the drought

You know when you want to cry, but you can't? It goes on for days and days, building up pressure, waiting to explode. But you won't because if you do, you might never stop. Sometimes I feel that if I succumb to my weak feelings I will somehow insult the universal abundance of gifts which I know I am fortunate to know. This is what keeps me from melting... until I pass a sweet little kitten in the road, laying on its back, struggling to move a forearm, in some delirious effort to escape the road... which is now to be its grave. For this I can cry.

Watching a little boy beg for a toy from his parents- just a cheap little truck.  The parents who are half-filling their carts with the biggest box of inexpensive laundry detergent they can manage, and some Kmart sales rack apparel. There is nothing I want more than to go pick out a REALLY nice truck and give it to him in the parking lot. But I don't... I just slink into my great car, close my eyes and fight back the tears. Half way to my big, beautiful house I realize that a few drops have quietly rolled down my face, reminding me that hurt was there.

How is it that I have learned to be thankful for the abundance of things such as the flight patterns of hummingbirds or the sparkling light filtered between leaves, or the the glowing halo of colorful light that hugs the hills' tops once the sun has set? How is it that I have learned to be thankful for what has come and what has left, yet feel so blue when I am alone in the magnificence of a luminous morning?

Someone told me today that when we embrace abundance we have nothing left to want. I'm afraid that if I hug it any tighter I'll squeeze the life right out of it. You know, when I finally get to take a walk in my hills I think we will be like lovers who have not touched, but for our yearnings, over time too long to measure. Why is it that I always crave the magick I cannot see? When is what I have going to be enough for me?

Is there something wrong with wanting? I'll bet that little kitten wanted to get up and run right out of that road, or away from the car which must have struck it. I'll bet the little boy dreams of trucks and cars and maybe someday he'll have a real one of his own. Me? Well sometimes I would just like to cry and feel sorry for myself, instead of transferring it to someone else. I don't know if this avoidance is an effort to work on my gratitude and positivity, or just an underlying desire to cling to my misery.

It's time to wake up.