little things inspire me and get me thinking.
as momma says, “get the creative juices flowing.”
for her, its as soon as the clock strikes midnight, for my sister as well.
for me, its anything and everything, that hurts and makes me uncomfortable,
and the simple moments that trigger the rush of emotions
i know pulse ever steady just under the surface always ready to erupt and show their face.
the good moments are when that happens and a pen is close by.
no paper necessary.
skin, napkins, bags, clothes, piano keys,
all have in their moment been used over and over.
last night as my pretty African sun was setting, i sat with all my windows open,
the air blowing my hair up and all around me till i was a hot mess of curls,
i sat to listen and write.
for i could feel my heart stirring and needing that release of joy and "me,"
i always get after sitting and being still.
this is the “blog-approved” edited version of that moment in time.
.................
i wish i had bleach.
to just pour all over me.
to make me clean.
crisp.
removing any former markings. any despair that what was would ever remain.
i wish i had bleach to do that to myself.
and i do.
i do have bleach.
better than bleach i have an all out, white as snow stain remover that lives and breathes and moves in me.
through me.
all of me, is promised
to be all
saturated in this goodness of white.
the older i get the more i love white in decorating.
its just lovely.
fresh.
hopeful.
clean.
its the perfect backdrop for any other color.
all colors look great with white.
and we know how much i love all colors.
of course, my african home doesn’t do well with white.
too much dust.
mud.
dirt.
and bugs.
lots and lots of bugs.
i sweep my floor twice a week.
i mop it once.
its never enough.
sometimes i do it more.
i can’t take the way everything
seems to accumulate on every open space.
its frustrating and annoying.
and so much clutter.
too much clutter.
but no place to put things.
what to get rid of? to move? to appease my mind?
no, no,
this new home of mine does not agree with white much as
that thought
makes me sad.
......
i digress, as
always, from bleach.
my bleach cleaner.
your bleach cleaner.
why do i fight what’s so open and free in front of me?
fight for something else.
something that i think will do the job better.
something that seems so much more tangible.
more manageable.
why do i fight to do things on my own?
spending so much time researching, comparing, making lists,
only
to discover that what was the best
(and free!
and available!
and 10 of 10 stars!
and money back guarantee!
and! and! and! and!)
was right there all along.
i don’t have to long for bleach to dump over all of me. the whole of me
i don’t have to wish for something that would cleanse me
so i felt crisp-
and clean-
and fresh.
i already have what’s needed.
but i don’t want to take it.
i want to earn it.
i’d make such a good little buddhist, eh?
because i’m not comfortable with the fact that in and of me; i’m alright.
i’m enough.
not too much
nor
too little.
but all of me is all thats needed.
to be cleaned by the bleach cleaner.
but i don’t like that.
i don’t.
i want to contribute. i feel like i should have to contribute.
how can nothing be all thats required?
how can the dirtiest parts be what is most desired?
how can the way i chase after folly and fools be something that doesn’t require punishment?
i think i’d feel better if i earned my bleaching.
but i probably wouldn't. i’d have a litany of excuses and ramblings and frustrations if that was the case too.
what is given freely is the hardest to accept.
it makes you feel all at once worthless and worthwhile.
and broken and loved.
its so hard to just accept love for loves sake.
or at least, for me it is.
i feel so inadequate and insignificant and not good enough, and on my own i’m so keenly aware nothing in me
would or should or could ever warrant being loved,
being pretty,
being clean
for love or beauty’s sake.
can what i need really be something that HE is so desperately trying to get me to grasp and hold onto.
and free?
free?
free!
free as in “no strings attached.”
free as in i don’t need to repay the cost.
free as in, “its a gift and you please take it. and no, i don’t expect anything. i don’t expect you to kiss me like this, or cook me dinner like this every night for the rest of your life. or clean my house, and make sure i have clean dishes each day and my clothes are ironed, and....”
free as in, “please just come and live with me, never having to lift a finger to clean or cook or do anything.”
free as in, “you are enough for me. just you. just the simple beauty of your presence and the joy i have in being near you is all i ask in return. let me be with you and you with me, forever.”
free as in, “delight in this because i delighted in giving it to you”
thats what my bleach cleaner is.
or offers.
or wants for me.
or all three of them....
but still, i want my own brand.
why?
why!
why?
what in me drives me to such insane madness and lunacy.
i beg and wish that i’d just be able to sit, and be, and be at peace.
and that is right in front of me
but i can’t grasp it.
i turn my face thinking it won’t really work
it can’t really be what i need.
there’s no way.
but there is a way.
there was a way.
and it was a lonely road and involved a horrid day of pain and anguish.
the way is free now, for me.
but steep.
only, not so bad for me, for i only have to strip off my shoes
to run lighter.
