Dinner Alone

Saturday, August 3, 2013

 

7:42 pm

 

I have dinner reservations, for one, at 8:30.  I have the shoes with me.  A dress.  My hair looks fabulous.  Makeup is perfect including mascara that would draw anyone to my eyes.

 

And I’m thinking of canceling. 

 

I’m still sitting here in my casual wear.  I’ve texted to ask for another day at the cabin – to stay until Monday.  First I was leaving Saturday or Sunday.  Anyone knew the actual day I’d leave.  Now, I’m asking for another day.  No response.

 

I almost turned around on the way up here and went back home.  Oh, dear God, I’m so glad I didn’t.   I would have surely died.  I had no idea that this was the drug I’ve needed all along.   Cruise?  Definitely a good thing.  Hotel room alone?  My previous definition of heaven.  But it has changed to this.

 

Last night I started listening to my music.  It’s been years since I’ve heard my own music inside a house.  With the other noise, any additional sound is too much.  I continued it today.  It’s like my need for silence was satiated to a point that I could begin, after so long, to hear my words. 

Truth

Just ‘cause the monkey’s off your back doesn’t mean the circus has left town.  --  George Carlin

The Mountain

My help is in the mountain,

            where I take myself to heal

the earthly wounds that people give to me.

       I find a rock with sun on it

and a stream where the water runs gentle

and the trees which one by one keep me company.

 

So I must stay for a long time

            until I have grown from the rock

and the stream is running through me

and I cannot tell myself from one tall tree.

       Then I know that nothing touches me

                        nor makes me run away.

 

My help is in the mountain

                        that I take away with me.

 

from Hollering Sun by Nancy Wood

Leap of Faith

Leap of Faith

 

How am I to learn the steps,

do I really want the dance,

moving in,

sliding back,

shall I leave or take a chance.

 

In the distance I can see,

silhouettes of heartaches past,

anxious as the music starts,

sometimes slow,

or much too fast.

 

I separate to go inside,

I back away to catch my breath.

Is this the dance of life I feel,

or prelude to another death.

 

Stretching for the turn that comes,

uncertain of the unknown pace,

unrehearsed,

ill defined,

for love is but a dance of grace.

 

Swept up in the rhythm now,

challenged by some old belief,

limits I have pushed beyond,

but safety calls me back to speak.

 

Dancers in formation pause,

take the leap or step aside. 

Faith beckons in a whispered voice,

protect your heart, but do not hide.

 

Open as a dancer would,

face the light and take the stage.

A leap of faith can free the heart,

with any turn,

at any age.

 

Lou Sparks Smith

Trying to get away

"Somehow we managed to survive that day, but none of us ever experienced the deliverance of recovery.  I realize you can walk away from anything but a wounded soul."  - Pat Conroy

Perhaps the soul knows how to heal itself.  The challenge for me is to silence the mind. 

Alone

Friday, August 02, 2013

10:11 pm

 

It’s taken just 29 hours of being in the house in the mountains, alone for the first time in such a long time, that I’m taken back to my single days.  My days which at present were my best.

 

Added to the mix is Diana Krall on the stereo, one glass of a fine cabernet (having sat in the pantry waiting for me for some time now) already down, and the sounds of crickets and a passing train a long ways away.  To go is a cup of tortilla soup and a second glass of wine.  I’m already walking on my tiptoes.  Feeling feminine.  Sitting with my legs crossed while lounging back in a club chair and sipping my wine.  Enjoying each syllable, every cadence of MY music.

 

How can I get back here?  This is home.  This is where I belong.  This is where I should have stayed.  This is where I should have remained. 

 

Cathartic.  Soulful.  Drowns out the dystopia of the world. The only sounds I can hear are pleasing ones.  Ones that make me feel feminine.  Like a prize that has been passed up.  Like an overlooked shell on a beach.  Like the perfect leaf that has fallen from the tree in a forest where no one will ever find me. 

 

How will I ever leave this?  Why did I ever leave this?