Journal Entry 1
Winter morning.
Ah, my backyard. The mundaneness and wildness dissatisfy me to no end, yet it draws me here quite consistently.
Dreams of taming the wood-fenced sandpit spurn me to visions of a self-sustaining utopia, but lack of finances (and always a lack of time) force the changes to be minuscule and somewhat unnoticeable.
I should be recovering from the mental onslaught that is college algebra, but God answered my desperate and fear-filled prayers with weather that, as usual, forces this southern state to shut down in anticipation of an icy armageddon. The world wakes up with hopes of a thick blanket of crippling ice, but the reality is that we've received heavier frosts.
The determining factor in whether I drive anywhere or not is if my dogs slip as they rush out the back door to relieve bladders. This morning was no different than the last. Maybe they could smell the chill as I opened the door for them; maybe the arctic air that rushed in at their feet was enough to tame the call of nature -to remind them that despite their four legs, despite their animal instincts, the blankets and pillows on the couches would be much warmer.
They are spoiled, and therefore, not rushed, so no one slips.
Even now, all I can see is eyeballs emerging from the corners; buried in piles of plush blankets, fluffed on newly mangled pillows; my companions, my babies wait for me.
The weather has afforded me a few extra hours to catch up on some reading for tomorrow, but the window beckons.
My fear with returning to school was losing my mornings, the time where my brain flows in its most creative mode. Mornings remind me of the beauty of life, the perseverance of life, regardless of our best efforts to control every moment of it. Mornings are my worship, and sometimes that worship responds.
As the mornings slip away, so too, the words that flow from grey matter to hands, hands to pen, pen to paper.
If it is necessary that I travel during this creative time, I am naked if I leave my house without any one of my trillion notebooks. (Should I die tomorrow, I pray that my husband and closest friends could find all I've written, and miraculously publish it all, hopefully to the end of providing the Waldenesque life my husband so desires.)
This particular morning, and the extra time it has awarded me, are giving way and releasing the looming clouds of frustration; offering as a peace-treaty with my inner battle, clarity for all I'm involved in. Whispers of purpose, and all things tying together, no matter how brief, give me new excitement for the next few months of my life. Sure, I'll be busy, and sure, I'm really going to have to prioritize what needs to be done. Those thoughts, those things that are new to my schedule that have a tendency to overwhelm me, cannot find a stronghold in my thinking on a morning like today.
There is a god in heaven, and he is merciful, if only for the reason that of all my reading assignments, and all my projects, and all the (forced) paper assignments to write, there is one class that requires a journal. Be still my heart! The creative juices will not be dammed up this semester!
The damp, the cold, the slick outside can't crush my spirits this morning, as they are usually able to. The lack of unobstructed sunlight outside doesn't matter today, for the morning shares revelation in brief moments, snapshots of purposes, and big picture understanding, which all make way for the light to emanate from me today; giving me the intestinal fortitude to press on and not give up. I can't control the weather, but every once in a while, I can let the weather not control me.
I should be reading about Hinduism right now. As fascinating as it is, or some think it should be, nothing beats the call of the backyard.
It has the familiarity of home. Consistency. Convenience partnered with purpose, so to be useful and enjoyed, all at the same time.
But it always shows me something different. Some days it shows me peace, other days it shows me possibility; in itself, and in the world around me.
Darkness and light both speak to me in the backyard.
The trees erupting from beyond the fence, although never losing leaves, serve as a surprising canvas that changes almost daily. As much as I claim to hate the long-leaf pines of North Carolina, they continue to surprise me; gracing me with new perspectives, never in my face but always there; stoic in that no matter which birds land in their branches, which animals rub and destroy their lower barks, or which machines run into them by accident, they remain. Quiet. Strong. Growing. Such a combination that seems inevitable for the natural world, but so nearly impossible for humanity.
If only I could be so quiet, that pride and arrogance would never plague me. To be so strong that small things could rest on me, or big things run into me, and remain undamaged. To be growing, patiently, rolling with what's thrown at me, strengthening my roots, forming my shape, but not determining my identity.
The beauty of the trees is what I'd like to see in me. It's easy to see it in them; they aren't corrupted by arrogance, polluted by free will... But, in the hindsight perspective of the life I've lived, how much fun would life be without those things?
My morning ponderings reveal greater truths, things my soul needs to be reminded of. This new phase of my life, this midlife return to academia, is a means to an end, albeit an end I may not see clearly yet.
The morning shows me what it is. Enduring, persevering. I can imagine myself there. Morning reminds me of the experiences of my life that have made me enduring, experiences where necessity showed me that I too can persevere.
The morning also shows me that she will always be the morning, no matter what we wake up to: snow, ice, rain, warm, cold, sweltering, wind, calm. She is the morning. The things that adorn her don't make her any different that what she is, she is morning.
I am reminded, thankfully, that I am who I am, too. That no matter what I do in this life, it is merely a decoration; an adornment. It doesn't change who I am at the core.
Surrounded by youth, and those who share their wealth of knowledge with a corner of the world willing to pay for it, I am glad that this reminder of who I am came early in my academic journey.
I am not plagued by a need to belong, so the usual calls of campus student life have no appeal to me. Teacher's pet is no use to me either, for so much identity is lost in trying to be some one's favorite, not to mention exhausting.
I am, however, a common ground person. No matter the relationship, I try to find, and build on, common ground. I have to remind myself that this isn't a "me-jump-into-your-world" exercise, because that only works when both parties in the relationship are willing to go all in into the life of the other. There's an intimacy, a trust, and a deeper friendship; a brethren, kindred spirit kind of dynamic that I really don't think will surface in this place, with these people, in this period of my life. Well, as far as I can tell; it is, after all, only the third day of classes.
Do I approach my new assignment as a period of time where I glean everything I can, or do I embrace who I am in this; learning as I go, rolling with the punches, growing, staying humble, and keeping quiet...
My answer is written in the morning.
Be who you are. That cannot, nor will it ever, change.
But enjoy the adornments, for they will come and go.
The sheet of ice melts, the water drips from the roof, and morning fades into afternoon.
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