Sunday Morning

my heart feels worn out and swollen, just like my eyes. it's that exhaustion you experience when you've cried for so long, you seem to have run out of emotion.

it's beautiful this morning. the sun is beaming through every slant-like opportunity to splash light onto the living room floor. i got a new rug last weekend. i'm so stoked about it, that it actually makes my heart speed up when i look at it. instead of a "boom-boom. boom-boom." it sorta intensifies into a "boom-bobba-boom-bobba-boom"...yeah, this rug totally excites me.
it's just that it's so...so...blue.

and so BADASS!

i have always enjoyed feathering my nest. i really like to explore the things that bring me joy. and, i like to remind myself of people and places and times in my life that represent experiencing true joy, or love, or excitement. and to try and lay things out in ways that surprise and delight my eyes. for instance, i like the imagery of a stack of books. there's an opportunity and an escape that lies within those pages. you can bet that there are books available within arms reach, in most every comfy seat in my house.

and, birds. there are little birds unexpectedly perched on the lamp next to you, or that stack of books over there. all different sorts of birds, but i especially like the really fat chested ones. they always make me laugh.

recently, a dove has taken to cooing its soft songs when i wake up in the morning, and when i go to sleep at night. i am so thankful for that sweet bird. i'll sit on the back porch and read, or lounge in the hammock and just listen.

it is the quiet times, like this sunday morning, when i am more able to be truly present in the moment - and not projecting my mind into that meeting next week, or the flight i still need to book.

my daily inner dialogue, and my personal time clock have been on nothing but business, deadlines, expectations, expenses, miscommunications, validation, and problems being reincarnated. it has been such a nasty brew of upsetting toxicity inside of my chest. at this point, it has begun to become difficult to breathe.

some things are imploding, some things are exploding, and some things are expiring. nothing, at this time, remains safe for me. my family, my career, my home, my relationships, my finances...all seem to be a part of this massive upheaval.

all of these things seem to be occurring somewhere outside of myself. as though i am at the center of this swirling storm, and the chaos and confusion are colliding about in a slow motion orchestrated opera outside of who i am. it is fascinating, and i stand in awe wondering where i will be left when my life finally rests in it's new shifted shape.

it is in this space that i observe this:
our homes are no more established than a swallow's nest. our imagined safety, and our barricades of items that somehow combine to define who we are and what we're about - they mean nothing in the eternal scheme of things. the stacks of books, the picture frames and kaleidoscopes, the pillows and the blankets...they are, in the simplest of terms, emotional clutter.

and, no amount of officially hung and/or framed photo can guarantee that the relationship it is glorifying will last. no, in my experience, the frames LONG outlast the relationships that they so lovingly capture.

i've got a lot of photos that i've kept in the frames. i mean...the picture frame itself sometime even becomes associated with somethign that you've lost...doesn't it? so, it's best to not be reminded of anything from the past right now. no, not anything at all.

well...i suppose i'm going to have to grab a hold of something slightly solid, that will make me want to wake up every morning and take on another day. so, for now i think that it'll be that lil' turquoise blue rug from Pier 1.

oh, and that dove in the back yard. we can't forget that dove.