way before the sun stretches
i lie awake
with deep soft breath
i lie with a prayer said quietly
yet keen in my heart
i lie in gratitude
in awe of the dried pine needles
with their lilt and swagger
in a dance rhythm
with the breeze
as they pillow themselves
i lie awake
alongside the pace of morning's mute
ringing in my ears
waiting for the magic of today
as it will all begin
again . . .
every moment fully possible
i lie awake
and pick up my Light --
again.
This Indigenous People's Weekend went botched in the midst of an ongoing pandemic. Been planning a reunion with my two college roomies since pre-pandemic. We last saw each other sitting shiva for my dear friend's mom
this past August and promised that we'd commit to a fall weekend soon.
A flurry of texts flooded my phone yesterday morning of our planned girls' getaway. Covid, hospitalization, and a family death claimed both my friends' families. It's always something! While we terribly missed reconnecting in celebration of fall and turning 50 years young this year, continuing with the weekend has been a much needed lesson in self grace.
Since January, I have been struggling to work through the following:
Huminga (To breathe).
Deep sigh, deep breath.
Pahinga naman muna (I am allowed to rest first). Ako naman muna (I am allowed to put myself first).
I am doing more than enough.
To my daughter and partner: I love you, and I love me too.
I am proud of myself for uncovering who I used to be, able to take trips alone and feed my soul, courageously enjoying myself surrendered in solitude at a cabin along the river for one day overnight. I gift myself gentle grace.
As an older cousin attending a younger cousin's wedding, I used to think, Oh a reason to celebrate love and get dressed up too! Our family lost a wonderful woman to covid at the beginning of the pandemic. Before vaccines were available. She was the groom's mother. The bride lost her father at the beginning of the year. So this past weekend's wedding celebration was far from a simple affair. It was emotionally heartwarming and bittersweet.
I remember when the groom messaged us during the Christmas holidays, a year since the last time we spent Christmas together, it would be the last time we would see his mom, to share that he and his longtime girlfriend had gotten engaged. He sent us a photo of the ring along with a photo of the bride-to-be. Welcome news during a pandemic!
one light-filled drop at a time,
celestial sprinkle turns Virginia's ruddy clunch
into cursive creeks
--
i have peace
as rain sizzes
along stones' bluff
and i will be
more silent and heartful
than i was a moment ago
summer holiday, she never ages
she invites us to the shore
and waves family members to come along
in celebration of connection,
her sunny warmth
comforts and embraces us in togetherness
a familiar, a pamilyal love
no matter how long it's been
in her hushed and happy as a clam way
she nestles my broken spirit
and whispers,
do you see the sun (rise, set),
do you feel how sweet the light (life)?
Yesterday was the last day of fourth grade for our gal. So emotional, I've worked with incredible effort to not let the madness of the world consume me alongside the deep exhale I've let go after the past two and half years working to stay healthy and sane as we negotiate learning how to live and learn in this ongoing pandemic.
the morning grind
the aroma of kapeng robusta
as i press my coffee
i take comfort
in my rise and shine elixir
a necessary treat
amidst the pressure of our collective trauma
this covid pandemic
the endless gun violence
the light rain outside my kitchen window
greets me easily at the breakfast table,
reminds me to breathe
and moves my pen along on a wayfaring journey
as i struggle through my moving mist
and remember it is a brave and radical act of devotion
to set a tender intention and sigh
let me breathe only love
in this moment
and watch how the tears fall and let go
won't you join me
on this stroll into the woods
along the winding creek
where spring is sprung
the neighborhood fox
sits on the path
determined to have a staring contest with me
the birdsong responds
to the tree frog call
they compose
the backyard trill
i inhale the faintest smell of honeysuckle
as the tulip trees shake off the weekend rain
i lift my face to Spring's breath
i stand still and breathe
extra deep for those who struggle
to breathe
i pray and wonder --
are our hearts expansive enough
to appreciate Life's beauty and live
with this ongoing grief
i close my eyes
upon opening them
there she is in all of her majesty
blue heron
She reminds me --
our world, WE, continue
to evolve and progress
stay spiritually woke and aware
Know those family friends that no matter how long it's been since we've seen each other, the love is still there? The memories of summertime at Cove Beach, writing and acting out plays for the family Christmas party, and birthday barbecues followed by singalongs, mahjong and poker into the wee hours of the morning.
Another family friend has joined the No-Dad-Club. Cancer sucks. Waiting as someone dies with dignity in hospice care at home . . . sucks. The emotional exhaustion and numbness . . . sucks.
On top of that, this now not-so-new way of mourning through numerous text messages and a Zoom screen to show support for loved ones seems less personal and is not intuitive at all, yet much appreciated, any means of communicating love during a family death in an ongoing pandemic is a good thing.
This afternoon, I attended the celebration of Life of a dear family friend, Tito Lito. My favorite memory of him is as a shaggy banged, long-haired, tall & skinny Tito with wire-rimmed eyeglasses in denim bell bottoms, kinda like a Filipino John Lennon? The Agoncillo Family is a deeply faithful and generous family, always have been. They were present as we waited for my Dad to die, almost 14 years ago. I've remained in close contact with Aileen, their older daughter, as much as texting and voicemail allows between NoVA and Florida. Her tribute to her father at today's service was full of confident love and faith. Having been in touch with her frequently during Tito Lito's hospice care at home, I've been recalling my own journey with my Dad's life with cancer and all the feels around waiting for him to die. There are no words for that period of waiting, knowing that time is precious, that life here on is meant to enjoy the simple things.
Headed into our first full week of our return in person to learning after our homeschool stint. N. is absolutely ecstatic to finally be with her fourth grade mates. All through our homeschooling adventures, N. would ask at bedtime, Why do the days go so fast? Thankfully, she still believes that the days go way too fast. An amazing sign that she is genuinely happy. Deep, relieved sigh.
Grateful to have kicked off our new year's transition, I recently facilitated a winter attunement mindfulness session with my good friend, Jenn, in Catalonia, and I am even more aware of how I have not paid enough attention to the emotions that the pandemic has pushed aside as we try to live -- in survival mode. Giving ourselves the opportunity to move through our emotions -- grief, anger, joy, and desire -- can be a most grounding gift of confidence. We danced our bodies as we felt called to do in the moment. Feeling my physical body let go in defeat, frustration, cheer and fancy was its own kind of much needed, non-judgmental freedom in year two of the pandemic.
As I work to find my new rhythm, delighting in the delicious quiet of my mid-morning coffee, I notice that it's taking me considerable time to settle down and settle in.
During my trek with the dog on the trail, I notice how the two recent snowfalls have
What is exceptionally noticeable is the silence between the birds twittering and the clanking of the dog's harness against her leash, between each footstep that crushes on some patch of ice on the trail or the slightest whipping of the breeze as a runner sidesteps us in his way.
I notice the silence of this bearable winter morning as I try to delight in a moment of stillness without immersing myself in the drudgery of patiently/impatiently waiting for the under five vaccines, feeling for those in my circles with littlest ones or reading every obituary of every young person who has been killed by gun violence every month since the new year.