On, in , and around Mondays: Cyclic

anxiety because he didn't show again... and is giving me the silent treatment.
but then peace, as we cross the WV border with bluegrass blaring on the radio... and a life-giving talk with my sister, ensuring that everything is and will be fine.

a memorial service for a spit-fire hillbilly woman who inspired me to fight... who stood up to a giant and fought for her beloved mountains.
but then guilt, when little one asks to leave because it's making him sad.
we walk around a while and then come back. he joins in chanting, "what would judy do? fight harder!" and stomps his feet. "this IS the year mountaintop removal will end!!"

driving in the dark to the lodge... nestled in the west virginia hills.
a much needed reprieve for both of us.
me, downtrodden, because no matter how much glue i apply, it just won't stick.
because i opened my heart up again... and failed.
him, hopes aroused but unmet.... tears over homework assignments that ended up being tears of a deeper nature. tears over something i can't fix.

but in all this cycle of sadness, anxiety, disappointment, we wake to a sunrise over the deep canyon. blue mountain majesty. bringing peace to a mother and son.
nature is crying out over judy..... nature is crying out over broken things...
because even the rocks and hills will cry out.

and then this verse.... "he will quiet you with his love".

sometimes i dream
that i walk down the gravel lane,
past the moss covered granite...
the angel presiding over the tiny plot
of the little child
for whom i created a life in my childhood imaginings.
the one i talked to
and wove flowers for,
along the ground where she rested.
a reminder that the soil of my youth
had been tended by the toil and tears
of lives without longevity.
the dichotomy of my childhood bliss
forming a contrite heart.

i wake to a vapor of
unsettled nostalgia,
a distant sort of longing that rises and dissipates
almost as tangibly
as the groggy remains of sleep.

sometimes i dream
that every acre of land now has a house.
the farm that raised me no longer the sentinel
of the bottomland
and the field of daffodils
that a kindred of miss rumphius sowed,
maybe imagining pig-tailed girls carrying
bouquets so big,
their hands aching on the walk back
to scatter their harvest in jars and cups
along windowsills and farm tables.

i wake
and the panic flees with the weighty sleep.
the knowing
allows peace
to continue watering the kentucky soil
planted in the fields of my heart.

transient thoughts...

i was feeling heavy on the inside as i walked carefully on the old bricks, dodging the tree roots where they bulged up out of the ground and broke apart the path.
a slight drizzle began, and i slowed down and turned my focus upward for a moment, trying to read the sky.
but then the drizzle turned into a downpour, and i stepped underneath the shelter of a giant, aged oak tree.... a little reprieve.... a deep breath.
as i inhaled, a drop of saltwater began to trickle down my cheek, as if to show unity with the decision of the skies that day.
the funny thing was, that, in perfect synchronization, one huge raindrop made it through the leafy canopy and fell onto me.
i wondered, as it slid onto my forehead, if it picked up the scent of my hair on the way.
it continued to heed the law of gravity, and slowly trickled down my face and mingled with the drop of saltwater that had escaped the confines of that still broken place.
i felt its path as it slid onto my shoulder and then watched it get washed into the cracks of the sidewalk.... my tear, my scent, my skin mixed in with it.
i thought about where it had been in all its journeys... millions of years making its way through the earth and into rivers and air and clouds.
who else had once been in that raindrop?
whose scent and skin cells and tears and dust had it held, only to purify itself across stones? make it all void and start all over again.

then i exhaled and stepped out from under the tree.
i took my shoes off and let my feet sink down into the wet earth and grass.
i stood there and let my skin absorb every drop it could. life was in those drops of rain.
and i loved it all during that ephemeral moment.
i loved the wet dirt, the slimy bricks, the feel of my soaked dress clinging to my skin.
i looked over and saw a little old lady watching me from her porch swing......
and i think i loved her most of all.

she has always been one that feels the magic...
sometimes it stays just long enough to jot it down,
or chord it out, or capture it on film...
like how the light plays on a particular scene,
at just the right angle.
but she mostly has to be content
with savoring the brief glimpses,
without any documentation...
absorbing it fully at that very moment...
and walking away with stars in her head,
and a twinkle in her eye....

