What he said to me:
Honey, this is who I am.
You're always on my head.
Oops, I'll start over.
You're always in my head, and on my mind.
Our time together started 13 years ago.
I was in love with you then and now I've fallen for you again.
It feels like the years in between us was only an eyes blink in time for time really does not exist.
My love is full. I've never felt so complete.
You love me for who I am, that's something extraordinary in itself.
You let me be ME. I see Henry and my friends smiling and chuckling at those words.
I think about the time before Kat and the kids, wow, how life has changed.
Let me be the first to say I was blind about having children: well, I was also ignorant about a lot more.
But it's all good to change your mind, keep your ideas open to new possibilities.
Who said you can't teach an old dog new tricks?
Hell, it's amazing what Kat has taught me. And, in more way than one ...
Honey, you and boys make me feel whole.
The dream only gets bigger if you think outside the box.
Take a leap, follow the heart, jump into the deep end even if you don't know how to swim.
The scariest decisions are usually the real ones.
Realistic inspirations.
Hold on tight, baby, and smile, feel the beat.
Think big, real bigt, see the beauty.
Say thank you and take the good and take notice of the beauty from the bad.
That's what I've been taught.
Learn from the bad shit otherwise it's just wasted.
My glory is found by your wisdom.
Your spirit lights my soul on fire.
When my heart is in touch with my soul
then I know we are on the move and we are moving right now.
You bring me two beautiful boys.
You constantly give more of yourself to me every day.
You inspire me to become better, to be better.
Thank you, I love you.
Writing it as I see it
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Monday, August 11, 2008
Yoga
90 minutes of torture, that's Bikram. Sorry, folks, but there's just not much fun to be had doing 26 poses, twice each, in a room that's as hot as a steam room.
But, dammit, you feel so good when you're done.
Today my lovely teacher inspired me. As I was lying there in the stench of mine (and everyone else's) sweat, she said: when you come to a pose that challenges you, work harder. When you feel like giving up, try harder. For whatever reason, that's where you have to work.
OK. I've been working hard since I was a kid. At seven years of age I spent my summer in the orchards, picking strawberries and cherries. It wasn't easy, it wasn't fun, and at the end of the summer I got $48. "See," my mom said, "wasn't it worth it?"
Believe it or not, at the time I did think so.
So when my teacher says, lie on your stomach, lift your arms like airplane wings, and raise your legs without separating them, and breathe, I try. I roll my eyes to the ceiling and beyond when she tells me to do that too. I sweat, I grimace, I struggle. I hold. I breathe. I beg to let go. Finally, I release. And she says, "How amazing. You just used your spine strength to lift your entire body against gravity. Wow."
And, at the time, believe it or not, I'm pretty happy about that too.
Now it comes to the practical application. Let's face it, that's what yoga is really about.
I really miss my kids when they're with their dad. But I believe that they need him, that he has a right to them, that it's good for them, and that it's good for me. But that doesn't make it easy.
I cry at night, soothe myself by racing up Quadra in my imagination, and over to their other house, and slipping in through the upstairs window, and into their bedroom, to cuddle them. I send my spirit to love them, to accompany them in dreamland, and to report back to me that they are perfectly all right.
When I work that way, loving them rather than missing them, I can eventually release into peace. Into trusting that whatever it is, it is all right. Even if it's as hard as this.
Namaste.
But, dammit, you feel so good when you're done.
Today my lovely teacher inspired me. As I was lying there in the stench of mine (and everyone else's) sweat, she said: when you come to a pose that challenges you, work harder. When you feel like giving up, try harder. For whatever reason, that's where you have to work.
OK. I've been working hard since I was a kid. At seven years of age I spent my summer in the orchards, picking strawberries and cherries. It wasn't easy, it wasn't fun, and at the end of the summer I got $48. "See," my mom said, "wasn't it worth it?"
Believe it or not, at the time I did think so.
So when my teacher says, lie on your stomach, lift your arms like airplane wings, and raise your legs without separating them, and breathe, I try. I roll my eyes to the ceiling and beyond when she tells me to do that too. I sweat, I grimace, I struggle. I hold. I breathe. I beg to let go. Finally, I release. And she says, "How amazing. You just used your spine strength to lift your entire body against gravity. Wow."
And, at the time, believe it or not, I'm pretty happy about that too.
Now it comes to the practical application. Let's face it, that's what yoga is really about.
I really miss my kids when they're with their dad. But I believe that they need him, that he has a right to them, that it's good for them, and that it's good for me. But that doesn't make it easy.
I cry at night, soothe myself by racing up Quadra in my imagination, and over to their other house, and slipping in through the upstairs window, and into their bedroom, to cuddle them. I send my spirit to love them, to accompany them in dreamland, and to report back to me that they are perfectly all right.
When I work that way, loving them rather than missing them, I can eventually release into peace. Into trusting that whatever it is, it is all right. Even if it's as hard as this.
Namaste.
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