Letters to Tuvia#175 Trying to Make Sense of This Life(3-13-16)

Tuv R,

It’s Sunday night back home over the Hudson and I’m coming down from a long weekend away.  I spent a lot of my time in the cozy room in the photos above trying to stay awake and be present even when my head was heavy with ache.  Surrounded by a loving community, engaged in the quest to make sense of the lives we lead,  we worked hard together.  I’m glad that by next week I’ll be back, sitting across from Sandie unpacking my  powerful experience on the mat.

At the moment, I’m back in my pjs digesting and catching up on American Idol and our strange world of politics. I am anchored on my couch anticipating what the white wall in front of me will be transformed into tomorrow when a new wall unit will be assembled by West Elm pros before my eyes.  I have boxes of my CD, Dvd, even VHS tapes from past lives  to hold on to or dump. Of course you would land on the DUMP IT ALL side. Me, not so fast.  Let’s see what happens tomorrow when familiar pieces get to live in a new space and offer me fresh perspectives.

Fresh perspectives… hmmm…   I like that.  Maybe I’m back from Shalom Mountain with an invitation to consider what can be exciting about life as I don’t know it… with you somewhere near… I keep returning to this poem… maybe it’s always been my mantra when it comes to us…

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in 
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere 
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done 
by only me is your doing,my darling) 
                                                      i fear 
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want 
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true) 
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant 
and whatever a sun will always sing is you 
here is the deepest secret nobody knows 
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud 
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows 
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide) 
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart 
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
ee cummings
Shout out to my Fellow Slicers:
Please send me a picture of the writing space that gets your creative juices flowing…


10 thoughts

  1. Hope the head cold is on the down side of its being. It’s hard to concentrate when breathing is a challenge. Your room looked comfy, but was the furniture really low? Sleep well in your own place tonight, my friend.

  2. Reflection is a practiced art Bonnie. It shines in your words as always. New meaning to life? Well, if it means shining a light into places then that’s a real positive.

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"writing is the painting of the voice" -Voltaire-

Tammy L. Breitweiser

short fiction writer * PUSH Community leader

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