happy place.

happy place.
I hate that I still get nervous when you call.
Even after all these years, the butterflies are still there.
I hate that when I convince myself to forget and let go,
that stupid song comes on the radio, out of no where, for no reason!
I hate how when I think about the happiest time in my life
we are back on the road up the coast and driving through miles of smiling cows.
I even hate that my simple pleasures, my hobbies, all somehow lead me back to you
And remind me of the times I spent beading butterflies and prayer beads
Stuffing envelopes full of love and me
I hate that sometimes when I close my eyes and silence the noise in my life
I can hear your voice whispering “sweet baby” and feel goose bumps still.
Vividly I remember the scent of your skin in the morning pacific ocean air
And the places we were in, and the many stolen kisses under sunlight, moonlight
And everything in between.
I hate that I feel breathless and almost childish each time you paint me beautiful.
I seem to forget feeling anything but happily peaceful when I listen to your sighs.
I hate that no matter how much I say I hate these things
It never seems to change how I feel about you.
Most of all I hate that I know I can feel this way about someone
And be without them, missing them, and feeling jipped .
And to be completely honest I have never hated how I feel
Only that you’ve never known how much I hate that you are not here
That I am not there and that we are not on that road, looking at happy cows
And catching a glimpse of what happy looks and smells like…

Another original poem written over a year ago, edited, revised, and I think finished for now. A happy memory, and a happy place...how I wish I could smell that ocean air on the cliff..and wave at the happy cows on my way to the purest happy moment my heart has ever known....

Jesuis Aime'

(image: sunsurfer.tumblr.com)

the language of letting go.

Sometimes you just have to keep that past in it's place, so that you can remain in the present and keep hopeful of the future. No matter how deep the pain runs, how much the memories sting, we have to remember that it is now over. And while we can not change what has happened, we can learn, grow stronger, and overcome obstacles displaying the highest of our human potential. We have survived and lived to breath another day. We can forgive ourselves mostly, and learn to love and laugh again without fear. Perhaps scarred, and a  little bruised, but always knowing that we made it through and can find our spirits reborn from anguish to shine brighter. I'll be completely honest, I didn't use to think this. I would hear it said more times that I care to repeat. But it took what it took, and finally I felt and believed these words in my bones. I felt myself rising from ashes not to forget the mess I made, but to understand that in that bloody mess, I found myself. I was able to take my own hand and walk out of the tunnel shining my own flashlight to the end. I was able to quiet mini storms of my regrets, doubts, anger and fears in order to listen to the tiny voice inside my heart, I had forgotten was there. When all is said and done, I can now say that I helped save myself, purely out of my own recognition of self worth and love. I also owe infinite thanks to the many hands that silently and invisibly kept me from failing too deep, that created pockets of love around every part of my being. From the birds in the trees singing morning songs about new days, to the leaves blowing freely on the wings of the wind, to the sweet purity in my nephew's laughter. I realized how small the chaos was in the grander scheme of things. My bad days were lessons in humility I had left to learn. And just as I once read, it may not always come wrapped in a pretty bow, but LIFE still remains and will always be a gift.

Jesuis Aime'