Sometimes

Sometimes it feels too hard to come here and write, to try to put too many emotions into too few words, to try to get the words right when deep inside of me I know, it's not about the words.  

Sometimes it's so very hard to trust that what I have to say might need to be read by someone. Or to trust that me writing for me, for my release, for my healing, is enough. 

Sometimes I don't want to tell you that I'm struggling because I wonder if you might shake your head and say -  Really? Again?  Sometimes I forget that I can't control - ever - what someone else may or may not think or feel.  And that living for others means dying to me.

Sometimes I want to shake it all off - the weight, the questions, the indecision, what feels too fleeting - too much - the intense sensitivity, the way I never, ever see black and white.  The grey that keeps getting greyer.  

Sometimes having to think about where commas should go, where periods should stay, feels like the kind of heavy I don't want to bear.

Sometimes I wish those moments of feeling like I could die (happily) for how deeply grateful I am (like just two nights ago) for all the gifts in my life, would last just a little bit longer.  

Sometimes I feel deeply sad - like right now.  So sad that I don't know if this tender heart of mine can possibly take it.  Sad for my dear friend, the one I paraded around campus with, belting out loud to the night air, that song "Red, Red Wine."  The one I stayed up late with studying for high school biology exams, slept in with ‘till noon - the one who was always stumbling and getting into trouble because she was way, way bigger than life.  The one who was recently diagnosed with breast cancer and has gone through months of chemo and radiation and now, just last week, found out she has two spots on her vertebrae.  She goes in for a bone biopsy this afternoon. Sometimes I could handle this better. But today, imagining her husband and four children waiting for the news, feels like too much.  

Sometimes the grey of the day warms me, makes me want to curl in tighter to all that is right and beautiful and good in my world. And, oh my gosh, there is so, so much.  And sometimes the grey weighs on me heavy.  And I wonder - where does this deep sadness come from?  

Sometimes - often - I can trust that it's all just right, just as it is. I can trust that I am where I am meant to be, I can see the gifts even when they are wrapped in an "ugly" disguise. And sometimes I want to hang it all up, say fuck it to trust, curse the powers that be for not helping me know more clearly where the hell it is I'm supposed to step next.  

Sometimes I know I must come here and spill the truth of where I am, release it all just as it so imperfectly (perfectly) is, so that I may dare to step again, step forward, continue to trust in this something bigger than me.  

Sometimes, when I'm deep in the midst of scared thoughts and tangled sadness, something happens to make me look up, something that shakes me out of my deep, empty tired.  The sound of birdsong, the sigh from my old dog.  I look up and I can see again - moss-covered oaks, left-over leaves clinging to bare branches.  The sun just barely peeking out.

Sometimes the release that comes from writing the truth, from leaving the commas and periods out - far outweighs whatever somethings may come after.  

And I remember again that this feeling and opening to it all, this uncensored, truth-telling expression is the point.

Deep breaths.  Yes.


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