Every Friday morning, I mentally chew on the events of the previous week. It's an old habit of mine, an exercise I developed long ago with a boring history but the point is Friday is Digestion Day.
Digestion may help explain this week's turn of events and last week's incredible stress as last Friday I was denied time to process events. My sister got into a terrible car accident and my train went off the tracks with her.
With that said I am starting with last week's Monday, rather then this last Monday. I am remembering the statue from a dream when I was little. The question I ask myself today is, “How to remember the statue?"
I was interrupted by a hug around the shoulders from behind my chair.
I am at work and Jr. Boss is lovely today. Yesterday morning she was in offensive mode, but by afternoon she had switched to "All I ever wanted was to be your best friend!”. What she really wanted all along was her very own employee.
Tragically, for me, she has one at long last...
I came back from lunch to find that there were post notes on everything. Exaggeration not required. They were on the invoices, the check requests, a printed spreadsheet and on the computer screens. Yes, both monitors; no one was left out. Each scrawled out a different gleeful message "You are so awesome! Thank you for everything!!", "This spreadsheet looks AMAZING!!", "You got all of your coding right on the invoices! You are the best!", etc.
It was nice outside for lunch. I drove with the windows down. I never turn on the radio or plug in my ipod anymore. I like the quiet. It’s ‘real’ quiet. Not ‘grey maze of cubes and soft typing’ quiet but the ‘wind in my ears and the sound of my car rattling’ quiet.
Back at the office surrounded by hot pink and florescent yellow post it’s I felt the prickle of the sunburn on the back of my hands but I smiled. I couldn't help it. There is such grief in this world and 99.9% of it is self created. Yet we chew on it, trying to ignore the dry stale taste because we are hungry. Or at least, we think we are.
She is so unhappy. The turbulent waves of emotions, the happy friendly girl, the fiercely hypocritical child, the moody uncertain vicious woman –all reflections of her despair.
I thought about a different woman who visited this weekend. I thought about her despair. Her grief. I thought about her large heart, giving nature and self sacrificing love… and underneath her great unhappiness.
Unhappiness is the same as happiness because you must reach for it. It cannot come to you because you must choose your choice.
I remembered the words that are my bible, my gospel, my personal holy prayer;
‘Remember I am loved -If only by myself. Remember I am accepted -If only by myself’.
‘Remember to be brave and upright, that I may love me.’
‘Break my pride that I may be proud.’
How to remember the statue? I close my eyes, to see it, hear it, to remember. Remembering now I hear the shouting, how the sound echoes up and down. I see fists shaking out of the open windows, faces pressed against the windows with screens. Other faces hidden by stain glass windows and still more faces obscured by narrow windows hugged with shutters.
I do not like conflict and meanness. It frightens me. I see the harm inflicted. In my memory, in one of many visits, my dream guide’s hand touched my shoulder, reminded me to relax. His voice was a shadow in my thoughts, “Remember, no one can ever really see someone else’s point of view. Every heart knows this and it is the source of all loneliness.”
How to remember the statue? Blinding light reflecting off its curves long puzzled my guesses of height, width. What is the statue? Why do we fight over it?
I went back last night, in my dreams, and stood alone at my window.
Reader would you like to know my window? My window is a large bay window with a window seat. The lower sections of the windows slid up and this lets in a friendly breeze, along with the anxious voices. I cannot lean out of my window like others can theirs though and I have often wondered how the view would change if I could.
I curled up on it last night and listened. I closed my eyes and listened to the voices arguing, crying, some singing; no one could agree and no one would agree. They could not change the point of view of the other.
I tried to be still; to hear nothing but the sound of wind in my ears and rattle of my car in the morning.
I opened my eyes and looked at the statue. I saw marble trees engraved, branches reaching and wrapping. I saw fingers of light and writing that is mine. I saw the marks of tear stains and an imprint of my hand when I was five. I saw the green light of the east, filtering down through breathing trees to grace the ground with gold. The ripples in the stream were there with the glaring white salt flats behind them. I saw my best friend’s smile when I was seventeen the night before I left.
I saw my life. My precious small life.
Life is great…I thought, Life is good. How else can our hearts over come our fears of being alone, other then to know that we are alone? To know that even when we love and are loved; we are still alone inside. We have only ourselves for company.
