I’m floating on the water, suspended, cool, lethargic. It’s been a lovely week but the truth is I’m exhausted. Those soft words of Gary Snyder keep rippling across my mind, pushing my thoughts to the edge. I laugh at myself, the trappings of illusionary boundaries, they don’t exist, and I might need some sleep.
“Ripples on the surface of the water were silver salmon passing under – different from the ripples caused by breezes.” Gary Snyder
It’s deep where I am, forcing me to consider the divergent causes of movement, often undetectable, but efficacious nonetheless. Like desire, want, and need all converging on the same event. I love the fact I can float away from it all, but the truth is fish jump, rafts deflate, waterlogged is a real thing.
I enjoy observing how people maneuver in the world. Don’t you? To me this is fascinating. How does he manipulate the situation to get what he wants? What is he willing to risk? How does she manage to look completely at ease when surrounded by chaos? Why do her actions conflict so powerfully with her words? What underlies this sort of anger? What biases or assumptions is he working from to have formed such an adamant opinion? Those who’ve mastered distraction, what are they hiding, avoiding? She weaves an interesting story, to what avail? Criticism is so revealing, is it not? Laughter is rich, draws me in, like being caught in a web, only it’s not Charlotte’s.
What do people really want? It’s confusing and complicated to figure people out because we lie, as if chameleons we camouflage our real purpose, and hope we won’t be detected. Maybe we’re afraid of rejection, ridicule, or worse humiliation? We shift our allegiance as if immigrants in our own bodies and wonder where we belong.
I think a lot about who I am and the stories I tell. I’m a blogger. I aim for authenticity but when I fall short it’s as clear as the pimple on my face. I know ~ pop that thing, slap on some cream, cover it up. As I float further and further away from my home, beach, boundaries so do my thoughts. Why am I in such conflict with what I really want? Being a human is far from simplistic, like SEO’s, and statistics, it’s confusing.
I enjoy observing how people maneuver in the world. Don’t you? To me this is fascinating. How does he manipulate the situation to get what he wants? What is he willing to risk? How does she manage to look completely at ease when surrounded by chaos? Why do her actions conflict so powerfully with her words? What underlies this sort of anger? What biases or assumptions is he working from to have formed such an adamant opinion? Those who’ve mastered distraction, what are they hiding, avoiding? She weaves an interesting story, to what avail? Criticism is so revealing, is it not? Laughter is rich, draws me in, like being caught in a web, only it’s not Charlotte’s.
What do people really want? It’s confusing and complicated to figure people out because we lie, as if chameleons we camouflage our real purpose, and hope we won’t be detected. Maybe we’re afraid of rejection, ridicule, or worse humiliation? We shift our allegiance as if immigrants in our own bodies and wonder where we belong.
I think a lot about who I am and the stories I tell. I’m a blogger. I aim for authenticity but when I fall short it’s as clear as the pimple on my face. I know ~ pop that thing, slap on some cream, cover it up. As I float further and further away from my home, beach, boundaries so do my thoughts. Why am I in such conflict with what I really want? Being a human is far from simplistic, like SEO’s, and statistics, it’s confusing.
Authenticity is everything! You have to wake up every day and look in the mirror, and you want to be proud of the person who’s looking back at you. And you can only do that if you’re being honest with yourself and being a person of high character. You have an opportunity every single day to write that story of your life. Aaron Rodgers
I want the house full of family but time to write and think. I want endless cups of coffee without the indigestion. I want a spotless environment, but for everyone to be comfortable. I want more hats but I don’t want to store them.
I want sunshine in the crisp morning, clean windows, except for the handprints of my grandchildren. I want rows of deck chairs, filled with good people, kind, gentle, sincere, but oh how boring that would be.
I want the conflict of sand on the beach and glistening kitchen floors, but that would mean no one who ventures out could come back in, the exact opposite of what I want.
I want more space, waffles, and manicures but without the expense.
I want the laundry done, folded, stacked, ready for play without actually having to do it. I want the pantry stocked with alphabetized can goods, stacks of clean white paper plates, and extra peanut butter.
I want everyone doing exactly what they want but without my assistance. That could be a lie.
I want fireworks, soft blankets, starry nights, waves lapping against the shore but not the fires, wind, and heat of July.
I want more forks, time, and butter which makes me want my mom.
I want her order, her smell, her safety, her Ruth Ann Severance kind of love. I want the heaviness out of my heart but not the experience of love. Shit.
I caught my reflection in the mirror this morning, I thought to myself it’s okay, not great, made me laugh. And there she was, my mom, a glimpse. Has she been here all the time?
I’ll take her ghost, the lady of the lake, the ashes of the dead. A jar harboring an entire life, but not really. She lingers in the air but I can not breathe. Thank God for Nancy, she has her eyes, eyes that love me.
Oh how I long for healthy wit, wisdom, and long lean legs. Never to be compliant but ready to welcome.
I want traffic, not in my life, but in the blog. I want words that curl up on my lap and force me to appreciate them.
I want a cat, confidence, longer summers. Shade, twinkle lights, and breakfast in bed. I want my apple close by and minimal distractions.
I want chocolate, dimes, and a literary agent. As if a waffle, I want you to want me, like I want you.
Bonfires, s’mores, bats, but without the rice flies. And I want Tony, I want him to come home, even though I hate the thought of destroying his dreams. The hell with dreams, I’m real!
