Tuesday, August 31, 2010

An Eyelash

Sometimes in this bumpy life,
I feel like I've got an eyelash stuck in my eye.
It's a terribly helpless feeling, being blind and in pain.
Just one
little hair...
And as tears come into my eyes, to wash it out, I wonder what's the use of eyelashes at all.
They're supposed to protect,
To keep foreign objects out.
And they keep my eyes safe,
Till they turn and fall into them...

A good friend tells me when
I've got an eyelash
that's loose
and wobbly
and waiting to poke me right
in the pupil.

Sometimes I need to be told that my defenses
the nets I keep around me
are about to hurt me.
That the tiny hairs I trusted
will only cause irritation
That I need to wipe them away
And let the light hit my eyes
Let it in
All the way in.

Sunday, August 29, 2010

No Turning Back

At some point in the curve, there's no turning back.


Like a sledder on a snowy hill. I inch forward slowly with my boots, the snow crunching underneath my blue plastic sled. Farther and farther I creep towards the edge, until I start to slide slightly. Gasping in fear, I dig my feet and hands into the snow to stop myself just before the drop.

The hill is tall and steep, slippery and terrifying.

I turn around, glancing at the little boy behind me waiting to take his turn. I feel silly. It's just a hill, after all.

Releasing my cold feet and hands from their snowy death grip, I prepare for the worst. But I don't move. I've stuck myself in the snow bank, and the sled won't budge.

I want to give up just then, embarrassed by my fear and afraid of embarrassment.

But ... but that's not all I want. Somewhere, down that hill, something is waiting for me. I want to go there, I want to feel the rush of cold wind and the thrill of falling, and I want to stand at the bottom, and turn, and laugh at the hill that frightened me. My eyes turn once again to the boy behind me.

"Can you give me a push?" I ask, hopefully. The young hero obliges. Crouching, hands gripping the edge, he gives the sled a tremendous push. And I fly. Oh, how I fly.

Squealing from pure exhilaration, I rocket down the hill. Snowy air stings my cheeks as the sled races along it's course. I may have doubted before. There's no fear now.

At the bottom, my sled stops with a crunch, and I flop into the snow on my back, giggling. Then, I stand up, and I do laugh at that hill, at my fear, at my joy. I laugh that I can somehow laugh at all three at once.


I'm there now, at the edge of the hill, feeling stuck and unmoving, but ready to go. Ready to fall. Absolutely fall. And there's no turning back.