she was approaching another 40 something birthday, yet on certain days

when she walked down the street with that air of confidence and ease

she could feel the eyes of many a man upon her. was it that sense of ease

combined with 30 percent nonchalance, 30 percent discontent and 40 percent just being,

that attracted them? the percent – in her head now, drifting into her early morning

thoughts as she awoke from hazy dreams, always tired

wanting to go back to sleep.

she was now the budget person for her small group that existed within the

immensity of the university, and the sweeping scope of the department.

this was nothing she has ever envisioned herself doing, managing projects,

calculating, being aware of all the small and tedious details.

this “normal life” was never something she had wanted. but despite the entirety

of normalcy, her life wasn’t stable, and even though she could feel herself straining

against the hard leather bit in her mouth, she also, at times,

envied those others that had a sense of peace and stability.

for this always seemed to elude her.

her daughter was beautiful and talented, but stubborn,

lacking any type of ambition. she floated along in the hipster world,

sometimes writing lovely compelling poetry and songs, yet not wanting

to commit to anything that required effort and focus.

her boyfriend, such a silly term when a person is beyond the age of 30,

was a mix of the deepest passion combined with such reserve that it was hard

to believe at times that this was truly one person. she had no doubt

that he loved her deeply, but unlike her, who felt the love flow through her,

carry her along every day, love was like an object that he could

put away when it did not suit him to feel it. she has expressed long ago

how she wanted her life to be a work of art, that the manifestations of art,

her paintings, her poetry, were never as important as living

her life in a fulfilling way, delving as deep as she could muster, exploring

the unknown spaces, reaching beyond what people defined themselves to be.

she wished to engage, be engaged, keep the connection that allowed

that artistic movement to encompass the events and actions of life.

but he felt the need to often disengage, push away the sweet mystery

in order to produce, to be liked, to be out there. This was a constant quiet battle,

one of the many battles she was faced with every day –

and now she was weary.

detachment – this concept, so beloved to the Eastern Patriarchal Spiritual traditions

was something that she now needed to cultivate. her eyes were wide open

to the lack of respect that the so called feminine qualities of

affection and openness, were given in the world. people toted “community”,

“togetherness” “connection”, but these liberal social buzzwords were but shadows

of the true meaning of the words. and all of this accompanied by such a space

crowded with objects – mountains and mountains of objects, enveloped

by this ever present watching nothingness. There was hardly

enough space to take a breath.

there was no room for openness or true devotion.