a new years eve... in retrospect.

i sprinkled on faerie dust.... on my face, and neck, and chest. i wanted to sparkle.
i braided my hair, and wore blue for you, to match my eyes, as you would say.
it had snowed, and the sky was brilliantly clear.
we put on our boots at midnight and hiked through the field... to the creek.
you put your arms around me and we looked up into the firmament, at the millions of sparkling lights, strung out before us..... the whole world was on fire at that very moment.
in the absolute quiet, on the blanketed ground, you whispered in my ear about the time you were sitting on a rock, overlooking the pacific ocean.... and a huge, brilliant, colorful light exploded in the distance. it woke you out of your reverie. it was your ebenezer. that there was so much more out there, things so much bigger than ourselves that we may never understand..... that we just get brief glimpses of.

you wanted to share that with me.
so in the hushed valley, on that cold, snow blanketed night, we spread out our love, like a feast. the heavens came down and joined in. and i was brought out of my deadness.... i was woken out of my reverie.

Swan Song...

if i were wild and free,

i'd dance joyfully....

the moonlight my company.

if i were wild and free,

i'd sigh contentedly...

your weight above me,

the earth sinking beneath.

these words you say to me...

somehow they hold the key,

to these chains that bind me.

so whisper them sweetly,

and i'll close my eyes and dream

of the day when we will be....

FREE

A breech in the dam.....

it was the kitten. it triggered the floodgates to open. i saw it lying on the side of the road, looking disoriented, and on the verge of getting run over.

it was early morning and i had just dropped my son off at school. i pulled over, a little haphazardly, and ran to get it before a car hit it. i picked it up, and its body went limp in my hands. its eyes were open, but not seeing. it was breathing, but it was a strained breathing.

what do i do? there was a vet's office on the way home, so i hurriedly drove there, not knowing if the kitten would make it, even that short distance. i brought it in, wrapped in a blanket, and asked what to do. "we can't look at it unless you are going to adopt it and pay all the medical expenses." what? it's hurt.... i couldn't have left it lying in the road to get hit.

"sorry", they said, "we can't do anything if it doesn't have an owner". i looked down at the lethargic kitten, with it's labored breathing. it was so tiny and pitiful. and then i felt it..... i felt it deep. i knew it had been shoved down for a long time. it came up in bits and pieces sometimes, but i was always able to push it back. i prided myself on my composure. i prided myself on being brave and strong.

but this little kitten suddenly triggered the floodwaters. all the loss, pain, sorrow, hurt..... it somehow became a symbol for that. and it happened right there in the middle of these strangers in a veterinary clinic. the saltwater trickled down just a little at first, but then came tumbling down in torrents. as hard as i tried, i couldn't close the floodgate.

"i'm sorry", i kept saying. "i don't normally do this." i could barely speak. i was just standing there at the counter, sobbing, and holding the almost lifeless kitten, with everyone staring at me. i think then they had sympathy, and agreed to look at it, if i'd sign a waiver giving permission to euthanize it if needed. "the vet doesn't like us to do this" they said, "but he's not here yet.... we'll see what we can do." they asked for all my contact info, and i had to repeat it several times for they couldn't understand me through my faltering voice.

i couldn't leave soon enough, and when i got in the car, i let the rest of the waters flow, until the dam had been thoroughly breeched. of all places, i thought to myself. i guess that's what i get for holding it in so long. i don't know how long i cried in my car..... i stayed there until my vision wasn't blurred anymore.

the sadness stayed with me all day. but i know i found the kitten for a reason. someone knows it's too much.... to be brave all the time.

