Soft, Gray Skies and Dandelions

The drive to work is never overly enjoyable. I find small consolation in the scenery I pass but it has become rather monotonous. The same tree, same flowers, same houses. Yesterday, while driving to work, the sky was covered with a soft, gray cloud. You could see the clouds straining to contain the sun, evident by the cracks that were white and almost glowing. Suddenly, I felt extremely small…

Soft, gray sky not unlike the one I saw

Here I was, driving a car. A car that weighs far more than I do and I am controlling it. In this car, I was driving under a sky. A sky that looked somber, reminding me of getting caught in the rain during a Girl Scout hike. Or, rather, walking in downtown Wexford, Ireland, and getting caught in the Irish rain that rises without fail. Scurry into a nearby shop to seek shelter or reprieve or perhaps, to wait it out with a pastry and a hot cup of tea.

I then passed by a lumber yard while I was driving my car under the soft, gray sky. I saw a bucket truck lifting what appeared to be as mulch, steaming as the water began to fall from the cool sky, into a dump truck. Then the logs from the trees who can tell us stories, if only they could speak. Alas, they stand silent. In the lumber yard, we humans, again, take control of their fate and destiny. The rain came soft and light, a drizzle, as I drove my car.

I felt so small. Here I was in this world that I drive by continuously. What had I forgotten that I had witnessed on my drive? Oh yes, it come flooding back. The crime scene. The evidence of a building standing a mere shell to its former self. The hole left in wake appeared to be that of a car’s doing. The yellow tape stretched across the opening of the building, its black lettering screaming its warning to all who come near.

Here I was, a humble woman, living in a world that is so much bigger than myself and I get sometimes so ignorant to what is around me. I forget to look at what I am going past and what is in the line of vision. I have become so enslaved in my pattern I forget to step out of the rut. We all get that way.

I know I talk a lot about nature, about pattern, about the magnitude of what is around us. I have written about enjoying nature and embracing what is around you in the past. I have touched on how we get so involved in our lives that we forget to look up. But now I have a word for it…

Enslavement

We are all guilty of it. Furthermore, this can be present in both positive and negative ways. If we become involved in a substance, in work, in vices, these are examples of negative enslavement. If we become caught up in outlets, creative expression, problem solving or the like, these are examples of positive enslavement. For example, the daily grind I go to, while I like my job, is negative. I may come home and not have the most positive attitude or be as upbeat as my fiancé may want me to be. This causes me to be ignorant of the people and things around me, in effect blinding me to their needs. This blog, however, is positive enslavement. It is a creative outlet for me, a way to express myself. It is also a way I communicate with my family, friends, my fiancé as well as you, Reader, and the rest of the world. This is also positive because when I talk about it with my fiancé or he asks me questions, I look forward to answering them. I have no problem discussing Writer’s Block or that I am going to write something a little daring (See “The (D)Evolution of Sex”).

But even with both my positive and negative enslavements, there needs to be time for me to be caught up in nothing. Just the world. To walk, to embrace my fiancé, to simply exist, all done without a care,

As though the seeds on the wind....

without concern or without an agenda. Sometimes, I miss the days when recess consisted of going on a playground and running around, climbing, jumping, swinging…or simply sitting in a field picking dandelions. Only can the simple child see the elegance and beauty of what we, as adults, perceive as weeds. We can all admit that we would be lying if we pretended to not acknowledge this fact. I can remember the joy I felt whenever I came across the delicate, seed portal of the dandelion, of picking it gingerly and closing my eyes, making a wish. Softly blowing the seeds helter-skelter everywhere, watching as the wind swirled and picked them up.

Just remember to stop every once in a while and enjoy what is around you.  The world, the sky, the flowers even the weeds.  They all play an important role not only in nature but in your life as well.  Try and remember how we saw them as a child, how we stood in awe of everything.  That is the way we should try to see the world and embrace it.  Enjoy it, embrace it...most importantly, don't forget to live Life.

Passing of Time

The sun is streaming into the windows, peeking its way into my world between the slated blinds.  I hear our little dog, Molly, crying for freedom from her crate and her bed.  I feel my fiance roll out of bed and begin to move within the apartment and start his day.  Meanwhile, I laze about, drifting in and out from the realm of sleep and dreams.

It is mornings like this that I enjoy so much.  I woke finally, after fighting sleep in my eyes, to find my fiance standing at the door, smiling at me.  I got up and made french toast and coffee.  Here we sit, discussing life and the day, our Molly lying lazily between us.  It makes me think about how we measure time.

Before clocks, time was tracked by the rising and falling of the sun.  Sun dials, then, helped keep a little bit of tracking of the hours.  Otherwise, the concept of hours and minutes is one we pressed upon the world.  Is it our need of structure that we impress our world into some intangible constraints?  But we have another way to define time.  That is the difference between the work week and the weekend.

At work this week, my coworker and I were discussing about missing school.  Why would we miss school? Because during school, you always knew there was another day off around the corner (of course, I missed school for the academics as well).  The summer or winter vacation would always be right around the corner, with periodic days off throughout the year.  Now, in the real world, I work everyday with the exception of Thanksgiving and Christmas and can take a week off a year.

But the week too is constructed by man.  Where did we get that there were seven days in the week?  Granted, I figure the answer would be by the tracking of the seasons and also by the history of seasonal celebrations.  It is simply an interesting thing to consider.

The seasons come and go but what remains standard is the love that exists between our friends and family.  Remember that nature can prove to be a source of inspiration and love in our lives.  But if we are in forever a rush, we miss what is the most beautiful in our world.  Stop and smell the roses.  Take time to take a stroll in nature.  Breathe in the air and focus on the freedom it releases.  Nature is at our core.  Try it.  It's a good way to reduce stress in a thing called, "La Vie."

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