Life can be so chaotic. Or it can be so tranquil. So expensive. Or so very cheap. It can seem overwhelming. Or else so...manageable.
How many more books will there be about how to do life? How many more shoe portraits? Paintings of animals? How many more taco dinners and beautiful bottles of wine will there be consumed? I reckon the answer is that there is never enough. Our voices and what we have to say, though it may get repeated or rephrased, are important to share.
I'm working on a project right now that suddenly seems so b.i.g. I feel in a sea without the gear I need. Perhaps I'm scavenging for it as I go along. That could be good enough. I suppose it always has been. None of us is born with all of the tools we need to do what we want to do with our one precious life.
All of these questions result of a day of scheduling, tightening the nuts on the schedule, and creating time and energy where there isn't any. Impossible magic tricks which turn me inside out on myself.
The Ocean is on my mind. I don't know if it's because B went surfing on Sunday and we stayed home, the grateful recipients of a crab claw and salty kisses later that afternoon.
Her soft immensity is calling to me. Part of me wants to strip down and walk right into her mystery and be swallowed up. New Year expectations and the rolling start to a busy one have perhaps already found me a bit wrung.
Oh, yes. I get it now. Time again (so soon) to release the screws, take off my dancing shoes, and run my toes through a zillion grains of sand to remember that I am but one of them.
