i hear you say

i hear the voices say no one said it was easy and i say back, but would it have been so bad? one in one billion, trillion maybe, but not you. so i fall back asleep and think of anything but this: birds, forests, the rain.

today i want to hibernate in a room like this with books and movies. it's been so grey lately - instead of fighting the gloom, why not make it work for me? in a recent interview, Donatella Versace said that she wants a couch so luxurious that sinking into it after work makes her forget everything that happened that day.

but what if something remarkable happened that day?
do we have to forget everything, or does the memory have a filter?

the pain passes, but the beauty remains
{ renoir }

both of these last 2 images are from a quiet place i really appreciate for its simple beauty and unpretentious artfulness. i grew up playing on the dusky shores of Cape Cod, stumbling through the beach grasses at night to comb the seaside for shells and other treasure. when i think of that time in my life, i remember noon picnics, mosquito bites, and lying in the dark with my brother talking about what we'd do if burglars ever broke into our house. i remember looking out the window and seeing the people in the cottage next door playing cards on a red-checkered tablecloth. i remember feeling free, but knowing the featherweight of childhood wouldn't last forever. the fun (and eventual crankiness) of being packed into the backseat of our dolphin-grey Datsun. mostly i remember being truly present to each moment. as a child, these things are effortless.

i was safe and free. i carried less worry than i do now, or i was better at letting it out to sea. maybe that's why time near the ocean has always felt so soulfully cleansing for me --- the push of the tide forces me to face reality, and then it's all pulled out toward the horizon. all i have to do is be there and be still.

____________________


what about all these tears, i wonder. where do they go? and i hear, they are the salt in the oyster shells, witnessing the birth of pearls. there is no great beauty without grief. and today i can accept that, i can feel the needle stitching my soul's memory. it stings a little, but the thread against my heart tells me there will be healing soon.

when all around my soul gives way
he then is all my hope and stay
{ hymn; e. mote, 1834 }