A Spirit of...

It was late and I was home lying in my bed. The Rockefeller Center Tree had been lit. The drive to look at Christmas light displays in the community was over. I left my friends. And there I lay.

I picked up the book I read every night before I go to sleep. I read. It was a simple and pleasurable day.

Although it usually does, my mind wasn’t winding down. Yet I was completely exhausted. I debated watching a little TV. Instead, I tried an unusual outlet.

I turned on my stereo as I relaxed in the dark. Thank goodness for remote controls. I switched it to radio. I kept flipping through all of the stations looking for something I didn’t know.

I heard late night disc jockeys playing their stations’ requests. 80’s music. Rock. Even now, I was a bit surprised to hear people still call in and make requests. Tons of stations have turned into ‘round the clock Christmas music stations, while others throw in a mix to their usual playlists.

Then, there it was. A duo of guys bantering back and forth witty enough to catch my attention. I stopped surfing immediately. I was surprised. A decent radio show instead of music. It reminded me of the countless Saturday evenings my family spent listening to the radio while growing up. I smiled. Then I felt it.

I fell asleep listening to the show. I woke up to the remote falling off my pillow the next morning. I, of course, had set the sleep feature and so the radio had turned off in the night.

I felt good. The kind of good which comes from knowing you resisted doing something stupid. (That’s my secret.)

Tomorrow is the first of December and there will be many who flip, like a switch, into Christmas mode.

Now they will purchase and decorate the tree. Now they will listen to the seasonal carols. Now, for a limited time only, they will allow the Christmas spirit to permeate their souls. Kindness starts to prevail in a world full of hearts which have waxed cold otherwise.

There are years when I feel this spirit more than others. Sometimes commercialism satiates my appetite but only momentarily until I’m left feeling empty soon after.

Then there are years with the spirit of last night. When the spirit is a slow building sentiment. A sentiment based in gratitude.

Peace fills my mind and my heart in spite of my external worries. I think back to better times. I look forward to better times.

Again, I remember still and quiet can pierce and penetrate with the strength of a thousand swords.

So what do I hope for tomorrow, this first of December? May the next month be filled with less hustle & bustle and more calm & hushed moments.

Fueling on Dreams

For as long as I can remember, I have been a dreamer. Both in the literal sense and in the idealistic sense.

To declare I am a romantic person would probably be one of the very largest understatements in this world. There are those days when I wake up feeling certain no one else on earth can feel like THIS. As stated in a previous blog, I feel confident my body just may explode with all of the emotion it’s consistently forced to contain.

As fate would have or probably the eternal plan of Deity, I have found myself in a position in life where I have nothing wretched to report and I have nothing encouraging sustaining me.

As a romantic, this may quite possibly be more tragic than either extreme. As a note, I have spent the past decade developing my more logical and rational side. This part of me is entirely blessed to be sitting in the position I sit in currently. There is peace in the mundane and heaven knows I appreciate the calm.

Lately, I’ve been completely concerned for my station in life. I feel as though I sit at a crossroads. I am deciding right now whether I choose to be average or whether I will step up, work hard, and strive to be exceptional. I have heretofore opted for distinctive.

However it seems as peeled as I have kept my eyes for opportunity or guidance, I frequently find myself at day’s end with minimal results for what feels like maximum effort.

I have consulted on high for aid. I have prayed to find solace from my own attacks… from the daily barrage I wage on myself for having little of what I desire in my life. I know there are few to blame and I am positioned number one in the rankings of responsibility for what is.

Nonetheless, I now express gratitude on high for what I deem only as a gift from the Divine.

Each night of late, as I have retired to bed, I have found myself waking up next morning from vivid dreams. Dreams full of detail. Dreams full of imagination. I have experienced wonderful fantasies. I have traveled to many places. And most importantly, I have found myself in company with many magnificent people.

My dreams have felt so authentic; I have been privileged to be left with the lingering feeling of satisfaction, as though I have actually experienced it.

Lest you question my mental state, rest peacefully knowing I am clearly aware of the lines in my life between reality and make-believe. Still again I feel appreciative for the endowment of such an active night life.

My gratitude stems from a necessary fact about me. I need dreams. Whether remarkable achievement in life or passionate desires of the heart, I need dreams.

These nights from this past month have been fueling my existence. As I assume my Maker is aware of this for me, I may only assume in my life also, these dreams to be a gift from Him.

I’m saddened to awake stated perfectly by Mr. Oscar Wilde.

"A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world."

What's In A Hug?

Last night, after an evening indulging in our more feminine sides, my friend and I turned off the tivo’d Oprahs, said our farewells, and prepared to part ways. With a ‘thank you’ and ‘drive safe’ uttered, we embraced.

In that electrical instant, my skin seemed to scream at me. This is good. This has been awhile.

I sighed in the night air and my breath was immediately apparent in the cold. Her front door closed behind me and by the porch light, I started to reflect.

How long had it been, I wondered. Surely not too long. I mean, I made out with John* last week. Still in that moment, I realized one of life’s secrets.

Kissing is not hugging. Kissing is not holding.

And to be held. To feel another person in this world. To take them into your arms and embrace.

It’s a thousand fires right below your skin. It’s warmth in your heart and in your mind. It’s feeling tangibly secure. It’s the serenity of dark with the intensity of light. It's the lightheartedness of a laugh and the complexity of a cry. It IS the physical manifestation that someone is there to witness your life.

It’s a squeeze. It’s a clinch. It’s a clasp. It’s a snuggle.

And no matter the relationship, I’m surprised to each time feel the intimacy of it. The parent. The sibling. The friend. And when life allows (and he remembers), the boy.

Jacques Prévert said, “millions and millions of years would still not give me half enough time to describe that tiny instant of all eternity when you put your arms around me and I put my arms around you.”