(Ann)onymity

There was this comfort in feeling "in disguise".  Not having to face the music and the trials.  Its as if, for once in a moment of my lifetime, I have actually enjoyed the anonymity. Wishing I had gracefully worn a scarf or signature Jackie Onassis sunglasses to help me unplug and walk away from all that drives my daily business.
These past weeks have allowed me the opportunity to visit and revisit my Ann cave.   I now realize the comfort I have come to enjoy in my (Ann)onymity.  I have avoided the press, the paparazzi and even my own inner voice.  Sometimes reveling in the great escape and sometimes slinking away from the voices of judgement that torment me personally.  Being perfect is the perfect disguise to my own humanity and realization of my divine work.

Sometimes the most painful voice one listens to is their own. This leaves to listen closely and ask, whose voice is this really?  Is this my past? My present or my journey that, like mud magneted, accumulated on the wheel wells and cause this dragging feeling?  Is it making the noise it does so that it can be heard and finally fall away with every bump in the road, jarring it loose and calling it back into the earth to be let go as non-matter?  What is that racket?  What is the matter?  Is the Universe rattling my body and soul here to help me shake the (Ann)onymity of the past 48 years?  Thanks only to the eclipse and the concussion that brings about the strength of my intuition and realizations.  Pain reminds us that we are alive for a moment.  Listening reminds us to sit up and pay attention.  This awakening has a purpose. It has told me it can not fit back into the box of contentment, or mediocrity.  Showers of breaths, I hear in the stillness of my quiet listening.  There is a pattern, a pattern worth the breaking and a pattern worth repeating. I now get me.  Some tools are well used, some I have used only in emergency to escape pain and taunting from the inside and the outside.

There was this poem that my mother had framed and I think my sister now has it in her home. It was perfect and balanced and the quietest thought I had ever entertained as a child.  It goes something like this:  "I wish I was a rock, just a sittin' on a hill.  I wouldn't do anything all day long, except just a sitting still." -Anonomous                                                                            
I can long for a time to be like a rock. Sitting on a hill watching the sun rise and set, to just be quiet, and listen to my world.  To feel the breeze of the earth spinning as I sit safe and still.  Not realing or rolling, but just being!  The beauty of that lone idea creates a deep longing.  One deep breath, then another. Feeling alone but not lonely.  What a gift!  I used to think that going to the bathroom alone was a gift.  With children under foot, naturally the phone would ring or worse yet the doorbell would ring, as I had finally found the quiet moment in the quietest place in the house.  Quiet never came, neither alone or in the company of my children, there wasn't a quiet moment.  Now as I sit alone trying to cling to the quiet, a desperate attempt to shut out the monkey mind of chatter that reminds me of my earthly life and mantle.  The floors need a good cleaning when I look down, the ceiling needs a coat of paint as I look up.  That ever escaping mastery of keeping the toilet paper stocked.  Ahhh, my humanity!
Pacing my breath and time. Being gentle and kinder to myself is the motto. Non judgement is a breath at a  time.