Skip to main content

Getting to know yourself isn't some mountain you summit, after much toil and work, to finally look out beyond the vista of self, comforted by the height.  Nope.  It is a constant evolution, a tearing down of false ideals and a relinquishment of protections and walls no longer needed.  It is a constant flow, ebbing in and out, in and out, encompassing the flow of human thought and experience, ebbing in and out, in and out.  Somehow, with time, perhaps we learn to identify with the spacious holding that scaffolds the ebb and flow.  Perhaps, with time, we can just behold the splendor without a thousand little judgments and comparisons.  For now, I learn daily how to be humble in the face of my own stumbling ignorance and baffling splendor, of my insecurities and trivialities, of myself.  One of the beauties of growing is that I am becoming acutely aware of how little I really know, how much I actually talk, how little I often say and how desperately humans want to connect and how terrified they are to do so.  There is no summit in sight and yet I am learning to enjoy the landscape: a flower rising from the floor its face upturned in blossom, a bird song, the drift of a leaf on breeze, laughter dancing, the wind playing in the grass, an embrace, a moment of love, the details.  I suppose, in someways, that is learning to lean back on the water of Life, relax and simply FLOAT.

Comments

Ariel Julie said…
Hi Angelina!
I found my way to your so-called narcissistic family blog (all blogs are kind of narcissistic, right?) and am admiring the beauty of your photography and your family. I can't believe we've never met in person - my mom talks about you, and about Bodhi, all the time - but your personality and his jump right off the computer screen. I hope his arm is feeling better. That photo of his poor beat up face made me a little teary. Mark takes a lot of spills, but so far no serious injuries - knock on wood!
Thank you so much for the lovely colorful castoffs - like getting a package full of tropical plumage! Dresses and skirts are so much better for the Atlanta heat, but in addition to that anything bright and sparkly can make a big difference at a time when the mental clouds are weighing down. So again, thank you.
I wish you and your boys the very best with the beginning of school. Mark's starting real preschool in September - I have to say I wish he were at Children's Garden!
Ariel
Angelina Lloyd said…
I suppose I would take it one step further and say that the human condition is narcisstic, always looking at life through the distortion of our own reflection. I too have heard about you for years and am surprised that we have never met...eventually we will. Until then, enjoy motherhood and the brilliance of the moment amidst the chaotic busy of life in motion.
Blessings

Popular posts from this blog

Coraggio

When everything looks bleak and the darkness cramps against the cold, it takes courage to simply look out from imagined isolation toward the wide horizon of beauty available in every moment.  It takes courage to lean into the sea of life and trust the tide. When weary limbs no longer support us, it takes courage to trust our inner buoyancy and float.  It takes courage, in the face of darkness, to remember the light and sit in all our apparent blindness and listen, silently, to the still, small whisper within.  It takes courage, in that dark hour, when nothing else remains.  Eyes closed.  Eyes opened.  A glimpse, a memory, a fleeting vision of a light so bright it blurs the borders of things seen and things perceived into a comprehensive wholeness of being.  It takes courage.

tree digging

Yes, I know it doesn't look like much.  It was only about 5 inches in diameter and 8 feet tall.  The root ball was no more than 3 feet deep.  But it was a sweet red-bud tree that we planted the year Bodhi was born, his placenta was buried in it's roots and like many of the trees in our neighborhood, it died (see this post to understand why) . I can't say that I mourned its death in a tangible way, rather it produced in me a sort of unnameable melancholy.  I am a woman who loves the spring.  I nearly live for it.  When the first signs of life emerge like a haze of hope, I drink in green with the passion of a desert crawling woman sipping at an oasis.  I gorge.  This year has been hard.  Our neighborhood isn't leafing out in native splendor, instead the tired trees seem to begrudge the effort, only offering a tender shoot or bud occasionally.  The north side of many trees appear to have given up all together, too tired after a long winter...

grief

Grief is defined as a deep or intense sorrow. I have been thinking a lot about grief, about it's wide and sticky reach, about the watery quality of it's absorption and the agonizing effort of swimming to shore. Intense sorrow happens. It is a part of life. Yet we press against it. We try to eradicate it. How? We encapsulate our grief in a story, thus effectively removing us from the immediacy of the pain. The mind promises salvation and begins to tell a story, over and over and over. We listen to the inner ramblings, the constant diatribe, the neurotic attempt to avoid the experience. When someone is hurting we listen to their story, we talk about it, we recount our own story, but we certainly don't jump in the waters of sadness, instead we sit on the bank of our familiar longing. Once, when I was floundering in deep grief, my youngest brother knelt next to me and held me for over an hour. He didn't speak. He didn't commiserate. He just jumped in the ...