I want to write about grace:  about the invisible hand of Spirit giving a reprieve from suffering; about two nights of honest rest without struggle or pills; of feeling stable for the first time in months of exhales that don’t quite get it all out.

I want to write about decadence:  about quiet fires with rich red wine and cloudy mornings with hot coffee delivered by a kind, loving, devoted man; of two happy and content pets asleep at my feet as I sweetly and patiently allow the day to come to me.

I want to write about space:  about the space between he and I where I am renewed; about the space between my thoughts where I find my truth; about the space between the clouds and the sky where life is encouraged.

I want to write about strength:  about how it can be the exact same thing as vulnerability and how truly organic, truly real it is then; about the strength that comes from the center of my belly and the core of my being without force, pretence or might.

I want to write about quiet:  about the kind of quiet that can happen on the 405 freeway; about quiet inside the mind where the voice of self-condemnation has ceased its’ endless tyranny; about quiet inside the body when the drive “to do something” has given way to the need “to just be”….and let the World be too.

I want to write about acceptance:  about acceptance of my moods and his; about acceptance of the times I have been ineffective and especially about acceptance of the whole-hearted, ever-present desire to be okay.

I want to write about sorrow:  about the sorrow of hearing your mother’s slurred words as the unnamed, but well-known, disease takes hold; about the sorrow of creases in the forehead and of regret over moments not fully lived but lost to hatred, loneliness, boredom and doubt. 

I want to write about humor:  about humor that I have so often forgotten but that is always available to ease the pain of believing my own thoughts; about humor that heals the soul and catches one completely off guard; about how cracking myself up actually mends the broken pieces of me.

I want to write about love:  about the love of the sunrise and the love of life; about the love of a spirits coming together; and about the love of God that is always available to me.

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Author’s note:  While cleaning out my night-stand,  I came across a forgotten legal pad full of short-hand.  Above is what was written on the second page;  I must have scribbled it close to four years ago during a time of emotional exhaustion.  It  could have been written three months ago though as not much changed with the sleeping and the struggles during the time in-between.  Funny thing is that today it is hard for me to relate to.  Since dramatically decreasing the amount of processed foods, meat, dairy, alcohol, wheat and coffee I consume (and eating more whole, organic foods) sleeping is easier, thinking is clearer and being me has become significantly more fun.

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