I woke up at 3.11am in a panic about my blog. What have I done? Why do I put all of my stuff on the internet? Nothing about it even makes sense.
Schlepped around dropping off boys with bribes of bouncy balls. Went to the supermarket to buy chicken and filled one basket. It got so heavy. Then I filled another basket. I felt weary. Why are there so many things, to carry through life? I had so many baskets that I bumped into the bread in the aisle and apologised ... to the bread. Nobody noticed. Except me.
My ears prickled when I heard the opening strains of "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For" ... until I realised that it was just the sound of the meat-slicing machine in the deli. The deli tricked me.
Getting out of my car later, I looked at this guy.
He's been there for years. I've never really looked at him before, like REALLY looked. Why do I even have Buddhas? What do they represent to me? Am I just being a show-off wanker? Probably.
We've had this guy for a long time. He's cracked, spilt, covered in cobwebs, and has bugs crawling on his face.
He has sat there silently, on our driveway. Bearing witness to all of our trials and joys and heartache these past years. It's all the same. The good, the bad, happy and sad, fear and fucked-up. Guy's just chillin'.
I was brought up a Catholic, even married Jesus in my white dress when I was seven. But Buddha? He's a cool dude.
I came inside and ate some boring corn thins with cheese for lunch. I meditated on the cheesiness of the cheese. We live in a world where cheese exists. Proof of God right there!
I opened my emails to one from a 17 year old girl from Georgia, America called Shelby.
I often tell my mom about your blog. "Mom, there's this neat blog. I've told you about it before. It's this lady in Australia, she's really interesting. She curses some, but it's okay. And she puts everything out there. She lives with no secrets."
My mom promptly replied something like this:
"I couldn't do that."
It always shocks me, that people read my blog. I write for a lot of different reasons, none of which I want to look too deeply at or I will start squirming. And possibly never write again. Shelby shared with me some personal stuff, which I felt completely privileged to read. Then:
" ... I find it overwhelmingly impossible to understand what it's like to have most, if not all, of your life completely exposed. I imagine it feels like a warm breeze, or maybe, a cold drink. A drink so cold that an individual can feel it slither all the way down to their own stomach."
Reading these words made me realise just how dishonest I have been with myself in my life, and exactly how honest I am now. I'm as honest as I can be. I think my life depends on it.
Shelbs, more than your cute sad-face in this post ... I love your one-armed mermaid. She has to swim twice as hard as everybody else, to stop going around and around in circles. But, she gets to swim down there in the deep .. watching all the underworld go by. Imagine that.
Thank you for writing to me. Letters like that make me feel ok about blogging again. So today, I write for you. You and Buddha.
And cheese. Thank God for cheese!
1 hour ago