(february 2, 2012)

i made smoothies and he made tiny pancakes.

i added a few peaches to the mix but you could not really tell. watch out jamba juice, i might not be needing you anymore. it’s cold and snowy here in brooklyn and that is fitting.

i am two people. two whole people.

lots of days, i am happy and focused and excited about my life. i am loving all my teaching opportunities, excited to go to yoga and peace abounds in my heart and home. i let myself be wooed by visions of anna, the eye of andrew wyeth and the lovely neighborhood of park slope. i feel strong and centered, open.

but then there are the days that make me tired and lonely. it could be a dream or a memory that sends me back and takes me out. i have noticed that the pain of infertility has taken on a new form. the days of sad and dark are fewer in number but are more intense and deep in feeling. my questions for god have become more complex and honest and raw. during these times my anger, confusion and tears come quick.

i hold nothing back.

(february 22, 2012)

i hold everything back. i have shrunk my list of confidants and for now, that is okay. more and more i ponder these things in my heart, hoping for a day when i feel completely free with the people i love most dear.

at the myrtle/willoughby stop, a man got on the G train. he sat in one of the orange bucket seats across from me and opened up a small grey book and began reading intently. on the cover of the book was a small, cosmic painting full of hazy, pink stars and orange stalagmites. under the image, written in large maroon text were the words:

“is there a Creator who really cares about Me?”  (emphasis on the Creator and the Me) 

the man reading the book was large, but not huge and had a head full of salt and peppered hair. think jack donaghy hair. he wore dark rimmed glasses and was dressed casually but with his shirt tucked in and a belt though his belt loops. two things not often seen on the G train, at least not at the same time. he was handsome and gentil and for some reason he got to me.

now, i have no idea why he was reading that book. i don’t know if it was given to him by a well intended family member or if he bought the book himself. i also do not know who wrote the book or for what religious/anti-religious organization the author wrote the book for. but for some reason he got to me.

maybe it was because, at my core, i am asking the same question.

is there a Creator who really cares about Me?  (emphasis on the Creator and the Me)

i wanted to to sit right down next to the man and say, well? is there?. i also wanted to say, yes, i believe there is but proceed with caution. or maybe, define the word care… . but what i think my heart said was, i really, really hope so my friend. it is a deep question for me that is layered with experience, belief, disappointment, joy, trauma, friendship and pain.

it is a deep question and i am holding nothing back.