"The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes." Marcel Proust
not in seeking new landscapes, but in having
new eyes.
These eyes - do they curse breakfast dishes still unwashed or do they greet the ordinary mess with a thank you?
Thank you
for bright
berried smoothies sipped out of pink straws, two girls beside me, the ones I
grew in my body. Yes, they're arguing. Yes, they're complaining.
Yes - they're making too much noise. But they're here.
Here - safe. Here
- healthy. Here - beside me.
Thank you.
Do these eyes
settle upon the glass door smudged with dog breath & kid prints or do they
look beyond the smudge to the sturdy oaks, the chirping chickadees, the singing blackbirds? The single red leaf that just let go.
Do I lean in and
listen? Do I allow their here-ness, the bareness - the noise - to teach me? Or are my eyes squeezed shut, tangled in what isn't?
My beautiful,
young friend with cancer. A mother to four. Weak body - no more hair, chemo,
radiation - too much time in bed. Too much tired. Too much pain. Do I ask
why, do I curse what is? Do I trust that the divine has a hand in it all?
Could holding her hand in mine be enough?
Thank you, hair.
Thank you healthy, moving, breathing, aging, imperfect body. Thank you singing
cells.
A big, full, breathe-with-me-now....inhale. A
let-it-all-out exhale. Hot,
steaming coffee, lit candle, big glass of clean water, time to sit and sip this
flavor of now, house messy and in need. But still - a house. A
home.
Winter sunshine.
A place to land, shelter from cold. Warm socks.
Thank you, ordinary moment.
Do I despair over
what is crooked, backwards - the infinite unanswered whys? Do I count all
that is seemingly broken? The young family that sleeps on the floor in
the lobby of the homeless shelter because all beds are full.
Or do I, with
each new breath, say thank
you for their warmth - my
warmth, my children's warmth.
Do I curse others
who don't or won't or can't hold out their hand? Or do I choose to hold out
mine, everyday - no
matter what?
Comfortable bed,
cushy pillows, a refrigerator stuffed full, clean pajamas - eight solid hours of
uninterrupted sleep. A whole, roasting chicken in the oven. The heat set at 70 degrees. My children safe in
their beds. This full, deep breath of new.
Do I curse the
cold or hold warmth closer?
New eyes. New moment.
Thank you.
* * *
Happy Thanksgiving blessed readers.
I'm so very thankful for you.
I am thankful for you, beautiful friend. Happy Thanksgiving to you and your family. Love you.
ReplyDeletethat was so beautiful julia. thank you!
ReplyDeleteLove to you, Kelli - so good to hear from you. <3
DeleteA beautiful reminder. I am so grateful for you here and in my life. <3
ReplyDeleteDitto J...so, so grateful for beautiful YOU. Giant, gratitude-filled hugs.
DeleteHappy Thanks Giving to you and your loved Ones, Julia.
ReplyDeleteLight and love !
Thanks so much, Kim. There is so much to be thankful for.
DeleteSending love and light back to you.
I love that quote by Proust, and it keeps coming into my line of vision every now and then. Your words here, these moments of your day, the ordinary day, and yet so full of gratitude for the ordinary that we so often take for granted. Your words are a blessing.
ReplyDeleteI'm grateful for technology that allows us to share these words, to grow a friendship over time and space and great distance, to enjoy the gifts each of us share on these pages.
May your Thanksgiving be filled with peace and more bountiful blessings.
Love you!
I loved reading this, Julia. Your thinking is so right there...choose a side, the light or the dark, and of course you choose the light, looking past the dog nose smears on the window, out to the blue of the day. I love this. We can choose to love life and be grateful. I love you. Happy be-lated Thanksgiving!
ReplyDeleteOh, Leah - happy belated Thanksgiving to you too, my beautiful friend. I love you to absolute pieces & just couldn't be more thankful for you in my life.
DeleteBlessings, blessings, blessings...