I'm icing and elevating a wrenched knee, activity curtailed to a large degree for the next several days to allow some healing.
I would rather be outside on my patio, puttering with my plants, breathing in the heavy, moist summer air, but getting out there requires navigating steps. So, here I sit. In my Saturday, with a mind wandering.
My ice pack isn't the best, and beads of condensation have soaked through the kitchen towel to dampen already chilled skin. A fat honeybee drones by my open window, busily searching out lush blossoms. Momentarily, he hovers at the window and I am sure that we lock eyes. If I were outside, I would offer to pet him. He most likely feels sorry for my temporary trapped state, but he cannot delay his flight and zooms off into the blue.
Time for the ice pack to come off the knee. Grab my journal and my favorite pen to have on hand for jotting down some personal thoughts after I finish this post. Antiquing on a Saturday afternoon would be so much more entertaining! Instead, I address myself. And this day. And a sense of hush....of quiet....of space.
So much to do, endless lists and chores, none of which can be accomplished with an injured knee. Turn inward, where there are equal amount of chores to tend. Sweep that corner first. It's been dusty and cluttered with forgotten smiles. Lift them up and see how they fit today. Some are crooked. A few are completely inappropriate and have potential for belly laughs. One is soft, gentle and reserved for a specific person. That one stays, hovering in the heart, because it waits to be matched. The others, I leave tumbled back into disorder, because smiles should never be contained and regimented.
Wander into the next room where words are stacked up. They lie drunkenly across every surface, wildly rambling, stitching colors together there. Weaving music over here. That particular fabric is bright and will probably find a home soon. The one on that rocking chair belongs with my family, soft and worn and comfortable because it is full of weathered lavender threads that speak of love. Worn so soft and thin that they appear to be delicate, but the words belie that and create a strength that cannot be harmed.
Oh, look....there's a song right here, on top of a stack of words that zig zag, accordian-style. The melody jitters and jumps erratically, spilling notes in a trill of sunshine yellow. Daffodil yellow, and happy like the flower.
I glance at the floor and see my footprints in this place. Casting a gaze behind me, the footprints show different shapes, different versions of me. The day I wore those gorgeous red heels and made a mark in the world shows a set of crisp steps, confident and empowered like the color of those heels. The morning that I received shockingly sad news, flip flop footprints slew in a jagged, confused stumble...and are melded with the stance of another who offered strong arms and support. The day I walked barefoot in the woods of home, these particular steps are of every age I have been....wee child, teenager, young woman....and now. They meander, they swoop and dash, they dance, they mosey and stroll, those bare feet. Layering all of the Me that has been this time around.
And now, I step through a doorway hung with a blanket and greet memories of my Granny Reagan. Sitting in her rocking chair, arms open to receive a little girl with white-blonde hair and an endlessly curious mind. That day, we walked to the mailbox together and discovered infinite worlds along the way. I wore my pink patent leather shoes, the dressy ones that are supposed to be reserved for Sundays and church, but what little girl can resist sharing pink patent leather shoes with the world? I wore them every chance I got. I could linger here endlessly....
This bright Saturday with the endless blue skies is an inward journey. Tidying here, stepping around chaos there, blithely ignoring any outward judgment that anything requires more than an acknowledging sweep of my eyes. Looking into rooms that should not be touched for a while. Recognizing others that could do with being emptied, but I repeat the blithely ignoring approach. Who knew that a wrenched knee would guide me here? The strains of a song accompany me as I emerge back into the Now. Howie Day's "Collide".
My honeybee friend is back at the window, hovering again, regarding my human self curiously. This makes me question what message this little guy brings. Research tells me that the honey bee symbolizes the soul that flies away from the body. Perhaps that is where my inner journey focused, flitting away from my physical body to traverse the landscape of my Spirit.
I am back now, with bare feet dusted in insubstantial glittery cobwebs of my life. I am sure that my current Self has left new footprints in there.