Wednesday, February 07, 2007

I sat for a little while and listened to life happen outside the apartment. Sometimes I wish life would just stop for a moment- would validate the fact that we hurt and that life will never be the same, instead of just carrying on- it its twisted ways.

"There are so many wonderful gifts I can give those I love, but the one that lingers when all the others are gone, the one that knits the brightest threads into life, is the gift of time- the gift of one's self."

when will there be time.
when will the tears escape from my tightly closed eyes.
when will the headache go and sleep come.
when will we be together again.
when will the important things take precedence.
why does life get so messy.
why do we have to be so far apart.
why do we not seize the day- make the most of it.
why do we get busy with things that crowd our hearts.

why do time and space separate us- and when will we change that. can we change that?

"My friend Ann invited me and a few other women to her house on Saturday for 'an old-fashioned bread baking,' and instructed each of us to bring a cup of flour from our own kitchens. All of us were old friends, but our lives had gone in different directions. We hadn't seen each other in years. That day we sifted our individual cups of flour into a single bowl. Together we dissolved the yeast, mixed and kneaded the dough, waited for it to rise, shaped it into loaf pans, then waited for it to bake. All the while we filled the warm, pungent air with talk of how much we'd missed one another and how friendships had suffered when they weren't nurtured. Finally, we pulled the loaves from the oven. As Ann sliced a piece and handed it tome, I felt the sacredness of this day rise in fullness inside me. Through the ancient feminine art of making bread, we had rediscovered our connections with each other. And we had found that our lives, like those individual cups of flour, could be sifted together again, to form renewed relationships that nourished us inside."

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