Broken Foot; My Right Foot, Not My Left Foot

Today marks the eight week since my life turned upside down. It was the day I broke my right foot. As an avid walker, the broken foot halted life as I’d known it. But, yesterday I went for my first bicycle ride in two months.  I’ve walked my dog the past few days. Life goes on.

My husband retired one month ago.  Yesterday was the third month we’ve had sweet little Lucy. This is the same dog I was attached to when she chased a cat.  That’s the brief version on how I broke my foot.

I sit in bed and write this thankful that sitting in bed is a choice – when I first broke my foot it was more of a necessity.  My foot doesn’t feel one hundred percent right but with more time I’m expecting the body miracle to continue to heal it.

As I write these words it’s with ambivalence. Sometimes when people write of themselves there’s truth shared or compassion unveiled, but some words about me and my life and what I do sound like narcissistic ramblings. Some words refresh, some boggle the mind while other words leave us wanting more. Maybe all things written cannot be a home run. Maybe some words can be mundane, flippant or garish. I honor words. They can take us from the ordinary into sacred space. Maybe I expect too much from my words but I know the possibility. I know how words can dance and prance past our minds and into blessing.  I want to care for my words. I don’t like to waste them on broken foot and token mind spasms.  I want them to live and be free. But in the other hand I cannot live in a word prison. I must be free to speak of daily living and dogs chasing running cats and broken feet.  

As I said “today marks the eight week since my life turned upside down.” No word dread, enough said.

Word Drip

I like to be silly and write willy nilly. I like how words sound, they’re so profound. I like how words flow, they come and they go. Yes, it’s time to write. Don’t be contrite. Words are little pieces of hope, of cynicism, criticism and praise. They are magic. They weave spells, create hell and amaze. Words are helpful when not profane and precious when not insane. Really, how silly can you be with this? There’s not enough silliness. Words are too serious. Drop it. Lighten up.

Words, hopping too fast, spell chaos. Words slowly dripping into awareness, feel soft and light. The breath eases when sweet words cross my mind. A peaceful word crossed my mind. Finally. Where have you been? Who could have known that words could be so kind?

Words are symbols of what almost is. They point to an experience, to life; they are but substitutes, not life. Words hold reality away as they swing and they sway. Words drag worn out thoughts and forget the truth. We get caught in wordmires, in the word show and “It’s a really big show.” Words steal our minds. Word robbery. Words capture mind when they play and we think that we are the thoughts, emotions and beliefs they convey. We forget who we are. Socrates pines, there’s no divine. My way robbery. My way is obscured by these wandering, pesky, darting words that nail me thought by thought to a mental coffin.

I built a word door and used words to open mind, to know and flow into a deeper place, a grace place, where velvet words flow into the void. It’s not an empty space, but a place where life brews itself expanding back into words. Words stretch and then contract, taking us out and in. Blessed words that you might be, an opening unto me, so I can stop and look and see, all there is and how to be.

More Than Words Can Say

Some days words speak to me. They already know what they are going to say. They come like a well rehearsed play giving a perfect performance. But most of the time the words are like old grade B movies. The film is worn, the picture faded. I get lost in the wording. I’m in a trance spinning reality into useless web. I forget to look, to notice. The film occupies my mind; there’s no light..It’s just a thought bath.

I like it when words are soft, when they bring sweetness and ring out truth. Often they turn into well-loved songs. What grace, such peace. Why not? Why not now? Why not get a peace of the stillness? What words bring laughter and hum me to sleep? What words give rest to the tired and a sense of sufficiency to the poor? What words harm and hurt?

Who am I in the midst of all this mental movement? Can I even be present when so many words speed by? Do I want to wisely choose my words or should I let them bubble through? What should I do?

When choosing words I’ll take the words “fortunate, lucky, grace, wonder, curious, infinite and possible.” These words I love. They expand me. Me to me thoughts, but what words do I avoid? Is it really the words or is it the intent from which they flow? I don’t like harsh words. Sarcastic words, cruel words, name-calling. I don’t like hour after hour of someone else’s TV words . I get lost in TV words. They have too much power. I become a dying soul not a sole survivor. – a numbed out façade of a person- a compilation of other’s thoughts.

There’s more, something deeper. There’s a wordless place that means more than all I seek to control and know. It’s a mindless state – not a space of ignorance but the space where my mind lets go of strongholds and melts into a deeper source.

It’s big this space. The admission - mental surrender. The place is inside and out there too. I catch myself wanting it – really deeply longing for the infinite mind. A mind that works in ways my limited mind can’t imagine. Can that mind, all I call me, understand how limited it is or does it take a touch from infinite mind to look back at its limits and know that it is here? I want to talk about “It,” the greatness of everything. I get bored with just the exchange of history – of lists of things to do – of worn out stories and ancient hatreds. I tire of surface chatter all those things that just don’t matter.

I light up with kind words. I come alive when heartfelt words find their way home. I love heart to heart – I love brilliant conversation even if it is mental and lends itself to “latte drinking liberals.” I love the eye to eye silent words that only we understand.

And I love you – you who come in many faces – you who graces plants and animals and fish – you the mountains and the seas. I love you – you that is me. I and you, not really two. Different forms – same source. I love you and that’s enough.