Digestion may help explain this week's turn of events and last week's incredible stress as last Friday I was denied time to process events. My sister got into a terrible car accident and my train went off the tracks with her.
With that said I am starting with last week's Monday, rather then this last Monday. I am remembering the statue from a dream when I was little. The question I ask myself today is, “How to remember the statue?"
I was interrupted by a hug around the shoulders from behind my chair.
I am at work and Jr. Boss is lovely today. Yesterday morning she was in offensive mode, but by afternoon she had switched to "All I ever wanted was to be your best friend!”. What she really wanted all along was her very own employee.
Tragically, for me, she has one at long last...
I came back from lunch to find that there were post notes on everything. Exaggeration not required. They were on the invoices, the check requests, a printed spreadsheet and on the computer screens. Yes, both monitors; no one was left out. Each scrawled out a different gleeful message "You are so awesome! Thank you for everything!!", "This spreadsheet looks AMAZING!!", "You got all of your coding right on the invoices! You are the best!", etc.
It was nice outside for lunch. I drove with the windows down. I never turn on the radio or plug in my ipod anymore. I like the quiet. It’s ‘real’ quiet. Not ‘grey maze of cubes and soft typing’ quiet but the ‘wind in my ears and the sound of my car rattling’ quiet.
Back at the office surrounded by hot pink and florescent yellow post it’s I felt the prickle of the sunburn on the back of my hands but I smiled. I couldn't help it. There is such grief in this world and 99.9% of it is self created. Yet we chew on it, trying to ignore the dry stale taste because we are hungry. Or at least, we think we are.
She is so unhappy. The turbulent waves of emotions, the happy friendly girl, the fiercely hypocritical child, the moody uncertain vicious woman –all reflections of her despair.
I thought about a different woman who visited this weekend. I thought about her despair. Her grief. I thought about her large heart, giving nature and self sacrificing love… and underneath her great unhappiness.
Unhappiness is the same as happiness because you must reach for it. It cannot come to you because you must choose your choice.
I remembered the words that are my bible, my gospel, my personal holy prayer;
‘Remember I am loved -If only by myself. Remember I am accepted -If only by myself’.
‘Remember to be brave and upright, that I may love me.’
‘Break my pride that I may be proud.’
How to remember the statue? I close my eyes, to see it, hear it, to remember. Remembering now I hear the shouting, how the sound echoes up and down. I see fists shaking out of the open windows, faces pressed against the windows with screens. Other faces hidden by stain glass windows and still more faces obscured by narrow windows hugged with shutters.
I do not like conflict and meanness. It frightens me. I see the harm inflicted. In my memory, in one of many visits, my dream guide’s hand touched my shoulder, reminded me to relax. His voice was a shadow in my thoughts, “Remember, no one can ever really see someone else’s point of view. Every heart knows this and it is the source of all loneliness.”
How to remember the statue? Blinding light reflecting off its curves long puzzled my guesses of height, width. What is the statue? Why do we fight over it?
I went back last night, in my dreams, and stood alone at my window.
Reader would you like to know my window? My window is a large bay window with a window seat. The lower sections of the windows slid up and this lets in a friendly breeze, along with the anxious voices. I cannot lean out of my window like others can theirs though and I have often wondered how the view would change if I could.
I curled up on it last night and listened. I closed my eyes and listened to the voices arguing, crying, some singing; no one could agree and no one would agree. They could not change the point of view of the other.
I tried to be still; to hear nothing but the sound of wind in my ears and rattle of my car in the morning.
I opened my eyes and looked at the statue. I saw marble trees engraved, branches reaching and wrapping. I saw fingers of light and writing that is mine. I saw the marks of tear stains and an imprint of my hand when I was five. I saw the green light of the east, filtering down through breathing trees to grace the ground with gold. The ripples in the stream were there with the glaring white salt flats behind them. I saw my best friend’s smile when I was seventeen the night before I left.
I saw my life. My precious small life.
Life is great…I thought, Life is good. How else can our hearts over come our fears of being alone, other then to know that we are alone? To know that even when we love and are loved; we are still alone inside. We have only ourselves for company.
No comments:
Post a Comment