Alex....

when i tried to sit down and write this last year, on the first anniversary, i couldn't.

the tears flowed so heavily that i couldn't even see the computer screen.

the words weren't ripe yet.... it was too soon.

in this season of quiet in my heart, where i have been trying to sort through some sadness in my life , the words have finally come.

i told your sister i would write about you. and now it's time.

when she called me that morning and told me, she was so calm.

i didn't believe her at first. but then i understood. i think we all knew it was coming.

all my childhood memories of us came flooding back....

the most prominent, when you really established a permanent place in my heart, was a time when we were sitting in my bedroom together.

i was crying because my big sister had locked her door and wouldn't let me come in and play with her and your sister.

i thought she was trying to steal my friends.

you put your arm around me, looked in my eyes, and said,

"don't worry, amy. no one will ever steal me away from you."

that's just how you were. even though you were younger than me, you wanted to be my protector.

we spent almost a decade together, trodding back and forth on the forest path that we had made to connect our farms.

one day, while playing in the hundreds of acres of woods, we stumbled upon our special place and we named it 'paradise'.

it was a little clearing in the woods, where water pooled beneath a small, trickling waterfall.

it was our secret spot. we gathered old flowers that people dumped at the back of the cemetery and placed them in the ground, and weaved them through tree branches.

we cleared the brush and thorns away. it was beautiful and magical to us. we spent almost every day there.

but when we were older, my family moved away. your family stayed.
our paradise got overgrown, and the thorns grew back.

we talked regularly, wrote letters, and visited. we grew up.

you grew into a tall, handsome, caring young man.

but we both struggled with inner turmoil and poor life choices in our later teen years.

during those years, i thought the best way to deal with my problems was to run from them.

i ran away from home, and ended up on your front porch once.

your family took me in, and provided comfort and reassurance. my parents knew i was safe there.

once again, you acted as my protector.

we spent long evenings on the couch, talking into the wee hours of the morning.

we talked about the realities of growing up, our disappointments, the bittersweetness of it all. we longed for our innocent, carefree days of childhood.

one morning, after a very late night, i awoke to hammering.... and found you outside, hammering a dent out of my car that had been there forever.

you wanted to surprise me before you left for work.

you tried to give me your hard-earned money during my stay, because you knew i had little.

you brought me gifts to cheer me up. you wanted to know i'd be okay.

eventually, i garnered the courage to return home. i was able to sort through my problems, heal, and take control of my life again.

but, dear alex, you weren't so lucky.

i'm not sure what the difference was.

i guess big boys don't cry.... they just turn reckless to hide the pain inside.

you fell into the oppression of that area where we grew up.

you turned to drugs.

and the next time i visited, i found you in a place that scared me deeply.

all i could do was plead with you and pray.

shortly after returning home from that last trip, i received news that you were in jail.

i wrote to you..... probably one of the longest letters ever.

and you wrote back, and sent me a picture of you and your family.

you said it was the only picture you had with you in jail, but you wanted me to have it.

you ALWAYS wanted to GIVE...... that was your true heart.

we wrote regularly during that year.

you wrote of your regrets... and your hopes and dreams for when you got out.

you were confident that you could reclaim your life, and i believed you.

those letters were our last regular correspondence. you got released early for good behavior.... and you started your own roofing business. you began carving out a life for yourself, and working to find inner peace. but you were never quite able to find it. but it wasn't drugs anymore.... it became speed. your dad warned you about your motorcycle, and your recklessness on it.

he even called my dad and voiced his fear for you.

and one evening, almost two years ago, your dad's fears were realized. a beautiful soul, taken too soon.

' i got the call today....

my childhood friend has gone away.

he took that ride that took his life...

friend, i hope you've found your paradise.'

Alex (1978-2006)

Rest in peace, Alex....

YOU

I finally told someone about you.

I said your name out loud.

I whispered it into the universe....

and I told my closest confidante.

It made us real.... not a figment of my imagination.

Not a secret to hide.

It felt good.

But when I got home, you were gone.

And it made me sad.

But now someone knows about you.

They know you came and perched on my windowsill,

even though it was only for a short while.

They know that somehow you made me believe that I'll fly again...

that I may be able to find my song again.

And that's how I know you were real.

Wine and Secrets...........


..... both poured forth at the table. The corner table with the scent of weeping cherry tree blossoms tinging the air, Ray LaMontagne playing on the laptop... that table in our little, rented room became our confession box.

