A Simple Post

Life is as beautiful as it sometimes is terrifying. Allow yourself to be happy. Embrace the world in spite of all of its faults. Go on an adventure. Dare to live a wild beautiful life. No matter how far you wander, you will always always have a home.

Happy Birthday, My Beautiful Twin

Just now, Lydia, we were sitting together in the living room, and we were listening to "Skinny Love." I was letting the lyrics seep into me, I was letting them create a warm space inside of me--a space where the past is beautiful and the future most definitely will be and I am not grasping for either of them, because I am happy and safe right now. The future will come, and it will become the present, and we will both be happy and safe.

Just a few minutes ago, we were listening to "Skinny Love" together, and you were singing along. I don't tell you enough that I love your voice. When I do tell you, it is usually because you have been working on a new song, and you come up to me and say, "Does this sound alright?" and usually I sound annoyed when I reply, so you don't believe me. I love your voice, Lydia. I love it even though it is only a piece of the bright and brilliant sprit that you possess. I love it in the same way that your children will love it on stagnant and moonless nights when they cry because they don't believe that the sun will ever warm them again. You will hold them in your arms, and you will sing "Landslide" or "I Want to Hold Your Hand" or "Skinny Love," and your voice will create warm spaces inside of them where nothing exists and everything fills its absence.

Seventeen years ago, we were born into this world together.

I wrote a poem last year, about our life inside of the womb. I wrote it for a poetry class taught by a poetry teacher who wanted my poems to be stranger, to make less sense. So I tried to make the poem mysterious. I tried to make it sound like one that she would write. And in all of this trying, I failed to really convey the truth--of what it might have been like for us, together there in the safety of the darkness, in the warm space where we grew.

There is one stanza of that poem that I like, so I will post it here:

"Listen.
Our metronome hearts birth metrical ticks
in accord, a reminder
we were born to never be alone."

And we will never be alone, Lydia. Happy seventeenth birthday, my love. Blow out the candles. Make a wish. Believe in the warmth inside of yourself.

Love, your sister

(Photo taken by Uncle Dave, Christmas 2010.)

Wandering Wednesdays: The Way Fear Makes You Move

"Keep walking, though there's no place to get to. 

Don't try to see through the distances. 

That's not for human beings. Move within, 

but don't move the way fear makes you move."

-Rumi

(Image via The Stylish Wanderer.)

Song of the Probable Stars

"You Are Tired (I Think)" by e.e. cummings

You are tired,

(I think)

Of the always puzzle of living and doing;

And so am I.

Come with me, then,

And we'll leave it far and far away—

(Only you and I, understand!)

You have played,

(I think)

And broke the toys you were fondest of,

And are a little tired now;

Tired of things that break, and—

Just tired. So am I.

But I come with a dream in my eyes tonight,

And knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart—

Open to me!

For I will show you the places Nobody knows,

And, if you like,

The perfect places of Sleep.

Ah, come with me!

I'll blow you that wonderful bubble, the moon,

That floats forever and a day;

I'll sing you the jacinth song

Of the probable stars;

I will attempt the unstartled steppes of dream,

Until I find the Only Flower,

Which shall keep (I think) your little heart

While the moon comes out of the sea.

(Image via The Stylish Wanderer.)

Wandering Wednesdays: The Spark

Happy Fourth of July!

By the time you read this post, I will be in Scotland with limited computer access. I didn't want the blog to be empty for the entire month while I was gone, so I decided to schedule some posts ahead of time. 

This is one of those posts. 

Since I am not actually in Scotland as I am writing this (am I confusing anyone yet?), I can only guess at what I will be doing and feeling and hoping and thinking on July 4th. This is the plan for July 2nd-6th, according to my itinerary: 

"Transfer to the Isle of Sky, where you will learn about Scotland's largely unknown 'Highland Clearances.' Discover the culture and history of the indigenous Scots who used the sea as their livelihood. Like they did, you will get a chance to try your hand at sea kayaking, fishing, and archery."

So maybe I will be climbing into a kayak or standing on the bank of a river or positioning an arrow on a bow when this post is published. Whatever I am doing, I'm sure that my mind will be far away from parades and red-white-and-blue and fireworks. 

But right now, I am thinking about all of those things. 

When I was little, my family would travel on the Fourth of July to a little town in Nebraska where several of my incredible relatives live. My parents had a business for a few years called "Clowning Around." They owned an inflatable bounce house and a balloon typhoon, and we would travel around setting them up at fairs and parties throughout the summer. On the Fourth of July, they would set up the bounce house and balloon typhoon in the local park where the celebration was held. My sister and I would run wild, wading around in the swimming pool to cool off, devouring our parade candy, watching the sun set from the playground. Those are some of the happiest memories I have. 

One summer, when we still lived in Nebraska, my mom and sister and I traveled to Santa Fe to visit my grandmother. On the night of the Fourth, we ventured to the high school stadium where the fireworks were set off. We lay down on blankets on the grass. The fireworks were so much larger than the ones I was used to. I remember the way I felt, watching them go off overhead, as if the trails of sparks were going to land right on top of me and set me ablaze. 

It is hard for me to imagine what the world was actually like when the Declaration of Independence was signed. It seems so far away, so mythologized and yet so unimaginable. To me, the Fourth of July has always meant family. Home. The way that it felt to run around barefoot in the park, my mother and father close by, their laughter echoing through the evening air. The way that it felt to lie beside my sister and mother in the grass, gasping as each firework went off, mesmerized and safe and just the tiniest bit afraid. 

I have wandered far from that place where I ran barefoot, where I lay with my mother and sister. That world has trailed off into the night sky, and it will never come again, but there is something in its place. A spark, a beginning, and I will grasp onto it, and I will watch it come alive. 

My sister, last year, watching fireworks from the playground where we used to watch them as children. 

(Image one via The Bean and the Bear.)