Today's hike through the woods and weeds was a good one. The weather couldn't be more perfect if I had ordered it myself.
I got pooped on by a bird, perching on a branch overhead. Which was a kind of nature's revenge, I guess, for waking and scaring off a deer. The deer seemed hesitant to leave the area. I wondered if it was just because I had woken her, or if she had recently birthed a fawn nearby. I wandered the area for a bit, though to find a fawn in those dried-leaf, sun-dappled woods would have been next to impossible anyway. That's when the bird decided to christen me - urging me to move on, which I did.
I hauled an old copper basin out and hid it by the road for later pick-up. It probably won't get me much, but along with the other copper items I have gathered, it may pay for a breakfast at The Galley this weekend in St. Ignace.
The golden rod is in full bloom right now, and I was able to wade through a few patches of it down by Black Creek. It's one of those poetic things you always imagining yourself doing in a long flowing gown, when in reality, your legs would be scratched to pieces if you were to try it. Jeans and hiking boots worked just fine, turns out.
I also discovered that turkey vultures are very allured or annoyed by someone lying in an open grassy field, practicing grass-whistling techniques. It probably didn't help that my red shirt was crumpled up on the grass beside me. I probably looked and sounded like a dying animal of sorts. There were probably about 7 of them circling above me. I imagine they were rather disappointed to see me get up and walk away. I had a pretty good laugh over that one.
Nothing is really blooming yet in the woods themselves. A few violets are making an early go of it, but nothing else, really. There was a light green frail vine-type thing growing all-over the ground. It was kind of wispy and looked as if it would be very good to eat. Also - no morel mushrooms.
The sky is so blue and so perfect today. I think maybe I'll take my sewing machine out on to the deck and work on the fabric for the pergola out there. May as well enjoy every minute of the day.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Friday, May 15, 2009
A Good Place
All three of my posted writings today were actually written last July - all on one night. Proof that flights of fancy and letting your mind wander is not necessarily a bad thing.
A Good Place
Awake again.
Not so much questioning
This time.
No challenges of defiance
Or raised fists of anger.
But just a silent wonder
Of restored faith -
And hope.
Believing once again
That You are in control
And You know what You're doing.
Remembering that this rat race
Is more like a conducted symphony
To You.
I rest for a moment
In the fact of brighter days
To come.
A good place to be.
A Good Place
Awake again.
Not so much questioning
This time.
No challenges of defiance
Or raised fists of anger.
But just a silent wonder
Of restored faith -
And hope.
Believing once again
That You are in control
And You know what You're doing.
Remembering that this rat race
Is more like a conducted symphony
To You.
I rest for a moment
In the fact of brighter days
To come.
A good place to be.
A poem
No title - does poetry really need them?
Do you remember that time you almost -
Ach! But then you backed away.
Were you afraid?
I guess we both were.
Standing at the brink of freedom,
Not realizing how this giant ball
Hurdling us through space
Could have bumped us over the edge
At any given moment.
Do you ever wonder what life
Would have been like?
The road not taken and all.
Maybe we should have done it -
Embraced everything they said was foolish
And like the children we were,
Jumped with abandon toward that place
Past mediocrity.
Risky business, that.
Do you remember that time you almost -
Ach! But then you backed away.
Were you afraid?
I guess we both were.
Standing at the brink of freedom,
Not realizing how this giant ball
Hurdling us through space
Could have bumped us over the edge
At any given moment.
Do you ever wonder what life
Would have been like?
The road not taken and all.
Maybe we should have done it -
Embraced everything they said was foolish
And like the children we were,
Jumped with abandon toward that place
Past mediocrity.
Risky business, that.
Blemishes
A sincere apology to those who may check on my blog from time to time - I have not posted anything new in a while and have probably left you with the impression that some weird fear of being watched has now gripped me and caused a stalemate of sorts. This is not so.
Once again, living life has trumped blogging about it, as it should, and has therefore caused delay in my thinking and writing and posting. I beg your forgiveness and offer new words as reward. Enjoy.
Blemishes
I've got this bump
Right under my nose.
I've been sitting here picking at it,
Though it hurts to do so.
I should just let it be,
But it's on my face.
And I've been thinking about it
All day -
Worrying that people will see it,
Feeling self conscious
And a bit ugly.
Powerful bump that is -
Able to downgrade my social status
To "Less than perfect",
At least in my own mind.
It's just a small bump, really -
Dwarfed by my nose and lips and eyes -
And the way my face is arranged
That allows others to identify me.
If others even noticed it, they would say,
"She has a little bump on her face today."
And not think a thing of it.
But for me, today,
It defined me -
It was huge and obvious
And embarrassing.
Strange how we sometimes identify ourselves
By our blemishes.
Once again, living life has trumped blogging about it, as it should, and has therefore caused delay in my thinking and writing and posting. I beg your forgiveness and offer new words as reward. Enjoy.
Blemishes
I've got this bump
Right under my nose.
I've been sitting here picking at it,
Though it hurts to do so.