Whispering into the late evening hours... laughing... sharing our hearts. Nourishment for our aching and weary souls. Burdens revealed and lifted for a sweet, short while.

After being apart for nearly a year and a half, a weekend of bliss with my sister........

The Colors Of Easter....










Resurrection Day......

My alarm woke me at 5:15, as I was in our church's Easter play this year and we were performing it during the Sunrise Service. I got up in the pre-dawn light and shuffled about quietly, so as not to awake my other two sleeping beauties. It was a quiet drive to church and Easter morning dawned gloriously....albeit being quite chilly. It was a 'big sky' day, as I call them here in the mountains..... when the skies are clear and vast, with just specklings of clouds.

Easter Sunday is always very special for me, even more so than Christmas. The hope and celebration resonate in me. The celebration and joy that came after 3 days of darkness.... three days of hopelessness and despair.... deadness... when Jesus' followers thought the Light had gone away forever.... not quite believing His promise that He would rise from the dead.

As one who has struggled with depression in her life, the hope that my Saviour brings....the promise that there will always be a Resurrection morning, is what keeps rivers of Life flowing in my heart and soul. Despite dark times and times of sadness, I have always been a relentlessly optimistic, hopeful person and see beauty in the journey, even during the dark times. And I'm always reminded of that on Easter morning. Colors are more vibrant, light seems brighter, and hope springs eternal, when you view the world in light of the resurrection.

I hope all of you had as beautiful a Resurrection Day as I....

Fire..... Ice

Warmth.... Cold

Light.... Dark

If our fingertips touched, would mine freeze? Or would yours melt?

Would your breath suck all the warmth from my bones? Or could mine ignite the tiny ember that is still ablaze in your heart?

Inhale...... I'll breathe on you.....

Exhale...... You breathe on me.....

I want to see.

When I took my son to his first day of Kindergarten this past fall, we walked past the school flower beds and I noticed how overgrown they were. I could tell that someone had put a lot of effort into them at some point, but they had been sadly neglected for quite a while. "What a waste", I thought.

I knew I wanted to volunteer in some means at the school, so I asked about the flower gardens. Apparently, a former teacher had started them with her students.... but she had since retired and no one else had continued her work. They told me how she loved flowers and would take the kids on spring wildflower walks and drives, and try to instill in them the wonder of nature, and the excitement of seeing the first spring blooms pop up.

I knew then what my task would be during the fall. I started coming on warm afternoons and tried to sort through what were weeds and what were flowers. When you aren't the one that did the planting, and everything is done blooming and beginning to turn brown, it can be hard to decipher what's what. So I did my best to walk delicately amongst the beds, and took my time deciding what needed to be pulled out, what was choking the flowers..... and what should stay.

And my reward came when I picked my son up from school last week..... when I saw these first delicate little blooms had emerged from the ground. I felt relieved that there was still life in the garden.... that I got to it in time, before the weeds had done irreversible damage.

I still have a ways to go, as winter came a little too quickly. There are several more beds I haven't gotten to yet. But in the meantime, I'll enjoy this little section of cleared bed, where sunshine can now hit and where there is enough room for the flowers that were so lovingly planted by an involved teacher, to breathe and come forth.

Pop-Pop...


when i need to go to town, i go out of my way to drive past your farm..... even though it is not 'on the way'. as i crest the hill, i look down into the valley, and see the yellow farmhouse sitting there with smoke coming out of the chimney, and i imagine you as a boy, running through the yard, playing in the creek.

since you died when i was young, this is my living diary of your life... being able to walk the hills where you walked..... this is how i am coming to know you.... this is how i cling to you.

i have pictures of you asleep on our couch, with me curled up on your chest. my parents always told me how proud you were of me and my sisters.... how much you adored us. i remember you taking me to Druthers when i would visit, for your morning coffee with all the other retirees. we both would order biscuits and gravy, our shared favorite.... and you would brag of all my accomplishments to your friends. i remember proudly sitting by your side, driving around town, in your blue pick-up truck.

