Note: There is more than one post today. Please scroll down after this for an inspiring story by a fellow blogger. And a shout-out and thank you to friends and readers. Today is my 2-year blog anniversary. Your visits to my page kept Mimi Writing.....here's to year 3. Cheers.
Through the densely green forest hills of the Peruvian mountains I climbed, hiking with brown Armani boots and run-proof pantyhose. A smudge of lipstick on my face and a hint of Elizabeth Arden Green Tea spritz, wondering if today I might be kissed by someone sweet, maybe a passing tribesman. Or would I step on a python (that's why I wore the boots), dodge a spear, sink in a swamp?
Trust me, stranger things have happened in my pencil skirt world.
Just in case the boots weren't enough and I got lost in the thickness, I brought my trusty bleeper, a change of Queen's clothing and more lipstick.
Have I ever been close to real violence? The sight of 9/11 in New York City - as horrific as that day became - was as close as I'd ever gotten. Even then, my skirt saw not even a dusting of the actual dust. In my tears I tasted the agony of what I saw... in my heart, in my spirit. But soil my skirt?
Not until today.
Today my skirt got dirty.
It's easy for me to have composure as I sit typing on a tiny screen pontificating on the hell of war and spouting fluffy peace terms; I am not in the middle of the jungle eating yam roots today. My equilibrium is not off balance for lack of food or water. My children are not starving, the temperature is not 140 degrees and there are no bombs falling in Bloggingham's trees.
My serenity is easy.
Is it deserved? I believe it is.
As is yours. As is every human's birthright.
I read on.....through the dusty mountains of Iraq, drink from a gourd in a refugee camp in the Sudan, wander through a crowd of colorful peasants in the streets of Laos, high-stepping through the barb-wired sections of Ethiopia and stopping - finally - to pray in Myanmar. The monastery, this time, lay in ruins and the remnants of shredded saffron seemed fitting for the blood red floors of war torn Asia.
And I'm wondering how I ended up in this jungle without falling on my prissy behind and crying? And how I expected my readers to follow ....without falling on theirs?
"Self-possession" someone whispered. Get a-hold of yourself, Mimi. For heaven's sakes you can't fall down now. Heels or no heels, you can't expect people to follow if you fall down.
Look at the pictures. Look at them again.
I just want to walk in my skirt. Pick a ripe tomato. Smile at my neighbor.
I do not wish to think about those who cannot do that one simple errand.
Baaahhh! Just pictures.
I don't want to look.
It's amazing what truth does to your soul. Even when it's ugly.
And I have the nerve to be peaceful?
I am not inherently entitled to my soft-shoe world. Nor are you.
And really. Who am I to make the bodacious assumption that our words can change a damn thing?
Who are YOU?
Voices.....Self-possession, girl, self-possession. It's not Queenly. Hmm....
Back to center.
If I believe that words are powerful,
Time to put down my panic.
I won't say it.
It is not mine to say.
I am not a revolutionary!
There is not a violent bone in my body.
"Because," I said with a mouth full of uneaten sarcasm, "because I am turning. Turning. Changing. As I read."
And walk through jungles
Ah, Mimi. You do take yourself a bit seriously, now don't you?
But I have been attacked
by the presence of peace
In the midst of a warring world I stumble through
I don't know why my grandfather's loving eyes gave me gifts of handmade earth-shaped marbles in a bowl that grace my piano today and planned for me all those years ago to write about his prayers.
I don't know why.
With all of you.
No kiss for me today in the jungle.
But lots of love from YOU ...
Brava to the blogosphere.Ataraxia, I hear, is deadly.