THEN: August 4,2006
“I have been thinking a lot about what one (that one being me) writes about on a blog. Is it a journal? Is it a conversation? Is it an anonymous exercise of hide and seek for the soul? It brings to mind millions of bottles floating out on an ocean of ideas, desires, interests hoping to find a safer harbour.” I think it is going to be very much about me, my thoughts, my struggles, my need to articulate the conflicting feelings I have about my life as such.
It seems the rest of my life is so filled with the needs of others and yet somehow I seem to smear it all with my me-ness, maybe there is too much me going around, and spilling over the edges which is tainting all the rest and this is a way of pouring it out in a less “yelling-my-head-off” kind of way.
Excerpts from: What this blog is to me
Again: July 21, 2015
I like that line: “It brings to mind millions of bottles floating out on an ocean.”
Isn’t that what we all are essentially – little bottles floating about filled with messages of want, need, desire, hope, loss, anger, frustration – all hoping to be found, to be pick, and to be heard. I feel like I am bobbing along wanting to be heard, to be seen, to be picked and welcomed.
There is risk involved in this – risk in being not picked, not heard, rejected or worse ridiculed. I fear these things and have consequently kept myself to myself, all neat and safe.
But here I am again feeling compelled to throw my little bottles out on the ocean to see who might find them, who might be in need of those little messages, who might find understanding, acceptance, and who might echo back to me the messages I need in return.
Also: I hear the fear and frustration in my previous words – struggles, conflicting, taint, edges, yelling – and I want to reach back and reassure her, that other me, and help her to look around and see the good happening at her feet, to feel the love which hums all around her, to help her live in the moment. I believe I often did but I think I also let fret and worry “taint” it.
I won’t tell her that she will one day miss it, time will do what it does without my cursing it before it happens. I do miss those little hands, those full-bodied hugs which turned into 20 minute snuggles on the couch – four sets of elbows and knees, legs and arms, bodies, voices clamouring at me at once. I long to hold their little faces in my hands, to swing them up onto a hip and dance around the living room. I am forever in “her” debt that she took the time to do that – I live on those memories. They will feed the empty lap years I have ahead.
So I will not tell her that, I will thank her and hug her and tell her she can do this – well. And they will be happy and they will forgive, she will forgive. She can and will find her core and it will thrive. I want her to know.
That is what this blog is for me…now.