This is how Sunday morning started. With this update on Facebook:
Got intentionally drunk last night on bugles and vanilla coke. Drunk texted a friend and said i had accumulated too much to do in my life and that I should probably run away and quick. Skipped impatiently ahead from season 4 of Gossip Girl to the last episode of season 6 where Gossip Girl's identity is just finally revealed. XOXO. Fell asleep in my clothes with a snoring dog and a 6-year-old in his underwear wondering what it would look like to begin again, again. Woke up this morning with mouth rot and in a mess of knees and elbows and paws, my shirt on sideways and just sick over the immensity of my to-do list, none of which sounded like life. So I am scrapping the to-do list. I cleaned the garage. I made coffee and waffles. I'm driving to the woods with my kids. I believe in the holiness and humor of all of this.Tell me your holiness and humor.
The first thing we found, within minutes from leaving our car. She brought it to me. I took a picture, so taken by these yellow orbs that looked like some sort of Willy Wonka candy. I asked her if she wanted it back. "No, you keep it. I'm afraid if I put it in my pocket those yellow things will be eggs and little bugs will hatch out."
I stood on the step of this gazebo and thought, "I needed to be here like this. I needed the healing of the outdoors." My kids who wanted nothing to do with this adventure on a chilly Sunday morning, came to me throughout the day and said thank you. "You planned the best day for us," my daughter said.
I didn't plan a thing, I thought. I just softened to the first step of the beckoning unknown.
At first glance, my favorite black and white striped shells weren't present in the Winter. But with some digging Charis found them!
This moment took my breath away. Like I had jumped into a chalk drawing The Wild Mystics created and swooned as it came alive.
My own moment in a clearing, tucked behind some trees. I felt elfin, mystical, alien, elegant. Elongated shadows are my favorite.
They crossed rocks to get there to the other side. They got their shoes and socks and pants wet, sandy, muddy. I wish you could have heard the laughter. I wish you could have felt the energy. Excitement. Freedom. Risk. Splash. Getting up. Trying again. Testing the limits. On my insides on occasion I got nervous for their safety. And I kept letting go. We were all hungry for the open space. We were devouring it like cookie monster devours a plate of cookies. Sparks were flying like cookie crumbs. "Can we do this every weekend?" Nehemiah asked me.
Sometimes I'm scared about the fact that we can't. At least not quite like this, together, exploring, with no agenda. Sometimes I want to hold my breath so I don't disturb the magic. Moving an inch could bump time forward, and I don't want to be responsible for the shift away from the perfect imperfect.
They helped me collect shells to create a swirl. I got tired of crouching and spread out a quilt to sit on. Halfway through the placement of shells I remembered my 6-year-old had kindergarten homework. It is 100's week coming up, and he has to take 100 of something. Oh dear, I thought, we will have to go home and figure something out. What a pain. And then, I realized, at my fingertips were the perfect 100. When he laid down the next shell on our swirl I exclaimed, "The shells Luther! The shells can be your 100 things for school!" And he cheered. I wondered if what I need can always be delivered to me in this way. With ease. Who makes it hard? Can I soften into this sort of receiving in all parts of my life? It's worth experimenting.
"Mom, look at the girl I drew."
My thoughts I wrote out while resting on a log, watching my kids play make believe:
Nature is the only force that gets to tell me what to do. She is filled with raw Mystery and Magic and Love to those who open up. She leads me to my own MADness and prepares a way where there seems to be no way. The wind. The chill. The rush of brisk water. The warmth of sun. The geese with their feet and heads tucked in. I can't control anything out here, but it all wants to show me how that is okay. It all wants to show me how I belong.