I want movies, or the thought of movies, Cheaper by the Dozen II, and lots of popcorn. Fingers slick with melted butter, ice cold pepsi, cloth napkin. I want to weigh the same at the beginning of the week as I do at the end. Bahaha…
I want no clutter. That’s not true. I want cute clutter that remains dusted, charming, of service. Like blue mason jars, vintage ice buckets, scented candles, and succulents lounging in chipped tea cups. Never enough.
I want more birthdays, soft breezes, the reflection of the moon on the water, fast internet, and crisp bacon. Did I mention my Dad, gone too soon, he is my heart, never far from my thoughts. Oh how I miss his smile.
I want the words to land on the page in perfect order, as if a gentle rain, without the sweat, strain, or editing.
I’ve given a thousand kisses this week. I want more of Audrey, Sienna, and Cora, but oh how I enjoyed sleeping in this morning. Which reminds me of soft beds, soft sheets, soft pillows with a view of the lake. #Spoiled
I want sunshine in the crisp morning, clean windows, except for the handprints of my grandchildren. I want rows of deck chairs, filled with good people, kind, gentle, sincere, but oh how boring that would be.
I want the conflict of sand on the beach and glistening kitchen floors, but that would mean no one who ventures out could come back in, the exact opposite of what I want.
I want more space, waffles, and manicures but without the expense.
I want the laundry done, folded, stacked, ready for play without actually having to do it. I want the pantry stocked with alphabetized can goods, stacks of clean white paper plates, and extra peanut butter.
I want everyone doing exactly what they want but without my assistance. That could be a lie.
I want fireworks, soft blankets, starry nights, waves lapping against the shore but not the fires, wind, and heat of July.
I want more forks, time, and butter which makes me want my mom.
I want her order, her smell, her safety, her Ruth Ann Severance kind of love. I want the heaviness out of my heart but not the experience of love. Shit.
I caught my reflection in the mirror this morning, I thought to myself it’s okay, not great, made me laugh. And there she was, my mom, a glimpse. Has she been here all the time?
I’ll take her ghost, the lady of the lake, the ashes of the dead. A jar harboring an entire life, but not really. She lingers in the air but I can not breathe. Thank God for Nancy, she has her eyes, eyes that love me.
Oh how I long for healthy wit, wisdom, and long lean legs. Never to be compliant but ready to welcome.
I want traffic, not in my life, but in the blog. I want words that curl up on my lap and force me to appreciate them.
I want a cat, confidence, longer summers. Shade, twinkle lights, and breakfast in bed. I want my apple close by and minimal distractions.
I want chocolate, dimes, and a literary agent. As if a waffle, I want you to want me, like I want you.
Bonfires, s’mores, bats, but without the rice flies. And I want Tony, I want him to come home, even though I hate the thought of destroying his dreams. The hell with dreams, I’m real!
I want movies, or the thought of movies, Cheaper by the Dozen II, and lots of popcorn. Fingers slick with melted butter, ice cold pepsi, cloth napkin. I want to weigh the same at the beginning of the week as I do at the end. Bahaha…
I want no clutter. That’s not true. I want cute clutter that remains dusted, charming, of service. Like blue mason jars, vintage ice buckets, scented candles, and succulents lounging in chipped tea cups. Never enough.
I want more birthdays, soft breezes, the reflection of the moon on the water, fast internet, and crisp bacon. Did I mention my Dad, gone too soon, he is my heart, never far from my thoughts. Oh how I miss his smile.
I want the words to land on the page in perfect order, as if a gentle rain, without the sweat, strain, or editing.
I’ve given a thousand kisses this week. I want more of Audrey, Sienna, and Cora, but oh how I enjoyed sleeping in this morning. Which reminds me of soft beds, soft sheets, soft pillows with a view of the lake. #Spoiled
Success is getting what you want. Happiness is wanting what you get. Dale Carnegie
I want to sit on the deck, wine in hand, laughter, listening the the chimes of people. Feeling the wind in my short hair, eyes following the flight of winged ones, heart melting with joy.
Is that too much to ask? I didn’t think so.
Ripples on the Surface
“Ripples on the surface of the water –
were silver salmon passing under – different
from the ripples caused by breezes”
A scudding plume on the wave –
a humpback whale is
breaking out in air up
gulping herring
– Nature not a book, but a performance, a
high old culture
Ever-fresh events
scraped out, rubbed out, and used, used, again –
the braided channels of the rivers
hidden under fields of grass –
The vast wild
the house, alone.
The little house in the wild,
the wild in the house,
Both forgotten.
No nature
Both together, one big empty house.
Gary Snyder
I’m Living in the Gap, drop by, we’ll compare our needs, wants, desires.
Once a month I write for Across the Board, don’t miss out, cross over any time.
Anecdotes:
- You’ve decided who I am, now it’s my turn.
- If you want rainbows you have to deal with the rain.
- For Nolan ~ I just want to say, good night, sweet prince, may flights of angels sing thee to thy rest. Harry Dean Stanton
Beautiful, Cheryl.
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Thank you Lisa, your comment made my day, so good to hear from you 💞
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Dear Admin,Greetings of the day. Thanks for sharing a worthwhile post which represents your creativeness. See: Variance TV Removal Guide and Best movers and packers in Salt Lake
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Dear Aaru, thanks for dropping by Living in the Gap and commenting. Glad you enjoyed the post.
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You are a beautiful writer and you have all the same wishes as me!
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Beautifully written. I too would love to sit on my porch, wine in hand, with no worries in the world!
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