I should just let it be,
But it's on my face.
And I've been thinking about it
All day -
Worrying that people will see it,
Feeling self conscious
And a bit ugly.
Powerful bump that is -
Able to downgrade my social status
To "Less than perfect",
At least in my own mind.
It's just a small bump, really -
Dwarfed by my nose and lips and eyes -
And the way my face is arranged
That allows others to identify me.
If others even noticed it, they would say,
"She has a little bump on her face today."
And not think a thing of it.
But for me, today,
It defined me -
It was huge and obvious
And embarrassing.
Strange how we sometimes identify ourselves
By our blemishes.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Watched
Today's blog is purely for me with no regard to anyone who may be reading it. Readers beware.
I've always felt in a way that someone was always watching me. Even when I was young I remember feeling this way. As a young girl I remember playing outside wondering who could see me. As a teenager, I often imagined there was someone in my bedroom closet - witnessing my most difficult moments - seeing my tears of adolescence, looking over my shoulder as I would journal or wrote my poetry. Usually in those times it was a handsome young man - admiring my secret passions - waiting to comfort me and tell me that he saw and understood all the secret parts of my heart and thought they were wonderful.
At times, I've fancied my watcher to be God himself - watching his daughter and smiling - admiring her heart and her thoughts as they sought to run and fly beyond the confines of her human existence.
This feeling of being watched is especially strong when I'm alone. And sometimes I imagine I'm watching a movie of myself - watching me go through my day - and somehow the watcher knows all the thoughts and feelings that each look, each action portrays. And it is all larger than life - more important and significant than the laundry I am folding, deeper than the errands I am running.
When I walk in the woods, my watcher is always there. Sometimes I talk with him. It must look like insanity to anyone else. But to me, it is a sweetness.
Sometimes the feeling of being watched is so strong, that I look around nearly expecting to find someone there. Maybe this does make me insane, who knows. Or maybe everybody feels this way sometimes. It's not really something you'd bring up in conversation.
I really don't know where this even comes from. I don't know much about guardian angels - or if this is what is feels like to be in the presence of God all the time. Maybe it's some egotistical desire that I've fed since childhood that goes beyond narcissism. Maybe it's an over awareness of self that causes me to live too much of my life in my own mind. I honestly don't know what it is or where it comes from. But I know it's there.
Sometimes, I'll catch Doug just looking at me - or watching me. It is a great kindness to my heart. I see a brightness in his eyes and a smile at the corners of his mouth. It is like a balm of healing to my soul. And I'll ask him, "What are you doing?" and he'll say, "just looking at you." It is one of the best things in the whole world.
Maybe that's how our kids feel when we watch them - really watch them - and see them, and smile. Maybe I do need to think of God watching me all the time - and that he'll keep the things he created in me that no one ever sees - he'll see them and keep them in his heart for all eternity. Maybe it's the need to be celebrated as a life. Not because I'm wonderful, or great - or anything out of the ordinary. Just alive. Maybe it's the thought that feelings and thoughts and the depths of our hearts and minds are really too grand and huge and wonderful for this world - and that those are being seen and acknowledged as such. Maybe it's the wonder that God sees everything we don't. That there are insects deep in a jungle of some far off place just doing what they were created to do - and that makes God smile - that he celebrates even the most hidden of moments of thought and emotion as an extension bursting with the life that He knows himself to be. Maybe it's the sense that nothing is too small to be missed or overlooked - as if I could even see the cells on my arm creating new skin cells - a daily exchange that is truly amazing.
It's the thought that every rock in my driveway has a history - that each one was formed somewhere on this earth by various earthen materials that took thousands of years to form, and layer and mix. And that I can hold it in my hand, knowing there is not another like it on the planet.
Maybe I feel like I'm being watched, because I am always watching. People, nature, growth, change. It's all too wonder full. It is too good to miss. So maybe that's just it. Maybe it's just that I feel that life should be watched, observed, wondered at and celebrated. And if I feel that way - being small and sinful, I imagine God probably feels that way magnified beyond what I can imagine. He can see the cells forming within a mother's body. He can orchestrate gasses and unknown matter to come together and produce light in a new star that we can't even see. I greatly envy him that.
So maybe my being watched all the time thing isn't so bad. Although I find I can spend ridiculous amounts of time alone and really, it doesn't bother me at all. I'd probably make a pretty fair hermit. It's still kind of weird, I guess. But, then again, I've pretty much given up on the chance that I'm anything like normal - if there is such a thing.
I've always felt in a way that someone was always watching me. Even when I was young I remember feeling this way. As a young girl I remember playing outside wondering who could see me. As a teenager, I often imagined there was someone in my bedroom closet - witnessing my most difficult moments - seeing my tears of adolescence, looking over my shoulder as I would journal or wrote my poetry. Usually in those times it was a handsome young man - admiring my secret passions - waiting to comfort me and tell me that he saw and understood all the secret parts of my heart and thought they were wonderful.
At times, I've fancied my watcher to be God himself - watching his daughter and smiling - admiring her heart and her thoughts as they sought to run and fly beyond the confines of her human existence.
