For the past twenty years or so, a copy of Anna Karenina has sat on my bookshelf. It has travelled with me to the various places and spaces I have lived, but in all honesty, the book is virginal; its spine has never been cracked.
I woke up the other morning with a ridiculous sense of glee and somehow managed to blow my own mind. What I saw may not mean much to you, but it bowled me over and opened my eyes to something I hadn’t seen before.
For the past eleven years, home has been the place where my three still rope-anchored and wrinkly water babies had their first fill of air, screwed up eyes blindly gazing upon a brand new world, the passage from darkness to light softened by the sounds lovingly (pre)spun by their father.
Thoughts of the undertow crashed through my mind. I caught myself watching them – braced, breath held – as if my intense stare had the power to keep the tide from tripping them off their feet, pulling them under, dragging them out of my life. The pain of their imaginary passing came alive for me.
The Thought Less Mother (a year in the life of an inner space explorer) was an inspired idea. The kind that unexpectedly floats in from nowhere and takes root in our minds, sprouting into brilliance from a seed of possibility that has a feeling of rightness about it.
I feel almost embarrassed to admit this, but I have to ‘fess up: … my moods are ever changing … They go up. They go down. My mental weather is not the eternal sunshine of a spotless mind because my mind is not spotless; it gets clouded up there in my head. My mind […]
It was as I settled down to listen to an Ice Cream 4 the Soul recording (Discovering Inner Security) that I had an epiphany. It crept in silently, like a splinter of morning sunshine filtering through the curtains’ chink, chasing away the last of the night’s shadows. No fanfare. No trumpets. Just a beautiful feeling […]