He (my bleach cleaner),
had to carry a heavy solid wooden cross.
i’ve learned here in africa,
solid wooden things are VERY heavy.
in fact, with all my effort and strain i can get the wooden benches we have to budge a collective of no inches.
impressive, eh?
but he was strong enough to carry his wooden cross the entire way to the top of the hill.
he also carried me.
all of me.
all the junk in my trunk and everything left over.
and somehow the single thought of me was what
propelled
him, onward.
having just recently succeed in climbing four mountains,
i can say what was my motivation as i traversed the hard road up, and up still further.
shame: what if i couldn’t do it?
pride: that i would be the only one not able to make it and finish. i had to finish.
fear: if i stopped now, i was stuck on the side of a mountain! there was no other alternative.
possible joy and hope: maybe, just maybe it would be as they said and i’d love the view and it would be worth it.
for all the times i heard “it will be worth it” as we climbed...
especially for all the times it was said as a mantra behind me those last few feet.
when the sweat was making my vision cloudy,
and my legs quivered not only from loose footing but from the fibers and tissues under my skin saying “wwhhhhhhhhhyyyyyyy are you doing this to us?!?! we don’t like this!!!!!!!!!!!!”
determination: i would finish if it killed me (it didn’t. obviously).
over and over i’d say “go, go, go, go, you can, you can, you can”
silently, of course. as most conversations go with me;
they are between me and my mind.
and, yes, i have been tested psychologically and i am fine.
my mind is all intact. so there.
little pep talks to myself kept going over and over in my mind the last few feet.
that is what kept me going.
no joy and delight in seeing someone after.
someone, anyone really, was so far from my mind.
i just wanted to finish, and be done, and live.
i can tell you one thing,
no happy thoughts of someone kept me going.
but not for him.
for him, it was me.
i kept him (my bleacher cleaner, remember?) going.
i did.
me.
ha! i did. the lunacy of that!
steady on his course. thoughts of me played and danced across the recesses of his mind.
memories of us laughing together when i said something completely out of context
and just laughed and laughed at myself.
memories of when i was so broken and torn apart and wished for the end of all things
but clung
to tiny mustard seedlings of faith and made it another day kept playing across his mind
and as surely as
i would not give up nor give in, he wouldn't either.
when i sat watching my favorite movie and tears of equal joy and sadness streamed down my face
that was the image that he was excited
to remember and share and kept him able
to put one foot in front of the other and continue on up the steep way he had to walk to save me.
he said.
he promised he’d save me.
and he did.
and he has.
and chooses to again and again.
and even today he delights in washing me clean.
white.
fresh.
lovely as the fresh falling snow.
he just asks that i’d delight in letting him be my cleaner.
accept what is free,
as free.
and leave it be.
enough. enough. enough. enough. enough.
need i say it again?
yes! please!
my heart screams it has not sunk in.
you’re enough as you are.
i’m enough as i am.
nothing more is needed.
nothing more is needed to cause him to dance and delight in me.
ha!
in me?
me!
me! me! me!
i am all that is needed to turn his head.
the plain girl from the country.
dyslexic and frivolous.
stubborn and broken.
tired and confused.
too big here and too small there.
speaks with a vernacular that is confusing (at best) in times, and downright ridiculous and impossible to understand in other moments.
the one with too many dreams and too few directional insights.
equally driven and immobilized in the same moment.
always feeling two distinct ideas and thoughts war inside.
the one desperate for intimacy yet terrified of what that might be.
and mean.
and how it would change everything.
she is the simply delighted in.
the one that would cause the bleach cleaner to drop anything if a simple small, frail, “help”
was uttered.
when i come to visit the best is laid out for me.
somehow in a room of beauty, the precious gems and stones of the ages surrounding us but all you see is me and the glimmers of life in my smile.
my bleach cleaner
loves me.
and when in brief haunting moments
few and far to few between,
i let him,
in.
together, he and i
sway
and i am clean
and crisp
and not brand new, but better.
more vibrant and full of history and life and love and memories and a legacy of
him
always
being there to clean and make new.
for free.
free. free. free. free. free.
free, for me.
and you too, if you’d like.
Posts
