not for the faint of heart

i come to this page feeling broken and alone. words i thought i’d captured escape me now in trying to convey what my heart needs to say. burned out from the day and left feeling unsupported brings me to the dark place i lurk in now. i have felt the darkness before, it is not new to me. and i am in need of something i’m convinced an invisible god cannot give me. my belief in a god-shaped-hole is waning as i search. i cry out with little response. i am told to stay strong and persevere. i do. but it seems lately it is all i do. i have only two faces. my strength and defense. my weak and broken. there is no normal for me. i feel everything with intensity. the slightest brush-off bruises me and things i have learned not to say ache in me. 

there is a moment that comes. one that extends a hand, a listening ear. and those moments come too few for me.

i suppose this is hello. again.

it has been nearly a year since i have been active on my blog. and in a lot of ways, it feels it’s been nearly that long since i’ve been active in anything. writing this blog when i began was supposed to be a clever way of updating those that i was so far away from on a year of exploration. rather, it turned into my outlet for a new form of writing that was blossoming inside me. the writing that happened was completely unexpected and i was unsure what to do with it. sometimes i blogged. sometimes i read it to my community and close friends. on occasion i even let it drive my vision toward the future and open up the life inside. lately, however, i simply let it cease. 

i have been told to write daily, to practice, to read, to publish. all for the sake of putting my words into the world more often. i have instead done almost nothing out of fear of what that would require of me. i have learned that writing is a sacred act. one that should not be taken lightly but still one to be done often and with reverence each and every time. it is the fear of failure here that drives my lack of interaction with my keyboard. but recently i stumbled upon this quote: “to live the creative life, we must lose our fear of being wrong” (joseph chilton pearce). this struck me so deeply that i have not yet been able to loosen my grip on it. and for quite a long time i have also held tightly to a somewhat familiar rilke quote about “living in the questions”. i won’t quote it here because of it’s length, and because i’d love to give you the joy of stumbling upon it yourself in your time, when the time is exactly right to hear those words. you’ll know it when you see it. i digress. 

i bring myself back to the page, armored in these quotes, because of the way they have inspired me to step back and take a look at who i present myself to me. lately i have found that i desire what i put out into the world to be perfect. this drive toward perfection has gripped me with fear and, in turn, stunted my growth. i suppose i come back to the blog because i desire it to be a place of growth and healing, no longer trying to present anything that has been “perfected” or at least “good enough” for the world to see. if that is my aim, the world will never actually see me. 

i lack a certain amount of trust. i have tried too hard to hold my own broken heart in my hands, preoccupied with what others would think if they saw the true state of it. i suppose this is a simple step toward releasing my grasp and trusting others with that heart.

…on community, looking forward, leaving

an excerpt from my journal, written a few days ago.

It is early afternoon but still feels like morning. And although I sit inside on a green picnic bench, I feel the breeze. The window next to me, the cool air rushes onto my skin in bursts. I can hear death cab playing in the background and I soak it in. I feel lovely today, my skirt flowing every time I walk. I woke early, I am surprised that half the day has passed me by and the day still feels new.

Plans and busyness swarm around me. I simply try not to stir up emotions as we talk toward the day. I wonder who will ‘win’ this time. It always feels like internal battles when others start asking for their way. Compromise still eludes us, but community is the best struggle I have yet endured. It is worth the suffocation, the battle for self, the tip-toeing. When it is right, everyone wins: laughing at the wind and ourselves. Sitting with drink on the stoep or the pool, dancing. Laughter, the sound I hear most often, joy echoing through our walls.

Once, I met 7 strangers the same day. I called them family instantly out of necessity. The longer we journey in the same direction, the more true the word ‘family’ becomes. I imagine it is the way the older adopted children feel. Sad to leave the ones they have learned to call family out of necessity.

I dream more and more toward the future lately. It is with excitement I think of home. But still I can’t think fully of the days I will no longer share this house. I am learning to call myself ‘one of 8’ raised by a village of people and God as my Father. 

…beach rd

we sat dreaming

the waterfront behind our shaded eyes

spoke of deep desire

the way community happens

          how it rubs up next to each other

i wouldn’t change it

the sunset sat before us

     just behind runners’ silhouettes

and those perfect frisbee dogs

simple

but God

             his whispers grew louder

see how I love you

breathe it in

my dreams grew louder, too