Saturday Notebook
Posted on | August 27, 2006 |
The autumnal bird migrations have begun, and last night we watched them fly across the golden sky, each bird a small winged fleck of gratitude. I am alive. Yet my heart aches at the loss, and at the wonderment of my own self preservation. Like Penelope, I keep returning to the spool of memory, unraveling each moment of terror again and again. The mistaken stitches of “what if” tangle the tapestry of these moments.
I breathe. I sleep. I carry the loss of life and injury in a fragile compartment next to my heart, each moment grateful, each moment heartbroken. And then I remember to be right here.
No farther than this moment with birds spiraling up into the evening sky. No farther than their flight of air and feathers, silhouettes against the bright balloons of hedonists, drinking the good beauty of the day drawing to a close.
Then I breathe again. I breath in air sweet with drying hay, and leaves turning hue. Again I am learning how to bow at the alter of the moment. Again I am learning that now is all I have.
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16 Responses to “Saturday Notebook”
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August 27th, 2006 @ 9:13 pm
I’m glad you’re okay - and am continually astonished at the way you create beauty from every moment of life. Thank you for your words and images.
August 27th, 2006 @ 9:15 pm
Oh, Christina … such beautiful, sweet words.
August 27th, 2006 @ 9:27 pm
No words, just love and hope and support from 3,039 miles away.
August 27th, 2006 @ 9:35 pm
Whatever it is, I am so, so sorry.
August 27th, 2006 @ 10:00 pm
Now is all I have… I am taking those words as my new mantra. So sad about what happened, but glad to have these words as a reminder of the important things.
August 27th, 2006 @ 10:35 pm
it’s eye opening to see someone who I perceive to live in the moment- commit to living in the moment. The altar of now is an amazing concept and should be your next book;)
I do not know what has transpired- can only imagine the possibilities- each of them terrifying.
i send you thoughts of comfort and well being.
August 27th, 2006 @ 11:17 pm
My heart is going out to you, Christina. I can’t imagine what happened, but I’m horrified and sad for you and for those who suffered around you too. You’re in my prayers…
August 27th, 2006 @ 11:47 pm
I have nearly no words for you, just a heart full of love and wonder. I can’t tell you how thankful I continue to be. And I pray for you as I fall asleep.
August 28th, 2006 @ 6:52 am
When I read some news recently I thought of you and wondered if that was your region…I’m very sorry at what has happened, it seems, so close to home.
August 28th, 2006 @ 6:54 am
Dearest Kindred Artist Mama,
I read about what happened in the Associated Press…at least, I think it’s what you are referring to. Terrifying! As a survivor of a horror of another sort my heart is with yours. I send healing thoughts your way.
~Wendy
also at wendycook.com
August 28th, 2006 @ 7:25 am
Again, sending you good energy — and thanking you for a reminder to cherish our lives…
August 28th, 2006 @ 11:26 am
Oh wow, Christina - I don’t even know what to say. I can’t imagine how frightening that must have been for you, your family and community. I wish you the best in dealing with this tragedy and will be thinking of you.
August 28th, 2006 @ 4:01 pm
I still don’t know the nature of the trauma, but it’s not mine to know, only mine to say I hope there will be healing for all involved, and that I am so happy that you and your family are ok.
August 28th, 2006 @ 5:13 pm
Again I am learning how to bow at the alter of the moment. Again I am learning that now is all I have. Thank you for that. Thank you for helping me keep my eyes open. A huge huge hug from me to you.
August 28th, 2006 @ 5:15 pm
C, please feel me wrap my arms around you. Sending big love from London. ck
August 29th, 2006 @ 9:20 am
Again, I am compelled to comment…I read often, but have only commented twice. Your mindfulness and awareness of the fragility of life is so deeply inspiring to me. I’m so sorry to hear of your tragic experience…Your words and images have moved me, and given me the gift of noticing my own life–if only for a moment.