sometimes i get out the cards i made for you while you were in the hospital, dying from a disease you should never have had. i don't remember making them, but my mom saved them. i hope my scribbly handwriting and rainbows cheered you a little... or was it a bittersweet offering, reminding you what you had to leave behind? i didn't get to go to your funeral.... my parents thought i was too young, and your neighbor babysat me. she tried to comfort me by giving me kool-aid, and candy.... and she answered all my 7 year old questions about where you were going as best she could.

now that i am in your homeland, i see your eyes everywhere i go.... they are my eyes, too.... the most distinct physical feature that i inherited from you. and i tell my memories of you to my son, as we drive past your homeplace.... and when we frolic in the creek by your brother's house. i tell him, "this is where your great-grandfather played.... this is the house he helped build with his own hands..... he would have adored you". and i watch the grin come over my son's face as he hears those words.... and i know you are still here with me because of it.

In anticipation of the lunar eclipse....

sometimes, at night... alone in my bed....thoughts arise and get too big for my head...

the moon shines in and beckons me, saying, 'come, and keep me company'...

so i rise and go out alone in the dark...there's enough room out there for the longings in my heart..... the endless thoughts and possibilities.... yes, there's room for them all, out in the night breeze....

just the moon for my company... lingering thoughts surrounding me.... dreams and visions beckoning me.... when it's just the moon and me.

(the lunar eclipse starts tonight around 9 p.m... there won't be another one like this until 2010.....)

love is...... a father who gets up in the middle of the night when his little girl is puking her guts out, and sits with her in his easy chair, holding the bowl, rocking, and whispering words of comfort in her little ears.... who lends a nonjudgmental and consoling ear when she comes to him devastated and heartbroken because of mistakes she has made and poor choices that have left her in desperation.

love is.... a mother who sews little dresses for her daughter's dolls, who snuggles and reads to her even though she has lots of other things to be doing, who praises every accomplishment, no matter how small..... who's there in the room when her daughter is giving birth for the first time to lend encouragement and support.

love is..... a son that wakes up every morning and greets his parents with a big smile and so much excitement for the day, that he can hardly contain it.... who can change his mom's frown to a fit of laughter in a millisecond with something he says..... who tells his mom he loves her and is sorry for upsetting her, even though it was she who unduly lost her temper with him....who loves to serve his mom breakfast in bed on saturday mornings.

love is ...... a friend who shares coffee, laughter, and tears with you.... who 'gets' you like no one else....who tells you 'leave your son here and go home and rest for the day' when you walk to her house sobbing when life circumstances feel like they are too much to bear... someone you know your deepest secrets will always be safe with.

love is.... a God that stoops down to my weaknesses and draws me up to Him and invites me to dance with Him.... who never turns His back on me, even when I turn my back on Him..... who loves me so much that at times, I feel my heart will burst for the knowledge of it.... who rescued me from myself... and who never fails to paint a glorious sunrise or sunset over my mountains just for me.

" And now these three remain: Faith, Hope , and Love... but the greatest of these is Love."

-1 Corinthians 13:13

The Haunting.......

the whispers come.... in the night...out in my yard...

in the mountain breeze that blows through my hair...

"come, Beloved, there is something more"...

my Lover calls from the mountain, from the hills...

"awake....Awake... can' t you see that I've led you here?

don't turn away...I've been preparing you for this...

this wild romance....you know...your heart knows..."

He's beckoning... "come....I'm waiting....it's time....."

Oh, my heart! There IS a place for a wild, passionate heart in this Christian journey. It's not something that has to be tamed or tempered..... My God put it there to lead me to Him....

Hallelujah!!!

(Journal entry while reading "The Sacred Romance".... a MUST read for anyone who has felt the haunting and has embarked on this journey of faith..... )

Whisperings........

(Ponderings inspired in Cataloochee Valley)

Venerable valley, that time has forgotten.......do you mourn for those who left you behind?

When the winds blow and make these old boards creak and groan, does it stir up memories of life now gone?

The plow no longer digs deep in your ground... No more laughter, no more singing, no more church bells sound.....

