Being born into this world, we step into an enormous round and spinning clock.
We are timeless, yet we agree to play by the minutes and the hours, the days and years, the rising and falling of tides, the spinning sun and the orbiting moon. We agree to begin and end, to bumble recklessly into birthing and dying. We are pulled on by the seasons, the gravity, the breaking down of our matter – you can date our bones, after we are gone and tell when we were animated. We feel the planets constantly pulling tricks on us with cycles of discomfort and harmony. We agree to marry change.
Living near the coast is still so cool to me; the breathing of the earth is palpable in the rising and falling of her waters. The tides were so evident when I lived on a boat. All day long, my living area was rising or falling, except for those few tender moments at the top or the bottom where all was still for about 30 minutes. Some part of me probably still registers this cycle, deep in a seawater womb within.
When arriving at the beach, I must see where the water is meeting the sand; its position is a lucy goose clock, a conversation starter; is it coming in or going out I set to many walking by? Most shrug; who cares? I am blatantly ignoring the phone app for tide schedules, here. I love the unknowing of such things, yet setting out for a stroll requires this information; at high tide, some parts the beach become inaccessible. This island is always shifting; where once the beach was eroding, now it may be growing.
Lately, I’ve been feeling the pull of a longer cycle, less daily than the tide, but more seasonal…decennial even.
Tick, tock; where am I now? Is the tide coming in or going out?
In one small moment, I see the tides have shifted recently here in the cycling of my life. I am somewhere new – a new section of the clock countdown of my life as marga. It has been coming; it was marked on the calendar, but the actual playing out of it, this transition, came in a moment no one saw but me.
As a parent, as the tide is shifting toward adulthood, that movement can be difficult to detect. Chloe not only has the strings to my heart memorized, she also, at times, can play the notes of a song that shifts the responsibility to me for everything from the chores to her happiness to the meaning of life, overall. When does it, this life, become fully hers?
Independence is occurring from the minute breath says GO! Gradually, gradually, until, whoosh. Where am I?
We were finishing up our meal of take-out Thai a week or so ago when Chloe became determined that I should watch a tv show that she likes. We watched the first episode of “House of Cards,” until about 1/2 way through, when I realized that we had not cleaned up our meal.
I began to go to the kitchen when Chloe put her hand on my back and said, “I’ve got this. I want you to just watch the show.” She cleaned up the kitchen herself.
Why did this small gesture feel so big?
I know at 18 many would say, of course she can clean a kitchen by herself, and yes, she can and does, but it was the way she chose to do it, with love and care that marked some sort of shifting, with her focus, her kindness.
I am full of clichés, today. Might as well finish with a few more – Summer hints of fall. A rising tide lifts all boats. To everything there is a season. Maybe a purpose to everything under heaven, but more likely, every every every thing is an excuse to bring out the ukelele, devil cape, and red pumps, I am inclined to say 🙂
Life as Improv 
It seems to me that there are these moments, and I do mean just the briefest fragments of time, when our relationship with our personal world shifts irrevocably. Something breaks in a flash; it shatters irreparably. It might be an emotional bond, a cherished notion of identity or self-construct, or our role and purpose amongst family or peers. We know in an instant that something has changed forever, our supposed truth fell through a sliding floor we never imagined to exist.
I think of gently confronting my father on issues of authority with just a handful of words, of watching my mother die, of seeing my son walk up the aisle to get married, of experiencing nature as love, of seeing myself as nature, of gazing into the bright blue eyes of an arahant, of forgetting a thing and seeing only form and colour, of noticing a footstep create a world, a turning handle turning my hand, a tree tree-ing whilst my mind laughed at me me-ing like the fool I always was.
With love.
Hariod. ❤
You so magnificently remind me of what seems to attract me to the type of art found on your pages – the abstraction of colors, shapes hits closer to perceiving than realism – whatever that is…My writing is full of perceived roles and ideas that are crumbling into new shapes that are also peeling off and flying into the sky. The snippets of your life touch me deeply – especially the point of forgetting and seeing only form and colour, I am grateful to interact with thee, remembering with you me the fragments of fool fooling and laughter laughing; such collages these eyes do see and ears do hear.
xo! marga
Thank you Marga, for your words and for A.W. H. ❤
Now you see, Hariod? I knew you were a poet.
