Last night, I dreamt that a good friend of mine (whom I always love for her down-to-earth, open spirit, appeared in a pair of really expensive, really glamourous Italian platform shoes. "I just had to have them," she told me. In my dream, I felt strangely alienated and betrayed. This morning, as I thought about our ridiculously busy week--Martin is gone every night of the week and out of town from Wednesday to Saturday and the two little girls have overlapping softball every blasted night-- the odd shoe-dream came back to me. After the kids left for school, I knew it was time for a Monday Morning Confession. Originally I had a lot more to confess, but absolution came so quickly that I didn't have the time I thought I would for extended navel-gazing :)! I love how my confession is didactic, completely stripped of images or mystery, and absolution is solid, dimensional, something I can experience with all my senses.God, I confess that I have been threatened by other people's shoes.
I crave comfort and success. I long for affirmation and admiration.
God, I confess that I began this exceptional day
with a sense of loss and nagging worry about over-busy schedules.
I confess that patch of blue forget-me-nots at the corner of our lawn
does little to make me grateful
Yet two white butterflies circle in the air,
and a dove calls from beyond the cherry tree,
answered by another dove somewhere in the giant maple's new leaves,
and yet another bird--I forgot its name or perhaps I never knew it--
pipes, warbles, sings again in this hot morning sun--
and my good dog, lying by the pot with wilting petunias,
eyes closed, wakes suddenly, searches for shade,
stretches long in a long yogi pose,
raises his nose and sniffs
and a black fly electrifies the air next to my ear,
shadows shift, and there is no sound from the neighbors' houses,
no sounds but the birds and insects and the tap of keys
as I type this confession, and somewhere faraway, a dog barking,
a door closing, then the dove again like a pulse,
and my morning tea when I lift it to my lips is cool,
slightly bitter and slightly sweet.
I know that when I close this door and go to my day
the birds will sing on, hundreds of them,
from every tree in my small, good world.
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