Oh, the carrot juice

I've been reading a lot and not doing much writing from the heart. Jumbled. Twisted words and I don't know what I'm trying to say. Too much trying to make its way through a small tube in a compressed amount of time. What it feels like. Too hurried and not enough mindfulness. 

I'm comparing. I'm feeling as though I should be somewhere - anywhere other than exactly where I am. I grow so tired of the same view and frankly, get stuck in not knowing how to change it. It's easy only in rhetoric - or just plain denial. Or the frustration is what keeps me stuck on those dauntingly crappy days.  

There's a sort of obsession and habit of drinking carrot juice in my house. My son loves it. It's his go to. Better than other sugary juices, I suppose and he's trained me well to have it in stock at the Blanco diner at all times. He's 3 1/2. I'm either a good obeyer disguised as an avoider of meltdowns, or he's a good drill sergeant or both. We take turns. At least the dysfunction is balanced, ok?

My son spilled a jar of said carrot juice. A jar? Yup. The southern in me, I suppose. An overpriced pre-made magic potion juice glass bottle that I kept and reuse. I have a few. I liked the unique shape. He loves it and it reminds me of home for whatever reason. Southerners drink out of objects not intended to be glassware; it stuck. I also try to live a sustainable lifestyle and reuse as much as I can, so there you go. Me in a nutshell. (I wish. Just go with it for now) 

He spilled the carrot juice in a hurry to follow me downstairs while i went to check the mail. He has this fear of me leaving him lately, which is another post; another worry for me. 

I ran to the spill in that 'I'm so frazzled, I can't believe the world is against me, what else could possibly happen to me' overblown and very honest frustration. I consoled him at the same time. I'm good at that. Talk about mixed signals. Mama's frustrated. I know it was an accident. My body language couldn't hold back as gracefully. Back and forth between the kitchen sink and the relatively new grey and white chevron rug. Slowly the stain would lift. Another trip. Another towel. I cursed and he repeated. 'Sh*t.' 

'Sh*t', he repeated. 

No sweets. Don't say that. I kept soaking up bright orange juice. Not what I had on the agenda. Not today. It was a day of fire drills. Of getting it solved as fast as you can and it's still not good enough's. Of crossing one off the list and five more appeared. Of not enoughs. Of what I do wasn't nearly a comparable measure next to what I need to be doing.
'Aw sh*t'. I was done. 

I crouched over the pastel orange hue and cried. I couldn't do it anymore. The bath water was running. So was the clock to get the stain out before the tub filled up. I'm a pro double tasker and I frankly hate that I put myself in those pressure cooker situations. All by myself.

 I can't keep it up anymore. The juggle is incredibly daunting. And you know, it's not just the juggling of so many topics and things to remember and things to schedule and do and keep up with what he needs and what I need. It's not so much to keep going with the packing a lunch or the school papers or the work emails and meetings and calls and bills and home keeping and groceries and activities and when am I going to work out this week (I was a regular) and how would anyone ever have the patience to participate in my world and the something's gotta give, and the no family this side of the country, and, and, and...

It's the what happens if I stop juggling? It'll all crumble. It'll fall apart. It's the marathoner worried their legs will give out. 

What if I give out? I can't ever give out. Ever. 

It was carrot juice. It was one more thing and I folded. 

We'll see if the rug matches tomorrow's sunrise. And I did catch the bath water just in time. And we had a lovely night of brushing teeth, lotion, combing hair, pj's, books, and cuddles as he fell asleep- my nightly prayer of gratitude. For him. For our life. For surviving and most days, thriving in it. 

Maybe in my own haste, in my own 'don't leave me' moment, I spill more energy than when I savor the moment and take my time. We all have tantrums. We need to. We all have those 'I can't do this alone', moments. I get how those little bodies and minds grow so fast and have so many meltdowns. It's a lot to absorb in one capsule. Give some away. Let it out. You can't tread lightly and cover ground with a heavy load. Put it down. Throw it. 

Curse. A lot. I do. (other than spontaneous one-liners - not in front of my child - my inner dialogue is rough) and alone in the car. I love it. I'm Puerto Rican. I need to get it out. Sweat it out. Be alive. 

And move on. So will the carrot juice stain. So will your anxiety. So will all the BS and what filters through is the clarity of what matters. 

The Gaze

It's brilliant. Stare long enough. I dare you to just stare until time stops ticking. Long enough that you can see every shadow and hear its thoughts by simply staring. You notice its uneven surface. Stunning. Stare long enough and it comes into focus. Everything does in a silent gaze. 

Stare long enough and it seems closer than you memorized it to be. Stare long enough and it becomes familiar and so much more magnificent. You scare yourself; wanting to break the gaze; it's too much. Almost too great to know what to do with. The thrill rushes in when you realize you're not the only one observing. Your admiration isn't in vein. Humility, validation, significance comes over you. You too are seen. You were staring as a spectator and suddenly realize that you are the one being admired. 

Spectacular.  

You are standing there unable to hide. To distract. To blink. To find a quick pretense to break the moment. It's too late. You don't want to. 

