Friday, August 26, 2011

Still.

I have always felt that September meant the slow fall into something. At this time of life, when my three year routine has been broken by some virtual onset of irrevocable change, September's syrup-thick promises of downfall to a season of darkness and cold lay heavy on my spirit.

There have been so many changes that sometimes I wonder how I am still functioning. I wake up sometimes before even a hint of light can spill through the back door, and I stand there in the darkness thinking about how sure the day is. It will come.

Last night I dreamt I wore a dress to an empty pool. I tested the slick tile with the grip of my toes to see if it would be too slippery to run. I stood for a moment, wondering why I had such a hunger to jump, to be in the water, to feel it close over my head. Then I walked backwards and paused before running, flinging, catapulting myself to the edge where I lifted off, soared through the air, and then plummeted beneath the surface. When I came up for air there was a crowd of people I knew in the background and they were laughing and saying, "I can't believe she actually did it."

That was all.

Yesterday I woke up and went to the back porch (Which is a dreamy way of defining the three old concrete steps that lead to a fenced-in grass patch about the size of a pick-up truck in my backyard). There were still a few stars lingering, just like life when it's time to let go, and the trees were answering each other in wind blown whispers above. It may be daft, but there is no time more perfect for me than 5:00 AM with my chin in my hands, pajamas all a-muck, tired eyes still closed...listening. And there is still nothing more glorious than a morning wind brushing back all my imperfections, the softest answer to all that I am. Right now. I live for that kind of quiet. I breathe to feel the softest touch of His wind on my face. I'd live well even if I never enjoyed any other moment for all of time except this swathed half-darkness on two crumbling concrete steps for twenty-minutes every morning.

And in-between these times the world is all a clock on the torpedo speed of a interstate and we breathe in and out in the pause of another traffic-jam, decision to decision, the noise of dishes-clanging, siren calling, head spinning filler music all urging me onward, forcing me to fit through the dip of dusk with my hands holding my facial expressions together as the sound of a blender erupts into laughter in my living room and I am just sighing for the race to end and time to stand completely still.

Be still my soul.

He will hush the storm to a calm and gentle whisper, so that the waves of the sea are still.
Psalm 107:29