Unbounded and all twinkly

There’s a little glimmer of excitement inside my chest, like a little ball of butterflies and feathers that tickles my stomach and orbits my heart. I can’t explain it.

Something inside of me knows that something else –something big – is going on, or is about to go on, and it can barely contain the secret but knows that the joy of the surprise will be worth the squirmy wait. And it’s giggling with anticipation.

This weird feeling of sensing but not knowing leaves me terribly conflicted. My scientific mind thinks it’s silly, it’s nothing, probably just a combination of stuff like my birthday, and a shiny new set of cookware, and NaNoWriMo, and moving ever closer to the Oomphasis launch, and the holidays zooming in on top of me — all at once! Creating this little euphoric glowy heart flutter. Stress, good stress, the likes of which my body just isn’t used to.

But then there’s still that glowy heart flutter. And the scientific other mind that imagines — knows — there must be something else that physics can’t explain yet. The unknown forces that act upon the universe. The sub-sub-sub-atomic energy that binds us with everything else, that whispers to us in our dreams to remind us that we are of the stars. We are of the stars. It connects matter to other matter and matter to energy and matter to the fabric of space-time. Something’s going on, it says, trust me.

I don’t listen to it often. Nonsense, I say back, you haven’t proved that you exist: How can I trust you?

And then I think about the stars. When I was little, when every other kid wanted to be a veterinarian, a teacher, a lawyer, or a fireman, I wanted to be an astronaut. A month ago, and this week, and tomorrow, I want to be an astrophysicist. Unfortunately, the cosmos speak math, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be a part of them, learn their secrets, ponder their mysteries, shape their future. We are of the stars. I’m finally understanding that I’ve always imagined my world without horizons, though for a while I forgot it. When I started to see that my boundaries were ones I had created, when I began to peer into the vast possibility beyond my self-imposed boundaries, the glimmer appeared. And now it just won’t go away.

Science Mind One’s voice is loud and clear, calling my attention back down to Earth. It’s safe here. Oh shush, SM1, “ships in harbor” and all. I’m beginning to like this twinkling in my spirit. Please take your lingering fear of disappointment and go. For suddenly there is more light in the universe, and something pushing me – pulling me? — up, out, away from your tenacious logic. Something, invisible and real, is expanding my universe. The world is more precious than I ever dared to imagine; life is far richer. And when this whirling glittery feather ball of butterflies bursts into wings, I shall need you for nothing more than to simply hold my feet.

Writer’s block

I stare at the screen.
My mind goes blank.
The cursor just blinks.
Taunting me,
Haunting me,
It screams for attention.

Blink.
Blink.
Blink.
Blink.
Blink.

I watch it squirm.
I hear it beg
As it longs to move,
To play,
To dance,
Leaving words in its wake.

Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.

My fingers itch to glide,
Long to run and jump,
Yearn to stretch and soar.
Main players,
Primadonnas,
In this keyboard ballet.

Thwack!
Thwack!
Thwack!
Thwack!
Thwack!

I close my eyes.
My mind, still blank,
Wanders beyond the walls,
To think,
To dream,
Telling stories to the sky.

I’m very excited.

It’s going to be a good weekend. A great weekend. A super-crazy-awesome-fun weekend. Want to know why? Here’s a clue:

That’s right: WE’RE TOASTING MARSHMALLOWS!

…In the woods!

Where strange and wild creatures lurk all about.

I’m married to one of them.

I try to think of this one as a “bonus.”

She knows what I mean.

Fire. Food. Fall. Add in a pair of fun friends, and you’ve got a formula for a fantastically alliterative annual camping tradition.

But THIS year is different. THIS year, there’s going to be another face added to the mix.

And I’m very, very excited.