You've been seen. Completely exposed for your own mystery.  Seen. An equally magical exchange. 

You've been so used to only admiring and wishing from a distance. Don't get too close. You labeled it as ordinary to dispel its power. How can it be you have allowed yourself to be completely unseen for this long? You didn't even realize how good you have become at brushing magic aside until this moment. You had forgotten the freedom and lightness of it. The magic that there's something greater than you at play? To take the time. To believe in it again. It's been there all along.

I wished on the moon for the first time tonight in what's been years. Lifetimes as it seemed. And I realized that it's been shining brilliantly over me during my darkest nights. During the most mundane and simple and unexpected nights. There when I was blindly navigating through. Gently watching. Allowing me to go through it. I didn't have to be extraordinary for the light to be. 

For the first time in years I stared. I really studied its magnificence. I let it see me. I admired its grandeur and in that, found my own. I thanked it through my stare.  Realizing it's seen everything. It's fully aware of my flaws. My unevenness and ever changing light and shadow. It knows how sometimes I'm there to get the task done and don't show myself truly; at least not in ways where I shine the brightest. It recognizes my paralyzing fears and acknowledges my practice to overcome. 

And it glows even still.

Isn't that what a great gaze does? The allowing ourselves to be seen and to see another? A recognition of our greatness, our magic, our seemingly mundaneness, our connection, our inner dialogues free of sound, our 'this is me without having to explain', our wishes, our fears, our wants, our hopes, our please's and could be's and if only's...

At least, that's the way I see it

And so is love. 

It's not pretty or buttoned-up and presentable. 

It's certainly not proper and timely in any way you would expect. 

Love manifests itself in raw, unedited, surprising ways. And yet when it does reveal its presence, everything seems to make sense.  The only way truth can exist. Love never clearly tells you where it's taking you and where you will end up. It'll actually walk you through some scary, shitty and unexpected places. 

It reminds you of how human and vulnerable you are. 

It pushes you until you are down on your knees, begging for some relief.  And the very minute you find yourself surrendering, handing over your ego on a silver platter and begging for mercy, that's when love shows its clever face. That's when love takes your face in its hands and says, 'see my darling, that's the heart that needed to shine and let itself be seen. I've been waiting for you to reveal yourself'. 

Love will relentlessly remind you how much lighter and freeing it is when you let it in; Love will reinstate it's trust in you and show you how it has been present all along. It was honoring your evolution. It was admiring your path and letting you go through those experiences so that indeed, you could wake up one day and understand that it has never left your side. 

And so is love. 

Love is not boastful and proud. Love does not exist in fear. Love is not a fantasy. Love is not an attachment or a dependency to hide behind. Love needs you to shine yourself - all of yourself. Love is being soft when your heart is hard and it demands the most from you when you're at your weakest. Love is honest and humble and vulnerable. Love is powerful in silence. And can be so loud it's deafening. 

          It's the explanation behind everything you do. It will always honor you.

          And so is love.

Impossible

OR 

I'm Possible

Your choice. 

Wish

They come true, promise.....

Happy 3rd Birthday, my cheeky monkey!

Happy 3rd Birthday, my cheeky monkey! 
He'd rather sing
instead of talk, dance instead of walk; he laughs at his own expressions in the mirror; he LOVES to laugh! 
he is vocal and shy; he comes alive when he's outside; 
he studies people's faces, pays attention, remembers the little things; he loves having his head and back scratched and hugs without fearing rejection -
There's no such thing in his world.
He IS love.
He has taught me more poignant lessons in three years than those preceding...and I have an incessant hunger to show him, for him and myself, the beautiful potential we all have to be greater than we can imagine.
Thank you for showing me the way. Thank you for the gift you have given me. I will always remind you of your brightness - your beauty, my darling son. We have so many fun adventures ahead!
Te adoro; de a qui, a la luna....
- your mama

Southern Stars

For no particular reason and for many...I felt it today. I was transported to my (younger) youth. Summer nights in Atlanta. It's magic. Only those that have lived it truly know. It's a warm, breezy, smell of trees and dewy grass and a moon that glows like a spot light. With stars so bright they make you forget all about the day. And somehow, anything is possible. 

It's a feeling of pure freedom and of ease knowing you have your whole life in front of you. An endless possibility that maybe, just maybe, your crazy dreams will somehow spill over into reality and become one in the same. It was those summer nights that made me believe I was a little closer to the creator of all that's good and of all that has purpose. there wasn't much space between us. I would give thanks in advance knowing my life would take me to unimaginable places. And boy, has it.

There really is something about the south in the summertime. I'm grateful for those memories. They're so vivid still.

I wish I could bottle that feeling up and spike my coffee with it in the morning so that it wouldn't get foggy and forgotten during a day full of 'should's' and adult distractions. It's so easy to push those memories aside and overcomplicate what's innately simple. It's an easy habit to belittle those feelings of possibility and 'why the hell not's'.

So why the hell not?!

When no one's looking and it's really quiet, those southern stars can make mountains move inside of you...as easily and softly as that warm breeze. As effortless as a southern sky in the summertime.

Thanks Georgia...I never stopped loving you.