But I believe you still remember, because you whispered it to me.... I heard the murmur on the cool mountain breeze.... You sang softly of age-old mysteries... and of life and death in this ancient valley......

Provision.......

(an excerpt from an e-mail I sent to my family shortly after moving to our new town)

I had a wonderful night last night....just one of those nights where it seems the stars are all aligned just for you. We were invited to Vacation Bible School at a little country church up the road..... down a beautiful, winding, one-lane road following a creek. I stayed with Sir Laughsalot through the evening... went to his class with him. He made friends with the class clown right away, an onery little red-headed boy. They carried on, laughed, and played together the entire night..... Such a wonderful thing to see after having to leave all his friends behind when we moved.

Another mom was there and I sensed a kindred spirit.... and a familiar accent. We trepidly started conversing and realized we were both from the same area of North Carolina and she had also gone to college near my hometown in Kentucky. Before long, we were laughing, too.... and didn't stop talking until the evening was through. We even got some looks from the teachers to hush. As the evening wound down, we exchanged phone numbers, e-mails, and 'See ya tomorrow's!"

It was dark when we left..... and the cicadas and peepers were almost deafening. I had a euphoric feeling walking down the little road to the car, with the sounds of the country in my ear, the little white church's steeple lit up in the background, and the sound of kids laughing. A night of good conversation, a possible new friendship, and knowing my son is getting that gentle, fun introduction to Jesus that we had at our bible schools growing up. We drove home with the windows down, listening to the night sounds, and Sir Laughsalot softly singing the songs he had learned that night.

I believe Someone did line the stars up for me last night.......

On paths, journeys, 100 posts....... and convergences along the way......

"Traveler...there is no path...paths are made by walking.." -Antonio Machado

"We do not belong to those who only get their thoughts from books, or at the prompting of books... it is our custom to think in the open air, walking, leaping, climbing, or dancing on lonesome mountains by preference, or close to sea, where even the paths become thoughtful...."

-Friedrich Nietzsche

"Still round the corner there may wait, a new road or a secret gate...." -J.R.R. Tolkein

This summer I sat in the back of The Floyd Country Store with Colleen. We tried to hear each other over the din of bluegrass music and the 'whooping and hollerin' of dancers having a grand time on the dance floor. She saved me from having to do the Texas two-step with a sweaty hillbilly with no regard for personal space. We talked of things of the heart and similarities in our journey.

The next night, I spent an evening with Fred First and his wife, Ann...under a canopy of old-growth Oak trees...listening to traditional Appalachian music.

It seems fitting.... the first two bloggers I met in person were the authors of the first blogs I read. The two that inspired me to start blogging.... They both add a little beauty to the world with their words, musings, photography, poetry.

Blogging has been a pleasant journey for me...a creative outlet.. a voice for my thoughts.... a world opened....and I have stumbled into an incredible community of fellow journeyman that I consider friends. Some of whom I have shared on a deeper level with....beyond blogging. And I am grateful for the new paths made and shared. This was most evident over the summer, when I had to attend to personal matters and blogging was put aside for a time. I was moved by all that checked in regularly, words of well-wishes and prayers, and thoughts and lovely words sent my way.

What an interesting world... where the thoughts of a country girl in Appalachia could reach India....and Britian.... Canada..... the Netherlands... and all points in between..... and foundations of friendships could be laid out.... journeys could be shared with people who are also climbing the mountains.... living life... dancing....leaping.. and sharing along the way.

And here's to future friendships and meetings, where our paths get to leave the virtual world and converge in the flesh.... my set date with Anna to chat over Diet Coke and a Dr. Pepper.... and perhaps some margaritas, as she has been known to boast about her skills as a margarita mix master. She's been with me from the start of my blogging journey.... and I'd be hard-pressed to find a post without an encouraging comment from her. And a future date with Moi, who lives near one of my sisters......to watch cheesy Bollywood movies while we paint our toe-nails and eat bon-bons. And who knows what other encounters might follow.....

100 posts ...... 'and miles to go before I sleep'......