5.30.20 Fight Like Static

Sometimes I think I understand how

s   t   a   t   i   c    feels – 

like a broken signal

like a haze of fog

crackling and hissing in constant interruption

in search of a connection that doesn’t exist

Chaotic

and 

noisy

I intercept only broken and fractured 

pieces

shattered bits of story

punctuating burning lines of song

And my mind goes gray

clouds replacing clarity

as I desperately try to hear 

a word of peace

amidst the suffocation of 

in-between voices

with 

in-between agendas

There can be no tuning in

to a world that feeds on fire

to a nation raging on every side

And my heart 

hurts

And my head 

hurts

And for a moment I almost let go

turn off

stop feeling

But I was raised with the courage to carry on

no matter what compassion costs me

So I fight 

like static

to hear the voices that rise

to find the passions that stir

to hope that I’m not the only one out there

still trying

to make sense 

of the noise

5.22.20 Both Sides of Her Pages

“Love does not alter the beloved, it alters itself.” – Soren Kierkegaard

I will never forget the first time I found out that I was to be published in Bella Grace Magazine, not only because it was a significant achievement for an unknown writer like me … but also because I was at a bit of a low point. It was in 2015, my husband was in graduate school, I was working full time and writing a lot, we had two small kids, and I decided to sacrifice what little I could to just barely “keep up.”

Sleep.

It turns out this was a very bad idea. It lead to exhaustion, anxiety, and heart palpitations that ended me up in the ER. It was right after I started to reclaim the essential parts of my life (like rest, the joy of giving yourself a minute, the necessity of learning how to say no, etc.) that I received word that I was accepted to write for Bella. It felt like the best gift … like a metaphorical symbol that I was headed in the right direction and life was offering me something beautiful for finally, “getting it.”

Even now, five years later, I still get that same joy. Every time I have the honor of seeing my words printed on these thick, image-rich, story-lined pages – my heart skips in the best … slow down and savor kind-of-way. I fell in love with this magazine as a reader, and like the quote says above, love has altered me, so that every time I write, I think, with profound gratitude, of what that tired, unwound version of me would need to hear. I think about what would bring her calm … what would ease her too-filled mind.

I believe Bella Grace Magazine is a tonic for the weary spirit in all of us, and every time … all the time … I am grateful to be on both sides of her pages.

All my love,

Elle

5.15.20 If My Mother Taught Me Anything

If my mother taught me anything … and she taught me everything … but nothing that mattered so much as this – to have faith. It is perhaps, paradoxically, the easiest and hardest thing to do. On one hand, I have found that life without it, to me, is depleted of meaning. But on the other hand, sometimes faith requires oh-so-much more courage than I feel I have. Still, silently screaming, I hold on as tight as I can to this truth … believing with the wishes wished on a thousand stars, with the prayers offered up of ten thousand prayers, that faith will be enough.

And it has been. Life has never left me hopeless, because it is not only this life I hope in. People have never disappointed me to the point of despair, because it is not only their love that I cling to.

I pray you too … in the midst of everything, of anything, can hold tight to faith. If you cannot find some, you may borrow some of mine. My mother taught me that too.

Elle

5.4.20 A Poem for the Ageless

 

Here’s to the ageless ones …

the ones who self-identify with feelings 

instead of years

The ones that triumphantly ride squeaky-wheeled carts in parking lots

and aren’t ashamed to order dessert first,

even if they’re eating alone

Here’s to the ageless ones … 

the old souls in young bodies

bursting with wisdom they yearn to give freely,

yet no one receives without cost

Here’s to the ageless ones … 

who sing and beat their steering-wheel-drum

chanting their anthems to the wide-open windows 

and passerby cars 

who carry on completely unaware

Here’s to the ageless ones …

to those captured deep-in-thought,

tangled in the philosophies they weave

theories stitched in time 

yet surrounded by those stuck in the shallow end

Here’s to the ageless ones … 

the running barefoot, hair down breeze dancers

who delight in the light that they chase

just to feel the thrill of releasing it back to the wild 

Here’s to the young

the purposefully naive … 

the dreamers who remember to play

Here’s to the old, 

the vintage souls …

the antique hearts whose beat is the rest in-between

To those who transform 

but refuse to conform their spirit to a number 

too small to fit into

or big enough to get lost in

Here’s to the ageless ones …

for the world belongs to you