I love it because he dislikes talking on the phone as much as I do. We text back and forth as I sweat on my exercise bike. Toe nearly healed, but rain imminent. We talk over the duplicitous phone call from a man and his brother. We talk over the movie I am not watching, over the answering text from a man that I am confused by. I choose not to answer. He tells me things that reach inside of me and grab my soul. I should be living there and not here. I should be in a place where I am in the quiet, meeting medicine men, sweating by a frozen creek, where women who are barefoot in the yard are more sexy than the ones with toe rings and nail polish and high heeled flip flops.
He asks after my heart. We talk about karma. About letting go. About life and how much suffering that comes with it. I have this inkling of a notion that somehow the hardships have brought us to this place of spiritual gifts. We are not perfect and don’t pretend to be, there is this underlying silver thread of light though. It is like a web from the great spider plucking at us. A heart string. A crystal tone reverberating through towering pines and rays of light. It is playing a tune that resonates inside of me. I know this place. I have always resided here.
I write a truthful answer and a fiction is revealed. I spin my yarn, wheel turning in the storm that rages around me, my escape is being formulated. There is but some work to be done first, an echo of another story floats by my mind. I am torn be creative or get some stuff done. The house painting calls me. Change your environment change your mind. The story will grow in me today. I can feel it.
I am thankful for my blessings. I am thankful for my friends. I am thankful for the heartache. I am thankful for the mend.