Mindful Musings #218

mindful-musings

Feeling trapped.

Fingers numb from clawing

Lungs burning from lack of oxygen.

All within a prison made of glass.

Now the water rises.

Slowly, carefully

Swallowing from the bottom up.

Trembling from fear

Gives way to sweet defeat.

Exhaustion envelops like a blanket.

Soothing the pain.

Covering the wounds.

Darkness descends

And there is only black.

 

Mindful Musings #215

mindful-musings

It’s that dangerous time of year

When the ice thaws

And the snow melts.

What dangers lurk beneath the not-so-pristine blanket

That has covered us for 6 long months?

Careful, careful

Look where you step.

Beware the warmer temperatures

That taunt you on the forecast.

Half of them might be lies

Or wishful thinking.

Here in the Great White North

Mother Nature teases us with sunshine

Framed in by blizzards.

Think twice before you leave your house.

Bring a scarf, toque and gloves

Just in case. 

Mindful Musings #214

She hides the pain

Behind the smiles in her eyes.

She covers herself in beauty

To hide the ugliness inside.

Covered up in colours

That wash away the darkness.

Breathing slowly

Softly

Deeply

Until the agony resets

And she can dance through the night

Guided only by the stars.

Mindful Musings #213

mindful-musings

It stands before me:

Daunting

An insurmountable thing.

Fear curls its icy tendrils

Around my heart

As the panic sets in.

Deep breaths, now.

In

Out.

Four times for good measure.

Eyes open, surveying the obstacle before me.

Deep breaths, now.

In

Out.

Four times for good measure.

Dig deep down inside.

Grab that perseverance.

Grab it tighter than the fear grips you.

And begin to climb.

 

Mindful Musings #212

mindful-musings

It’s almost been ten long years

Since we met;

Since we loved.

When thoughts of you cross my mind

I have come to realize

That I could no longer recognize your voice.

Time has taken these pieces

And tossed them into the universe.

Now you are a tiny speck of sand,

Of dust,

A crumb on the trail

That I have left behind.

Mindful Musings #211

mindful-musings

Can you breathe?

The icy air constricts your lungs.

Every breath is raw.

Can you breathe?

Nostrils freeze closed only to be forced open by oxygen.

Cheeks flush red as the wind whips harshly across them.

Can you breathe?

This frozen winter air begets a winter wonderland

As the season stretches on and on.

Can you breathe?

Born From a Tree, Like Most Nuts

Children just keep getting older. And with that age comes more questions. Some of the questions are difficult to answer, like my son asking me about my parents.

He’s going to be seven in 3 months. It’s only natural that after being exposed to his grandparents on his father’s side and the other family on that side that he’d wonder about mine. He’s asked before, but I’ve managed to successfully dodge answering it.

Simply telling him that I do not have parents seems to have worked so far. He asks about my grandparents and to that question I will reply. But I have no parents.

No parents worth talking about.

Why tell my young child about the man who comes in and out of my life like a ghost? The one who I have made the decision to disconnect from because it caused me too much heartache to watch him father other children? He has not been a father to me for longer than he has been a father. He has a new family now and I want to be happy for him and support him. I fear that my constant need for validation would only cause him pain, so to him I have bid good-bye.

Why tell him about the woman who teeters dangerously on the edge of sanity? The woman who had been a great mother until something inside her snapped and everything disintegrated around us? This is not a person who would be a good role model for him: she has nothing to teach him. From her mouth spew lies and suffering. I will not subject him to that.

So I tell my child that I was born from a tree, like most nuts. He’s too young to quite understand how that is funny but it seems to satisfy him when he asks.

I want to tell him of my family; of his heritage. How his great-grandparents grew up in British ruled India and went to boarding school. How we are Anglo-Indian and that’s why we look so white. Of the reason his mother loves rice and parathas. How his grandparents flew from India to England, and then took a boat from England to Canada. How his great-grandparents on the paternal side of me weren’t really in the picture, but seemed to have an awkward kindness about them. How disconnected I have always been from that side of my life. How he has an uncle who would probably spoil him to pieces although that uncle probably doesn’t even know he exists because of poor decisions on everyone’s part.

These things I can tell him once he grows; once he is ready to listen and perhaps understand.

grow