Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

Being With It

I had made other plans for today.

But you know about plans…

Jeb wakes with wild gestures to his throat, signing that he doesn’t feel well enough for school. My inquiry as to whether we need to take him to the doctor is met with strong head shakes in a definitive ‘no’.

I don’t really think he’s that sick. A little congestion, a little scratchy throat. I could push it and make him go. Maybe some would say that’s what a good mother would do. But I don’t have ‘some’ standing in my kitchen. And I’m not feeling like pushing a tide.

Meher Baba

So, I acquiesce. Call the school. Set Jeb up on the couch with a fresh sheet and a magazine. Try to justify this day off from school as a learning opportunity, as he plays the saint-taking-silence and writes notes to me on notebook paper. He’s practicing his spelling and writing skills, right? He’s communicating. He’s telling me his dreams.

“Mom this is the darngris part win I go to sleep I amagin me in a checrs game and win ever I move a checkr stuff comes up in to my nose This is y I think as a sicnst I think I need mor water”

This morning I guess he’s the scientist-saint, slash, medical intuitive, slash, dream interpreter.  Some may say he should be at school studying his spelling.  But I quell that scrutiny as best I can.  Try to silence the judging thoughts.

Taking cues from everything I know and trying to apply it to this curveball in my day, I soften. I do not resist.

I send the necessary emails to the appropriate people, restructuring my schedule as best I can. I choose not to react with stress about this turn of events. I decide I’ll stay calm.

Meher Baba

I come to WordPress, ever committed to posting my daily chronicle. Offer you a glimpse into my impromptu morning. Upload pictures of Meher Baba, which somehow always make me feel better. The man was silent for 30 years. Take a look at his face. He knows something.

Man, I hope I’m starting to get it.

Meher Baba
Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer · 2 Comments

The Thrill

there are the dare devils
climbing cliff faces
walking tightropes
wrestling alligators
jumping from airplanes

I have no desire
to throw my body from great heights
no need to face mortality
through risking life and limb

but in the realms of the heart
that dangerous
vast space
of vibrantly pumping chambers
I dip more than a toe
in the rich life force waters

I keep diving in
to try

in early exploration days
I’d just part my chest like curtains
show every vulnerability
of my beating heart window
a few select men
I’d let them
reach in to hold it in their palms
just coursing with raw
and risking love

like some thrill seeker
that wants the rush
of the triple corkscrew roller coaster
I still seek the butterflies
to metamorphose
my mind

rattle me
to take the chance
that transparency and truth
will transform me
to a freedom
only found when we
stop
protecting

at the center
of gut and head
these hearts are delicate
though love’s resilient

through bruised
battered
broken
numb
eventually
I’m back to scaling
the dazzling
death-defying
(please give me little deaths)
terrain
of the heart

what is it
that compels me
to dare to be so scared
to face all fears
and feel?

these odysseys
may end
with greater vistas
but there’s no promise
it will be shared

maybe part of the thrill
is knowing
full well
where I may find myself

clinging to some slippery slope
heart pounding
head surrounded
in brightly colored butterflies
morphing

vision vast and new
I may well
be
alone
in this quest
breathless
but oh
so very much
alive

courtesy of apliniste
Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer · 1 Comment

Begin With the Divine…

That’s been my promise to myself, in a schedule that has me committed to much more mundane assignments. So I make an appointment with the extraordinary. Start my day in the wee hours with early morning writing. Spend some reverent time in nature.

I do this in order to give attention to the things I love the most. It fulfills me. Centers me. Brings inspiration to my days.

But this morning, no rules apply. I’m a rebel indoors. Sorting laundry, changing bed sheets, washing dishes. I return phone calls and reply to emails. Basically, I do my chores.

I gotta say that handling these tasks, the act of getting organized, it settles me. I find calm in gazing at a shelf of freshly folded towels. There is something sacred to be seen in a sink that’s empty, clean.

This morning no soul-shaking poems emerge. No rainbows arc over the ocean in this realm. No dolphin leaps at sea.

But my Inbox is cleared, voice mails deleted. My house is presentable. I’m breathing deeply in the scent of fluffed linens.

Tomorrow, I’ll be back to following the Muse around like a puppy at 4:30am. There’ll be sand between my toes by 8.

But for this morning, I’m at peace. Right here in the commonplace.

 

Jessica Dofflemyer ~ all rights reserved