Skip to main content

Not sobbing. Just streaming tears.



For my friend, D. 


Arms stretched forward, heels together, and legs reaching the outer edges of my towel, 
I close my eyes, breathing, listening to the sound of my breath, 
paying attention to its cadence, to its depth. 
With each breath, my chest would rise and fill, my spine lifting and releasing. 

My body is alive beneath me - no it's actually vibrating.  
There is just too much stimuli. Too many thoughts. 
Too many things to do. Too many questions. Too many doubts. 
Child's Pose - a total surrender - a total shut down of my nervous system
to cradle it back to life.   

Breath comes in. Breath leaves.  Body lifts, then lowers, lifts, then lowers.  
My chest falls closer to the bathroom floor. 
Knees widening as the weight of my body pushes its way through
this barrier of bones, tissue and muscle,
submitting to the the floor, free falling with each breath. 

The tears start to come. No they are streaming now.  And I am breathing.  
I don't stop them. What's the use? They need to fall.  I need them to fall.  
 They are my body's way of letting go of what's deep inside.
They tell the story of my life,
my wishes, my hopes, my dreams, my fears . . . 

They are the questions that come from a place so deep;
I am ashamed to admit that after all this time, all this work, they are still there.
When will the questions stop?  When the tears do?
Those questions of whether I am good enough. 
The voices that tell me that I am not smart enough
(I am not crazy. You hear voices in your head too.
 You just don't want to admit it.  That's why you are a pompous ass.) 

The tears stream, and my chest heaves and falls with my breath. 
I am not sobbing. Just streaming tears. 

It's been 15 minutes now, I think, 
based on the number of songs that have played on my iPhone.  
And I am still breathing. Still sinking.
Not sobbing.  Just streaming tears.  
Just breathing. Not thinking.  Listening to my breathe. 
Feeling it move in and out of my body.
Not sobbing. Just streaming tears. 

Feeling the contraction of my belly and spine. 
Feeling the wave of this ocean as it passes over me,
washing me to and fro . . . 
thrashing my body
as if it were a feather -
weightless, lifeless, formless . . .

45 minutes now . . . 
my belly now on the floor,
legs wide, toes touching, 
shoulder's square, arms back, hands resting at my heels. 
Resting on the side of my head,
my eyes still closed . . . 
my hips are screaming now, and tears are streaming still - 
I am breathing. I am still here.  
The world has finished turning and I am still here. 
Still alive.
Not sobbing.  Just streaming tears. 

 I carefully place my hands under my shoulders, 
gently pushing myself away from the comfort of the hardwood floor, 
coaxing my knees back inside my body, 
squaring my hips. 
They ache.  (That's the best part.) 

 I open my eyes.  Adjust for reality. The door bell is ringing.  
Dogs are barking. People are yelling my name.  
Life resumes.
Not sobbing. Just streaming tears.  


Popular posts from this blog

A Shoe Story

Why. I really don't know most days.


Every day, I stand back and look upon my creation and I think how surreal this life is. I find myself wondering, and being asked by others, how I ended up here in this place that I never intended to be. The owner of a shoe store.  Not just any shoe store, but the shoe store that literally has carried me through my life.  And here I am.  In the place between here are there.  On the precipice of my own making once again . . .

February 1, 2016, I walked into a 29 year old retail business known then as Zoe's Boutique.  Aside from a brief stint at Kristy Allen in the 80's, as a sales person, I had never worked a day of retail in my life. I did not have a point of sale machine, or any of the tools that I needed.  No accounting system. No bookkeeping system. No inventory system, just a list of inventory counted and recorded not more than two days earlier. I had a plan to reinvent this business, from the brand up. To breathe new life into this …

On Laughter and Forgetting

Dear Page 48,

Hello, it's me again.
Six years now.
How time has flown.
Not really.
It has actually been very hard for me.
I wish I could say it has been easy.
That freedom is great and was worth every single moment of humiliation that I endured that day and many days after.
The truth is, you hurt me in a way nobody else ever has.
I have tried to put you where you belong, which is nowhere in my life. I wish I had never met you. I wish you had not been in my life. But wishing is not real.  What's real is that for some reason, you were there, and then I was there, and the rest has been my history, because I imagine you have not spent a second thinking about what you have done.

I remember the first encounter on that day in a room full of people, when you questioned why I was even there.  I stood there, waiting for the person who actually placed me there to respond. Looking back, on that day, I wish I had walked away, but I trusted in my leaders, as I aways had, that their i…

50 over 50

These are things I know for sure.
That time is finite
That beauty is subjective
That every day
 both time and beauty
as it was defined mere seconds ago
changes.
That life is too short to fade away into the background of time.
That life is too short not to ask for what you want, and expect it.
That life is too short to wait, and wish.
That there is a price to pay, but the time spent wishing is a greater loss.
otherwise I know
nothing.