Is longing for contentment a slice of irony? Is it an oxymoron? A contradiction?
Inner peace in the middle of a stormy toddler that repeats, “I don’t want to!!!”
Abilitiy to ‘deal’ with rage. Rage comes and goes. She sneaks and crouches waiting to pounce. Rage is something I never knew was hiding deep inside. Then I had children. Now I’m ashamed of the blackness. I know there’s raw light in there somewhere.
Contentment! Love the house, the boy, the man, the neighbors, the heat. Love the smell, the late nights and early mornings. Thankfulness for the mess. At least we have a place to put our mess! A lovely place, it is. Unfinished but becoming more lovely. Oh, the unfinished! More rage!
The path, the journey, this life, our story. It’s all being constructed daily. Nothing is finished. It never will be. Even in eternal bliss and the flight unending.
I’m un-mixed. Something has settled at the bottom and needs to be shaken, dispersed, moved around. The science of mixture creates fluid, not clotting. Then it’s pretty again. There’s movement, life!
I want the life!