Sunday, February 14, 2010

Scandalous Living

(Pre-Script: This post will balance you out so well, you will be tempted to cancel your upcoming Chiropractic Appointment if you read it as the song, "Something Beautiful," #57 on the playlist, plays in the background. Go down to the playlist, click on that song, then come back and resume reading. I'll wait...)(...Still waiting...)
Today, I sit in the car, which is parked directly facing the Pacific Ocean above a cliff, and watch it. This is not one of the places where the ridiculous people hang out on their surfboards, in black wetsuits, looking like small ants scavenging the Ocean for-
what, salt?
No, the surfers are a quarter mile down the coast, in less cliffy areas. The fewer waves determined to dash you against the rocks, the better, I say. Apparently, they agree with me...on this point, at least.
But if you sat on a particular chair in my living room, and didn't look before sitting, your backside might be rudely impaled with the pointy spike of the plastic dinosaur that was carelessly left there by small hands, then so rudely forgotten about, neglected to be cleaned up and placed back in the bin with the other dinosaurs. You can get where you think you are safe, stop looking at things on high alert, tune down the senses, put the fight or flight reflexes to rest, and then the most innocuous of toys gets you in the end. Literally.
I do this thing on Sundays that I don't do any other day. I actually try to rest by not letting myself do chores that don't need to be done that day. There are still enough chores that need to be done on a Sunday:
People need to be fed.
I do the laundry every day, and this way it does not pile up or become overwhelming. To neglect the laundry on a Sunday would be to cause a Monday pile up, and the thought of that would cause me undue stress, therefore limiting my ability to mentally relax. So it is actually more of a peaceful venture just to keep the laundry chugging. But as far as housecleaning goes, I refrain. But you see, one has to weigh for oneself what is actually stress relief, and what is more stress inducing, what balance of work to rest ratio brings peace and sanity, vs. what will tip the scales and knock you off into a pit of stressed out, rageful, insanity lava. One needs to pay careful attention, as these things can be very easy to confuse, hard to distinguish, and can mask themselves as the exact same thing, or change places from one day to the next.
I don't refrain in a legalistic way; it's not like if I suddenly pull out a mop and start to scrub something, I think I will be struck with lightening. Instead, it's a freedom I allow myself. It's a space to breathe, where I can see the work load and say, "I can do that Monday. I will get back to work every other 6 days of this week." And then I feel better.
Outside of my house, there are things beyond my control, and inside my house as well. The spaces the children create for themselves to laugh, and sing, and have dance parties while laughing and falling down all together. And again, the way they just as passionately argue and bicker. Emotional extremes and subtleties.
Today, I am looking at an Ocean who's waves I cannot predict; their size, how and when and where they finally break; I can only watch them happen over and over and over and completely different than the one before, again and again. I sit in the car and watch from the other side of the windshield.
Along the cliff of the shore, there is a fence. People are not supposed to go beyond it; it is meant to be a safety barrier. Just a moment ago, two people stepped over it, and stood there, just on the inside of it, the wild Ocean side.
"What are they doing on that side of the fence," We wonder.
"Illegal things," I say. "Dangerous, Illegal things."


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