce pressed in between dishes licked clean by the dog. My hair is damp from the shower, the scent of lilac, like a sigh, spreads from me.

Tonight I will stay up as late as I can arranging words and images into this final stage of my thesis: the abject, blood, sweat, tears, shit, surfaces, skin, monsters, mothers, birth, dying…

I am still not certain what I am attempting to say, I just know I want to say it and have it be done.

I am ready to write again. Freely. Without five merry and mean judges sitting over my shoulder with red pens and the dirty smell of revision and performance anxiety exhausting me.

I am ready to be a mother and a writer again. I don’t want to feel guilty for daydreaming about the colors we will paint our new home, the gardens we will plant, the chickens that will live in the aviary, the flowers that will begin to push through the surface of this winter that has stretched thinner and thinner, begging to be torn.

I miss my children.

I miss the wild underside of my heart – my writing.

I remind myself: gentle.

As we’ve signed papers, crunched numbers, put in an offer on the home that we already feel moved in to, I think: gratitude.

As we’ve discussed building and LIM reports, tenancy agreements, sent documents to the bank, discussed interest rates, I remind myself: These are not stressors, these are privileges.

I whisper: Rest in God.

In the promise of a spectrum of color spread before me. Three children that tumble, blend, separate, again and again in my heart, my mind, my bones, my breath.

I woke up this morning to my daughter’s arms wrapped around me. We rested in the dark until we were both ready to push the covers back and tangled, her and me, me and her, we made our way into the kitchen and the noisy full-light of the three males that complete our ‘us’.

In the things that I still sometimes like to pretend are stressful “this thesis I must finish…” “next there’s the building report…” “we’ll have to pay this…”

I hear the laughter beneath my voice.

I hear the truth: You, my child, are unimaginably blessed.

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Responses

  1. Love. ❤

    • 🙂

  2. Message heard and taken.

    • Gus has been on active duty…

  3. beautiful perspective, important reminder. key to a happy heart? i think so.

    • Thank you 🙂

  4. Great reminder, thank you.

    • xoxooxx

  5. Your words take me right there with you, and make me ache with the truth of what you are saying. Oh how I love your writing, and I hadn’t come to see you here in way too long.

    You inspire me, being so near the end of your thesis. I’m still just beginning to write mine…

    • I just spent some time browsing your beautiful photos and words…it made me think about something a friend once said to me, “You can evaluate how you are doing in life by the people you attract to you.” It inspires me that you’re ‘my people’. Good luck on your thesis – stock up on comfort food and plenty of senseless beauty to carry you through!

  6. As I sit here with my Bible open, the computer on, and my thoughts free from the entanglements of the world, I, too, think how blessed I am. There’s food on the table. The bills are somehow getting paid. I have a great marriage and good friends. Yes…blessed. :o) Great blog!


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