i am propped against a couch, no doubt from the 40s or 50s, sitting on a deflated air mattress that was my bed for the evening (and the next two...) -- tucked away in the computer room of my grandpa's house. i rest immediately across the hall from his bedroom, where he rests. i am glad.
the thunderstorm outside is powerful. beautifully, awesomely, utterly powerful. am i dreaming? breathe deeply. no, i am in heaven - a little part of heaven that i want to be in from 6:47am to whenever i finish this post, lie back down, and probably watch another stargate episode. it's really 5:48, St. Louis time. family's not up yet.
post post edit: when i spoke with my grandpa this morning about the thunderstorm, he said he slept through it -- but he went on to say that he, too, like me, loved listening to thunderstorms. he loved driving along roads in them -- roads that should only be covered by horseback during a thunderstorm. what a wonderful thought. i think there is a lot of my grandpa in me. his sense of adventure. of having fun. of loving and living life.
thunderstorms are, in part, a process of change - the cheering goodbye of one weather system as the next rumbles in - with subsequently a difference in the air, a new energy. i feel a lot of the same is happening to me.
today, i slept very well for the first time in about 5 or 6 days. i didn't get up at 4:24 or 3:38am and find myself not wanting to go back to sleep. i feel rested, ready. open.
i've been thinking a lot this week about being more candid with my thoughts and concerns. i've even practised it a few times -- and it felt damn good. just telling somebody what i was thinking instead of worrying about how to say it and what they were going to hear. i've been chatting with a new friend and making it a point to speak the first words that come to my mind as the thoughts flow in. translating the thoughts into words as they pop into my mind instead of giving them a full, often excruciating edit before they are spoken. it is releasing, and freeing. and funny. for the first time in a long time. i can be me. and somebody is listening. and reciprocating. oh smiles. innocence. happiness. a good change. try it.
i need to share one more story before i go. it's about being candid, for sure. the thunderstorm is quiet now, with the last flashes of lightening chasing behind the ever quiet and barely audible rumble of thunder.
rumble...how odd i chose that thought given what i will now relate.
this week in yoga class, we were doing shoulder stands, our butts in the air, moving feet slowly in patterns as the legs are allowed to drain, releasing back to the ground by slowly rolling over each vertebrae as the spine gets so delicately massaged. (...mmmm...) when doing this part, the coming down part, a few pockets of air slowly protuded through the seat of my pants. did i just fart? there was no preparatory sensation. no build up. just release - and only semi-quiet at that. my goodness. there was something in that yoga posture that completely relaxed and released something within -- so unvoluntarily, so freeingly. we went back up into a second shoulder stand. and a third. by god - it happened again, and again. i smiled on the inside, mildly embarrassed, on several levels. the obvious level, of course - and another level i will keep private, because it doesn't concern just me.
candicity (my new word - it means being candid). we should all do a little more of it.