Spring to Come

Oh some days I do need saving. Not from any outside forces, just from myself.

Yesterday was that day.

Had a wonderful date planned with the Giant and work got in the way.
Not the end of the world by any means, just made me feel like someone cancelled spring.

February is happening in fits and starts and weird little backslides of time. I feel like it should be both earlier and later in the month. And like it’s always supposed to be better or warmer tomorrow and then tomorrow doesn’t come. It will be warmer tomorrow.

I have always been of the mindset that even if the groundhog sees his shadow, it’s only six more weeks. 42 days. My inner Little Engine that Could awakens and I really think I can.

Leah asked me how I do it. How I keep loving/living/trying/staying open after what I have been through with men.

Fall down seven times, stand up eight. (Buddha)

Even when my knees are still bleeding and throbbing from last time.

Oh I bleed, red like everyone else.

Gravel in my palms, wind knocked outta me.

It’s almost compulsive to get up and keep going.

I know this too shall pass and something better always comes. Not always better per say, but different, shiny and new. I also know on a long enough timeline everything makes sense and we go back to being friends, except him and him and that other guy.

Some I keep close. Sometimes we need each other. I could have called on any number of exes yesterday. Young ‘Un drew the black marble and did right by me yet again. He said “Hush. People that get to keep your company are fortunate indeed.” Bless him. I sent him a thank you today…”I am wise enough (now) to know when to keep my mouth shut, but I am grateful for you helping keep my crazy contained.”

(I walk slow, I walk slow, take my hand, help me on my way. Mumford & Sons, Lover’s Eyes)

I don’t want to blame the moon, but it’s the moon.

Shark week cometh and bringeth forth all the self-doubts, old fears, insecurities and a dash of crazy for flavour.

THE SECOND COMING

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.

The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

I think William Butler Yeats described my yesterday with poetic perfection.

I know everything is coming up blood red roses.  I had the girl I call ‘my sunrise’ waving crimson pompoms trying to get me through the night and it worked.

This morning Rob Brezsney told me “The poet Muriel Rukeyser said the universe is composed of stories, not of atoms. The physicist Werner Heisenberg declared that the universe is made of music, not of matter.”
…” That’s why we implore you to nourish yourself with delicious, nutritious tales and tunes that inspire you to exercise your willpower for your highest good.”

I’ll abide.

Sorry Mr. Yeats…sometimes the center does hold.

This story I’m telling is a good story, I’m self-aware. I know I’m stuck on a page and it will turn. This chapter isn’t done yet and everything gets better. I know because I get to write it myself. I know nothing ever ends, it just evolves and changes and it’s bliss.

Soundtrack for today?

Somewhere out there on the horizon
Maybe there’s a glimmer of hope
Maybe it’s just a mirage
‘Cause you never know
And maybe things have changed

Storm clouds pass take their rains

And I wait for spring to come
But how long, tell me how long
‘Cause I wither at my post
I’m walking like a ghost, alone
How long tell me how long, how long

Out of the darkness, only light can come
After a lonely long night comes the sun.

(Spring to Come. John Butler Trio)

See, gets a little angsty in the middle but spring always comes and the sun is shining bright and warm this morning.