The lance that pierces my side is not made by anyone out there. I take full-on responsibility for that one. You can accept that as you wish, but my point in putting it out here is a kind of alert.

I recognize putting it all in the first person can come hard; I’m hoping to get there. I’m feeling more … umm … “real” isn’t enough of a word, all watered down with usage. Maybe genuine? (We see that on leather tags but not much else.) It’s an interesting feeling. At a time when I feel most personally powerful, I am relegated to virtual living over being alive.

From the little doors that creaked open when my daughter sent a wedding picture of her parents, some distant dreams have emerged. I see the hope in those eyes; I see the life that still wants to come forward & be lived beloved – by all or none or some and done. With these choices, I cannot lose.

So, while there is an everyday life, it is made to be accelerated through these days. This comes at a time I am ready to slow down & pick it apart.

Or at least that’s my take on events. After this much isolation, I’m more able to pick & choose that with which I crave comfort. More than ready to be the observer, the chronicler, the descriptor. But who am I recording it all for? Isn’t it obviously me? So I wriggle my feet & agree to just do it.

Shapeshifting isn’t for everybody. It is what I’ve been doing on the inside for all my life. I recognize this now that I see old pictures. Please understand I shredded as much of my life as I could when I left Nashville… in fact, the machine burned out a fair bit before I left. There were parts I had to lie to get back, but it wasn’t a Big Lie. It was a Handy Lie involving Xerox copies of my life.

All of life is abroad now. When restrictions are put away, it will burgeon forward as we have never before seen. See? There I go. Rephrase: “as I have never before seen.”

A once-friend said I live on many levels. Once in a while, that observation returns. Am I still interesting? Who do I need to interest besides myself? Yet my favorites are those distractions that catch me in unknowing need so I must respond; this I perceive as childlike. I enjoy to think my child is getting to play aloud. (An example of this is standing in a sunbeam: the sun has reached the level of the windowsill & spills unrestrained into the room. I adjust the blinds & am caught in the light & heat moving up, taking me in & then full upon my face. Light on mountains arising.)

Maybe all these blogs have all along been imaginative etchings done by her.

I’m ever so glad one of us has grown up! The me-in-charge has wanted to sit back & just take notes for a real long time.

Ciao!