Gestating

 

Gestation

          Carrie had a dream about me dancing with two spirits in a vast azure and ebony universe with stars bursting everywhere. She said my body was fluid, like I had no bones and I was floating and flowing between the souls but not looking at them, eyes instead cast downward and a slight smile on my face. I was contented. I had found a rhythm. A rhythm.

            I have found a rhythm to these recent days, since your 26th birthday and talking to sweet Marie. I am easier; more fluid and flowing; inwardly aware of my dance steps...I stumble less, though days still do come when once again I cannot follow the dips and sways so effortlessly. 

I still trip about things sometimes

I go dark,

Forget to remember to forget.

I am set to an impossible task

    With just a swirl of a hope. 

                  

But ahhhh.... there it is.....the flaw in my logic.

That any person can make the

 Next season come. 

That any person can dance the fluid dance while white-knuckle gripping the wheel. 

Tis a lie and a fallacy.

 Seasons have their own clock and calendar;

And readiness invites change.

And I take a breath and  free myself up to catch the wind 

Should it pass my way.

Imagining into being that there might be joy ahead

Another chance to dance.

Something could capture my imagination

And I might jump again and go.

I vow to remember that

The roots  know to draw water

 imagining summer's dry heat

Remember too.....

Within the chrysalis, 

(Seeming still as death)

A pre-butterfly flashes and sparks with readiness. 

Eggs cup and harbor babes, dynamic and urgently going about feathering.

Evolution puckishly defies Entropy.

Even the summer grass, gray as ghosts

plump green as soon as the rains come.

Those grey blades are waiting, just like me.

And now again I can imagine there is more going on in this dry season than meets the eye. My own entropy (or stasis or stumbling steps) look more busy with purpose than I thought before I spoke with Marie. And I bend my body to a different view of it. I look cross-eyed and upside down at myself, the way Otis taught me in art class 40 years ago.

"Forget what you think things look like," he said, 

"See them with new eyes."

Our set of eyes can't quite get us past a certain point, sweet boy. 

 Marie says you are telling me this

 every day and all day long.....

So Ian, 

Here I am in the boiling waters of life without you. 

Trying to find and find and re-find my heart of readiness.

Trying not to focus on the chatter and clacking of my mind.

Trying to dance without any bones,

Dancing on the winds of waiting.

The dance of readiness.

Cocking my head, like Phoebe does, toward the almost inaudible sound

Of the changing season

And the next great dive in.

                                Love,

                                                         Momma