(Sorry to interrupt)
Michael
Hi there Michael, great to have you join us at this cyber-intersection courtesy of Marga. Do you think I should try my hand at writing a poem or two then? I think I would have to do so whilst holding my arms high in an admission of fraudulent conduct. As a signifier of my creative status, I could, I suppose, title my blog ‘Embarrassing Forever’. 😳
I think you should. Definitely. And I will offer the contrarian view this evening, (as regards your putative poetic skill), for I will be standing at the ready to take notes and revel in amazement at the banquet of beauty and wisdom life has seen fit to set upon my path.
Michael
❤ ❤ ❤
This is all one great big love-in here at Marga’s isn’t it Alison? Tell you what, there’s nothing outmoded in that. Love and peace to you and Don from over here in little England. ❤
Beautiful marga. Beautiful beautiful. This especially “Chloe not only has the strings to my heart memorized, she also, at times, can play the notes of a song that shifts the responsibility to me for everything from the chores to her happiness to the meaning of life, overall. When does it, this life, become fully hers?” Exquisite writing.
To continue in Hariod’s vein – the moments when something irrevocably changed – my mother did/said something and instead of shrinking/cringing as I would have in the past I was awake enough to tease her about it and it made her laugh, the memory of it as I write almost brings tears to my eyes and the wish we could have had more moments like that, the time I went to Europe for 5 weeks and cried every night instead of sleeping because I knew without a doubt that I hadn’t gone anywhere, the completely shattering moment when I understood the eternal nature of being – eternity is a long time!, the time I finally got my feet not just literally but spiritually and energetically fully on the ground. And so many more. The shifting tides. The marriage to change. love love love.
I understand the magnitude of Chloe’s gesture even thought I’ve never had children, and never had such grace at her age. perhaps that’s why I understand its magnitude. Lucky marga. Lucky Chloe.
Alison ❤ ❤ ❤
Oh what an amazing share, that moment when suffering turns to laughter – a damn wall releasing into a flood of laughter/tears! We have had many such turn a bouts with both of my daughters this year. Some old buttons have been turning into comedy spoofs of our former selves. Your epiphany cries in Europe – I am curious about when this occurred in your life cycle – I love to hear unfolding stories for they are so much the same but flavored so beautifully with individuality too – Alison remembering immensity and relearning to walk upon the ground. What a poem you are! Thank you for understanding the smallness and immensity of this moment with Chloe; to be able to share with you – a gift, an answer to prayer, beyond my ability to grasp! Lucky Alison. Lucky Don! lucky me. xo! m
The epiphany in Europe about 8 yrs ago I think, I would have been about 56. The sands shifted. It really was like having the rug pulled out from under my feet and I went flying whirling tumbling in confusion terror and bliss
❤ ❤ ❤
I too have been hearing the tick, tick, tick of time passing. I hadn’t thought about that oceanic connection, even though I too live near the sea.
Those moments marked by my children have memorialized and sanctified the passages.
With one child launched into adulthood and the other clambering behind, it may be something else I too feel ticking, ticking, ticking. Will they be off on their own soon? So soon?
Time just is, and noticing it makes it real.
Sounds like we are in similar life spots, Vincent. Just packed up Chloe for college and Eden has a small bit of time left before her launch. So soon! As we enter a new phase, yet again, I see the lessons and joy wrapping up into a great comic strip series.
I like your observation of time, how small your words, but large in concept – Perceiving Time is a rabbit hole I fall down often! I am buzzing like a mosquito next to the stillness of a tree, and very tree-like am I to the mosquito. Wishing you beautiful sunsets over that Ocean on your side! xo! marga
Ah, yes, these small gestures that are so big! My 19 year-old returns to college tomorrow, but there were numerous times this summer when I asked her to help make supper, and she was so casual in each yes – as if she’s always been willing to help. She gave it no thought and just popped up and started helping. Where did this girl come from?
These leaps are magical. I wish my mom were alive so I could ask her how she felt about my leaps. But I suppose she felt the same as you and I feel.
