My family went bowling together for the first time. As I had one of the kiddos on my lap and watched as the others took their turns, I felt so complete as a family.

It felt so right.

It’s a feeling that doesn’t come too often for us. Usually someone is unhappy for one reason or another.

It’s a feeling I will be holding onto for a while.

Parenting is hard. We all deserve to have these “glimmers” that allow us to feel like we are doing okay.

You are your own authority.

“Permission granted” is an illusion.

You are the genie in the bottle, and you’ve got to let yourself out.

Our truest nature is there for us to see if we are open to it.

And it is available for others if they are open to it.

Unfortunately, our eyes and hearts are clouded in a way that doesn’t allow us to see each other in our truest forms.

Who you are and who I am is quite clear when we remove the veils and stop filling in the blanks with our assumptions.

When there is no agenda and when there is no expectation, we can accept what we see.

My first home was the womb
Gentle hums of blood rushing
Comforting heart beating

Outside was turmoil
Shouting matches
Machine motors whirring

Inside, I was safe
Curled in the warm cocoon
Nourished with love and purpose

My childhood house
Yellow, creaky, full
Deep with memories

Home returned nightly
Falling asleep curled into my mother
Nuzzling her thigh as she read

Summer mornings were sweet
Cicadas welcomed the heat
Father caught one for us to fly on a thread

Older, home no longer is
No familiar heartbeat to fall asleep to
Only spirit to bring me cicada mornings

Now, home is me
Purpose driven keyboard smacking
Silence behind closed eyes

Now, home is us
Husband’s gentle snores
Morning kisses good-bye

Now, I am home
Sweet face curled into me
Heartbeat outside my body

Safe with mother and father
Trust in the familiar
One with the divine

That is home. 

(originally written March 10, 2016 as part of Jeanetter LeBlanc’s writing course)

If we aren’t working towards peace, what are we working towards then?

If we aren’t fighting for our children, and I mean all of our children, what are we fighting for then?

I feel ashamed because I can’t turn on the TV and watch the news clips of victims being pulled from rubble, mothers screaming as they hold their dead babies. I can’t read all of the Instagram posts that share stories of those who have perished, dreams no more.

Does that make me heartless? That I make the privileged choice not to subject myself to the images of death and destruction? That I make the choice to not expose myself to those scenes? Because if I do it too much, they will become normal to my system. And then I truly will be heartless.

And can I live in a body that finds death and destruction normal?

Do I want to live in a body that finds that normal?

I already live in a world that it is normal. Where the hurt inside has callused hearts so much that they can no longer feel. Where emotions are only elicited through stronger and stronger impetus.

There seems to be a fine line between the heartless and the heartful. One tragedy too many can bring you to the other side. From the outside, they may look similar, and I think it just means we are more similar than we are alike.