Monday, September 24, 2007

three

dig me up from under what is covering
the better part of me.
sing this song!
remind me that we'll always have each other
when everything else is gone.

This is my song today for my Buddha. It's three years this afternoon at three, since I stood with him, hands bound with beaded silk, and pledged beautiful vows under a brilliant sun. Fingers encircled with white gold as bright as that sun, hands entwined. Hair falling tangled with ivy to my waist- a different woman than the mother I am now.

He seems the same to me, while I feel like I've changed so drastically it's cellular and total. He's Bu plus a child, but I feel like he married a caterpillar and now he has a strange new moth hovering around a little flame of newness. I'm in awe that he doesn't feel a loss as I shift my world to be a caretaker of a wild new life.

He replaced his glasses after we made love, and I said a little sadly that he never sees me in focus when when we're together like that. He told me he sees me, so close, but nothing else. I welled with tears and told him I longed to feel that. He was so sweet, holding me and loving me and fondly watching me cry. He said he knew there'd be tears, that it was OK, that this life is overwhelming, that there are still hormonal waves washing through me and that I'm still everything I wanted to hear: beautiful, sweet, sexy, loving, wonderful mom and wife.

He is a north star, an anchor, wings, a touchstone. A sturdy web of roots, fertile soil, a home. Laughing eyes, fire, water, sunshine. I'm blessed, and I keep myself too distracted to be aware. My prayer this autumn is for simplicity, to quiet the clockworks of my brain and learn to be in each moment as it unfolds. I pray to answer Bu's call since we met, to Be Here with him, not a thousand miles away hidden deep inside myself and nowhere.

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