But before I could click “Post Comment,” I hear her say as she’s packing – at the last minute! – “Am I going to brush my hair tomorrow morning? Nah.” I’m sure the brush was just thrown in a box or suitcase. Two steps forward into adulthood, one step back into adolescence.
It’s all good.
I think it was the packing up and moving of Chloe into her college dorm for her freshman year that had me marking transition – so great to hear of the same sort of dynamics with your college girl. It is all good, brushed hair or not, what lovely, tender glimpses into your world, mirroring mine. Heart send for your launch into study as well! (if that is still a go) xo! marga
Hard to say who feels more fear and excitement when a child goes to college. I still see that look in Karen’s eyes when it was time to leave her. Still feel the lump in my throat and burning in my heart over having to walk out of the dorm room and then drive away. Yet it was 2 years ago. Now it feels like routine. This year (yesterday) she moved into an apartment = another marking transition.
My launch into grad school is still a go. In 2 days, in fact. I am ready. Eager. Ready for the shift toward more Kelly and less Mom. Being a stay at home mom was one of the most important blessings I ever wanted and have ever received, but I have also withered on the vine. I am ready to blossom. Yet hoping to find the sweet spot where I become Kelly as Kelly, rather than as another role.
Hear hear to Kelly as Kelly, whose blossoming never ends; your fragrance is ever present! Mom, student, flower, all the clothes we put on are see-through as we move along and costume change according to our own pleasure. I’ve played many of the same roles, but no one really labeled me but me along the way, I’ve come to see lately – great freedom in the disrobing! do you dare to show up in two days stark raving naked?
So much launching in your world! Thank you for letting me enjoy the transitions with you – sending you great big squeezes! xo! m
As you know, these days I have no hair to brush, oh but I love that youthful uninhibited freedom. Who cares about brushed hair?!
Isn’t this a precious, yet tiny and telling glimpse that Kelly gives? Brushed hair, PPPFFFFFTTT!
My hair isn’t as short as yours (although it’s been very close at times), but it’s short enough that I brush it only after showering. It is freedom! One of the many joys of aging.
beautiful continuation
in past, present and future
directions, marga!
wonderful feeling tide’s pull
in the direction of childhood 🙂
Learning to lean into the pull
of the tide, letting go of who
was standing upright. smiling with you!
This is really beautiful Marga. I really admire how your attention is so present that you are able to see how “little” moments of every day life, when amplified through awareness, represent such profundity. Thank you for sharing your contemplations with us and demonstrating how every moment can be so special. ❤
Walking the walk as seen in your manifesto (http://dreamrly.com/2014/08/18/spontaneous-manifesto-a-note-to-conscious-woman/) leads us to find this profound magic in the moments that surrounds us. I slip and slide past them at times, but when I manage to be here in my senses awake to what is around me at the crackling edge of creation, extraordinarily ordinary – and amazing! xo!
(I still have your tune on the ready for the fridge cleaning session, but the flow lately, whew! I am just going to note here that being open to magic moments, often has me putting off perceived “to do’s” to be with others in the moment, even in the midst of less than perfect conditions.:) When I do get to it, la canción es perfecta! Did yours get sparkly?
Officially sparkling 😉
I can definitely relate to the “flow lately” and its hindrance on chores! Luckily I have a good team around me that keeps me on track, thank goodness. When I lived by myself, I converted the whole studio apartment to a makeshift photography explosion (lights and cameras and prints and books and clothes strewn every which way) and would hardly remember to feed myself, let alone clean the fridge, so this is a major improvement!
I am still beaming in your moment with Chloe. The vibe I get from many of your posts is that you have lived and continue to live such a full life, dare I say a graceful one, and that is so inspiring.
Much Love Marga. I hope you enjoy the tune as much as I did rollerskates 🙂
I was touched by the scene you painted here, Marga, not only by the fact of Chloe’s graceful taking hold of the moment, but by a sense it evoked in me of the unspoken and beautiful gift of why she did it. A reason she may not have been able to articulate at the time perhaps(?) to follow on to Hariod’s beautiful description of the movement of the depths and power of life through it’s fragile and irretrievable instants. I sensed in your description not just the gift of cleaning up and taking a load off, but maybe an even deeper desire to share her world. This television show… This experience I have had and love that I think you may not have known… This… this, I can offer you… This glimpse into my heart and what it is to be me, I offer you… I won’t let your world and your duties interrupt or interfere…
I could be way off. I was just reminded of this type of experience by your description, of children sharing as a way of both revealing and thanking… Oh the times, they are a changin’!
