Monday, September 21, 2009

Raindrops on Roses...


OR IN THIS CASE, PLUMERIA

This morning I woke up to rain. The sound of big drops falling on the patio, the humidity and the strong fresh scent reaching me as I lay in bed in the always unnerving pitch dark.

It was around five. Too early for the first birds. I’d been wakeful since the sprinklers went on at 3:30, thinking about the past week. About the people I’d met, the places I’d gone with them, the things we’d done, the fun we’d had. The sweet connections we had felt. It truly was wonderful, and my socks had been knocked off at the ease with which people popped, through no efforting of any kind on my part, into my life.

And I got caught up in the whirlwind of folks on vacation. I ate too much and the wrong things, I drank too much (more in the last seven days than in the last seven months, probably longer…), I stopped walking to the beach for sunrises and sunsets, I stopped carrying my camera. I talked, I listened, I laughed (more than I’ve laughed in such a long time). Every day was new, and filled with some sort of activity. Going to the beach, cocktails and appetizers, driving to town to go out to dinner. And in all that activity, I realized this morning, seeing it as clear as day though it was still dark as could be, I’d been sucked into the vortex and blown clean out of myself.


RAINDROPS ON TROPICAL FOLIAGE

I do so love to have fun. I love connecting with people, sharing stories, laughing out loud. It’s its own kind of magic, and food for the soul, truly. Just not the particular sustenance that this soul is in desperate need of right now. And not only did it not nurture me, it took from me, sucking the life that I had begun ever so tentatively to feel again. And with it, my ability to be enchanted, to feel the astonishing, the breathtaking in as many moments as possible.

I couldn’t figure out why I haven’t been able to write about all that I’ve been doing. Trust me, I’ve tried and then tried some more. But this morning I get it. I get that this trip is so not about what I’m doing. Not the tiniest bit, not even a smidgen. It’s about that other thing, that elusive, mysterious thing we hear so little about called being. And from being, in each moment to create. I knew intuitively, months ago when googling Moloka’i for the first time that it was solitude that I hungered for/wanted/needed to even begin to touch that.


RAINDROPS ON WHITE PERWINKLE

I had gotten by the end of last week, before the onslaught of activity, that I had to go about life with the utmost of care over here. That every moment was about being as fully present as possible, and that the slightest thing, every single choice large and small, from what I ate to what I read to what I wrote to who I spoke to that did not feed and nourish me needed to not be chosen. And not because I have a sadistic need to whip myself into shape. Not at all. But simply because it’s actually the point, and it’s why I’m here. To create the rich environment that I need to learn how to be, and to be as alive as possible.. And to do that, every choice needs to be life-enhancing and life-affirming. It’s so simple, it could not be simpler.

But obviously not so easy. I got caught up without even realizing I had been snared. I’d been AWOL for a number of days before I realized I was missing, and when I did, it was actually painful. And even then, what had happened was beyond my seeing and understanding. It’s another one of those tricky, fine lines. Though the clues were there. I was just too busy clinking glasses and mumbling cheers to notice.


RAINDROPS ON PURPLE PERIWINKLE

And by the way, I have met some wonderful people. People that I believe will remain in my life, with whom the connection was strong, instantaneous and very yummy. The hope, I suppose, is to learn to balance the doing and the being. Learning to continue to be while doing. But having been a doer for most of my life, having used that as my escape, my M.O. for coping, any hope of balance will have to come later.

The sun is up. And with it amazing clarity. I took a break, threw my camera over my shoulder and went out—in my pj’s—to find raindrops on flowers. Here they are! I hope you're enjoying them as much as I am.


RAINDROPS ON PLUMERIA

Inside myself is a place where I live all alone, and that's where I renew my springs that never dry up. ~Pearl Buck

With aloha, from Moloka'i

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