Blog

These Days

I am falling into the pace of life here. The other day I sat on a stoop with two beautiful French sisters drinking tea in the sunshine.  The young girl who lives across from us came up and embraced me.  A young boy came up to his mom with a bowl full of edible flowers and asked if she could make beignets in the evening.

Today I escaped the countryside for a day in the city of Toulouse.  I had plans for a tattoo but it looks like it will have to wait for Berlin.  So I took myself vintage shopping, bought a scarf and suspenders, stopped for a long leisurely hearty French lunch with a glass of rose, picked up some cheap summer duds and drank a couple of espressos.  I felt content.  It seems no amount of rain clouds can out-shadow the gratitude I'm feeling right now.

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In the evening I did yoga with a friend who is German but teaches in French.  Slowly I grow accustomed to her directions and can follow along with my eyes closed, breathing into my heart and joints, pains and pleasures.

I drift between wanting more stimulation and being so perfectly content with the silence and slow pace of life.  Last night I dug through old journals and realized I have always had this restlessness.  This hunger for love.  For something more.  In some ways I am happy for it as it keeps me searching and asking questions.  I also realized how much more at ease with myself I have become.

A sweet friend sent me this today.  It hurt to read but was therapeutic and timely.

The time will come when, with elation you will greet yourself arriving at your own door, in your own mirror and each will smile at the other's welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat. You will love again the stranger who was your self. Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored for another, who knows you by heart. Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes, peel your own image from the mirror. Sit. Feast on your life.

- Derek Walcott

Sweet scribblings from my journals of teenage angst.