Michael
Michael,
You have have called out the deeper vein I was searching for but had not been able to articulate, myself. This sharing of experience with those we love is what we can gift to each other – our attention – our giving of glimpses of our heart and the mindful receiving of it – When we miss these moments, we miss our human connection often for repetitive chores which will be forgotten or for space-time-filling rote activities. So much profound loneliness and sadness in spirit is from not having these love stories play out in the smallest (yet enormous) ways. I am a “famous” non-TV watcher, so there is some groundbreaking she does for me here in connecting through an activity despite my resistance – helping me to seeing fresh again without labeling, judging, pre-knowing. The sharing has continued and been a fun and funny conversation to have now that she is “away” – “where am I in this show? what do I think of the horrible corruption, and Kevin Spacey’s gleeful evil acts, etc…”
I also don’t want to miss this: You gave me the gift of your attention by reading, comprehending so deeply and sharing back with me these insights. Oh so delicious each moment and the overlap of the sharing here! And, we may have a poet coming-out party to boot!
When “thank you” feels and understatement, I am inclined to bow to you, while grinning at the understanding. xo! m
‘And, we may have a poet coming-out party to boot!’
Well I’m not coming-out, of that you should be in no doubt.
So pop no poppers for me, pop them for others Marga T.
Fair enough. I’m actually unaware of the root of this poetry tussling and I am showing myself to be a bit popper happy. I just discovered your book yesterday – so beautiful! I was playing around with Amazon and it seems they will ship a physical copy – am I incorrect in thinking this? I did not push the finish button because the comments seemed to suggest this was not possible and I didn’t want to make a mistake. Looking forward to diving in!
My poetry is clearly so appalling that it’s even failed to register as such. Oh dear, you must have thought I was being terribly brusque Marga. Not at all, it was a failed attempt at levity, and proof positive, not that it were needed, that I definitely should not come out as a poet! H. ❤
P.S. I will get back to you on books etc. – again: ❤
So there.
Something breaks in a flash;
it shatters irreparably:
emotional bond,
a cherished notion
of identity or self-construct,
or our role and purpose
amongst family or peers.
We know in an instant
that something has changed forever,
our supposed truth
fell through a sliding floor
we never imagined to exist.
Confronting my father
with just a handful of words,
watching my mother die,
seeing my son walk up the aisle,
experiencing nature as love,
seeing myself as nature,
gazing into the bright blue eyes of an arahant,
forgetting a thing –
seeing only form and colour,
noticing a footstep create a world,
a turning handle turning my hand,
a tree tree-ing
whilst my mind laughed at me me-ing
like the fool I always was.
<>
It’s all in the editing. 😉
H. ❤
Wonderful conversations here on your site, Marga, feels like late summer breezes. I’m enjoying the image of red pumps dancing along the shoreline.
I love the contrast of this breezy place to the stillness in my flow at home. I see you there, crazy red pump lady, dancing in the distance – I think I’ll stop and paint you on my canvas from here! I haven’t visited your home in a while, heading there now!
I am cheering at Hariod’s poetry. And marga’s editing. I sit here with a joyous silly grin on my face. See Hariod! You just need to space it out a little. Not a poet? Pfffffffft!
Now will you do the same for me sometime marga? 🙂
I’ll try to write with the same kind of depth Hariod has.
Alison
See Hariod! You just need to space it out a little.
It’s been so very long since I was last spaced out Alison. And now that I am, I feel ever so creative. . . a ‘life as improv’ awaits in gloriously hallucinogenic word-imagery. Wait a minute, perhaps this has all gone to my ed(iting).
H. ❤
Oh the special heart asked adventures of being a mother. I am honored to have such a peek in. C & E are the luckest ladies ever.
tick – tick – tick lovelovelove
-x.M
Love is starting to feel like the stuff we flow within these days. Spooky matter has my kisses blown westward arriving the same moment they are sent!