Clouds and Taxes

16 04 2013

I’ve been in that birdcage place in my mind for the last few days. On a rational level, I could claim that it’s any of the laundry list of influences- hormones, vomiting children, procrastination on spring cleaning and taxes, inability of seeing forests for the dicotyledons… but more than anything I have this enigmatic itch to jump out of my skin, I feel restless, I feel an adventure in the making… but where is the source of this feeling? I laid on the girls bed today while the kids were playing and/or reading… I listened to some classical music while I stared out the window at the clouds. I was giving myself a secret meditation time while the kids were on self sustained mode for the moment. I looked at the conglomerate of clean laundry to fold and walked right past, plopped down on the futon and released all the spent air that had been churning in and out of my spirit during the day that I had stamped as overwhelming even before it unfolded. We live in an old Mason’s lodge built in 1923, and the girls room is a golden cream color with huge cathedral like windows. We are well above the tree line, so lying down on their bed and looking out the window gives you the sensation of floating along with the clouds. The clouds today were real clouds, the sort of clouds I watched the wings of planes crossing oceans slice into… the sort of clouds that entertained me throughout most of my childhood. I was a quiet child, I preferred the freedom of playing by myself over playing with friends most of the time, because it gave me the undisturbed peace of staring at clouds for hours, or lying in the clover watching the world of insects move in their chessboard trajectory. When I was about Sylvia’s age, we started moving. I suppose it threw off some of my familiarity with the world I knew, but I eventually began to lose my bond with the girl who stares at clouds. I never much liked talking, it always seemed like a silly practice. I mean, there were certainly people and circumstances that allowed me to feel safe in talking about anything and everything, but for the most part, I avoided it and learned to speak in the silent language of Nature. Staring at those clouds today gave me this surreal out of body like feeling. Nostalgia, yet experience anew. My senses are tuning into old sights, scents and sounds and something is being reformatted. I used a pink cherry scented highlighter today while filing my taxes, and it smelled just like my Grandfather’s pipe tobacco. Is this sense of urging my higher self steering me into the creative process? Is this new emergence of old data part of growing up, or is it more ancient and sacred? Is this what a soul’s calling feels like? The fragmented song that you only ever catch a part of, that fades before you can hear it’s entirety… the tweaking of rabbit ears to clear the static. Something profound is afoot.

Elfriede Stegemeyer girl in clouds

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