The boys are coming this morning and will be here for most of the day and I'm awake, I had good sleep and Mr. Moon brought home chicken scratch last night so we're all good.
Such dreams I've been having and the one last night was epic with a hurricane-coming AND I had a baby AND there were dozens and dozens of people in my house AND the house was not this one but older and frailer and as the storm approached, mice lept from hiding places and ran, little mice scurrying everywhere and then the police came looking for one of the people here and Lord, what is going on in my mind?
Also, my husband was MIA so throw in the nightmare of not being able to use a phone for love nor money, the buttons don't work, the thing falls apart. Whatever.
Too much, too much, too much.
This year has been too much.
Well, this is my life and there may well be a hurricane before the season is up and there are babies, some of them mine and grown, some of them my daughter's and definitely not grown and people do die and plans are made and we must go along with them and it's one day at a time, make sure there's watermelon for the children, make sure there's food for the chickens and the cat and the dogs and there are plenty of potatoes and eggs for us and the green beans are starting to blossom and make tiny pods and no, the okra is not in the ground yet and your life is the same, maybe without the chickens but with something. Always something and it can become too much for all of us and we should all be doing yoga, we should all be meditating, we should all be leaning in and leaning out and perhaps reading those books by French people who can tell us how to do everything better from not being fat to raising better children to having better sex to aging gracefully and hell, maybe it's just that everyone in France is slightly buzzed on the good wine all the time.
I don't know.
Neither do you, I suspect.
It doesn't help that our world is so small now and instead of just comparing ourselves and how we live and how we cope with just the people in our immediate community, we have to compare ourselves to everyone in the whole fucking world and even if we don't, even if we've mostly given up caring what others think of us, we can't help but feel as if some people have loped ahead and are viewing the whole thing from the top of the mountain, the sunrise/the sunset, the glory of it all spread around them, sitting in lotus, humming ommmmmmm and we are back somewhere in the beginning of the trudge, the sludge, wondering if we remembered to pack sunscreen, the children whining are we there yet.
We're never there until we're there and then we're gone except for a few moments here and there when, with open eyes and hearts we let the glory of it in, we can't help it, we stop, time stops, this moment, this second, this flower, this sight, this light, this love, this life.
Well, they're coming and there's a frog on my porch croaking and how can such a tiny thing make such a huge noise rackety, rackety, rackety he calls to the frogs croaking across the yard, just as the roosters call across the distance from one pen to another, just as I, sitting here, call across to you, hello, hello, hello, how is it with you? Too much? Yes. I get it. Here. Stop for a second. No, none of it is so important, yes, all of it is so important. Hold both of those thoughts in your head at the same time, breathe, let your shoulders drop a bit, sit up straight, what's the view like from where you are? Close your eyes and just feel it all, open your eyes and see what it is you can see from there, I don't know. I don't know. I don't know.
Yours in love and confusion and acceptance and denial and sobriety and drunkenness and all of it, the whole crazy whirling purring one-breath-of-it-after-another...Ms. Moon