This feeling of being watched is especially strong when I'm alone. And sometimes I imagine I'm watching a movie of myself - watching me go through my day - and somehow the watcher knows all the thoughts and feelings that each look, each action portrays. And it is all larger than life - more important and significant than the laundry I am folding, deeper than the errands I am running.
When I walk in the woods, my watcher is always there. Sometimes I talk with him. It must look like insanity to anyone else. But to me, it is a sweetness.
Sometimes the feeling of being watched is so strong, that I look around nearly expecting to find someone there. Maybe this does make me insane, who knows. Or maybe everybody feels this way sometimes. It's not really something you'd bring up in conversation.
I really don't know where this even comes from. I don't know much about guardian angels - or if this is what is feels like to be in the presence of God all the time. Maybe it's some egotistical desire that I've fed since childhood that goes beyond narcissism. Maybe it's an over awareness of self that causes me to live too much of my life in my own mind. I honestly don't know what it is or where it comes from. But I know it's there.
Sometimes, I'll catch Doug just looking at me - or watching me. It is a great kindness to my heart. I see a brightness in his eyes and a smile at the corners of his mouth. It is like a balm of healing to my soul. And I'll ask him, "What are you doing?" and he'll say, "just looking at you." It is one of the best things in the whole world.
Maybe that's how our kids feel when we watch them - really watch them - and see them, and smile. Maybe I do need to think of God watching me all the time - and that he'll keep the things he created in me that no one ever sees - he'll see them and keep them in his heart for all eternity. Maybe it's the need to be celebrated as a life. Not because I'm wonderful, or great - or anything out of the ordinary. Just alive. Maybe it's the thought that feelings and thoughts and the depths of our hearts and minds are really too grand and huge and wonderful for this world - and that those are being seen and acknowledged as such. Maybe it's the wonder that God sees everything we don't. That there are insects deep in a jungle of some far off place just doing what they were created to do - and that makes God smile - that he celebrates even the most hidden of moments of thought and emotion as an extension bursting with the life that He knows himself to be. Maybe it's the sense that nothing is too small to be missed or overlooked - as if I could even see the cells on my arm creating new skin cells - a daily exchange that is truly amazing.
It's the thought that every rock in my driveway has a history - that each one was formed somewhere on this earth by various earthen materials that took thousands of years to form, and layer and mix. And that I can hold it in my hand, knowing there is not another like it on the planet.
Maybe I feel like I'm being watched, because I am always watching. People, nature, growth, change. It's all too wonder full. It is too good to miss. So maybe that's just it. Maybe it's just that I feel that life should be watched, observed, wondered at and celebrated. And if I feel that way - being small and sinful, I imagine God probably feels that way magnified beyond what I can imagine. He can see the cells forming within a mother's body. He can orchestrate gasses and unknown matter to come together and produce light in a new star that we can't even see. I greatly envy him that.
So maybe my being watched all the time thing isn't so bad. Although I find I can spend ridiculous amounts of time alone and really, it doesn't bother me at all. I'd probably make a pretty fair hermit. It's still kind of weird, I guess. But, then again, I've pretty much given up on the chance that I'm anything like normal - if there is such a thing.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Of Crutches and Backbones
A couple nights ago I was praying before bed - asking God to help me and give me wisdom in a couple situations I was dealing with. I wanted to know how to act/react to what was going on.
God's answer surprised me.
He said, "Carrie, why don't you stop using me as a crutch and let me be your backbone instead?"
Huh?
So we talked about it a little more.
Apparently, I've been using my own wisdom to deal with issues again. I'm pretty intelligent, but intelligence isn't as good as truth. So things don't always work out quite right. My intelligent response still causes a bit of drama, it seems. And then I need a crutch. I beg God's help to get me through the situation. I seek truth a bit too late.
What if I just let Truth speak for itself? What if it was the backbone of the situation? What if, the next time a situation presents itself - I simply step forward into it with Truth not as the afterthought, but as the first thought? Simply stated, Truth does speak for itself. All I'm asked to do is say the words. Backbone words.
It does seem to be a better way to go. Crutches are fun for a little while - but pretty soon you get sick of needing them.
God's answer surprised me.
He said, "Carrie, why don't you stop using me as a crutch and let me be your backbone instead?"
Huh?
So we talked about it a little more.
Apparently, I've been using my own wisdom to deal with issues again. I'm pretty intelligent, but intelligence isn't as good as truth. So things don't always work out quite right. My intelligent response still causes a bit of drama, it seems. And then I need a crutch. I beg God's help to get me through the situation. I seek truth a bit too late.
What if I just let Truth speak for itself? What if it was the backbone of the situation? What if, the next time a situation presents itself - I simply step forward into it with Truth not as the afterthought, but as the first thought? Simply stated, Truth does speak for itself. All I'm asked to do is say the words. Backbone words.
It does seem to be a better way to go. Crutches are fun for a little while - but pretty soon you get sick of needing them.
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