Tag Archives: perserverance

Day 19: Gratitude, My Tiny Listless Friend

June 09, 2011   Krista Moore   No comments
beloved

beloved*

This is what came to me while silencing the creeping need to fret away the time…  a moment of grace in a busy day.

GRATITUDE

I am exposed
Half  hairs showing
Fingernails too long
Guff and scarred
But still growing
I am not a mystic warrior
With supporters beckoning from behind
I need to assert myself
Delve in
Not mistake countenance
for sustenance
 Not for a moment forsake
The purpose I am here.
 I need to keep going
Offering up
Hands bent back and afraid
- And  yet -
The frightened stares of my intellect
Are no match
For my tiny, listless Friend.

Why is this called gratitude? It occurred to me too. A little strange, but somehow true. All that chaotic intellect shining and getting in the way; all the competing voices yelling this way – no, that-a-way! All the uncertainties with puffed chest standing in the way…

And yet, this voice comes. This voice that tells you no, not that way.  You are here for a reason. All this will go away. Keep writing. Keep going, though your neck be too long, or your will not that strong. Keep fighting past the insecurities that time throws in the way. It will all go away.

And in the meantime, when you are silent, and no one is around, this voice will find you.  Your one, true, tiny and listless Friend. She will comfort you. She will ring true. She will be your one true confider, who will tell you: it won’t be long now. Just keep going.

The world awaits you.

Amen.

*This work is part of a poetry collection Krista has published on Amazon called “Song of the Beloved”.  The First edition is now available on Kindle, but it is continually being updated.

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Day 18: Intimidated

June 09, 2011   Krista Moore   No comments

Today I feel intimidated. I am afraid to write this post!  I am embarrassed that someone will read it, which they probably will! So I told my son who is a musician and can understand this kind of fear, and he said:

“Write like no one will read it. You can always worry about it later.”

Brilliant! Why didn’t I think of that?

Last night I was wildly embarrassed about my post and deleted it on Facebook (you can read it here if you want - I am committed and it remains Day 17).  I suddenly felt more aware that people are watching, reading my work. I was becoming afraid of my audience! This is not good!

What do I do about that? I have learned soooooo  many ways to deal with that feeling of Intimidation. There is no one (at least not openly) judging me, certainly not as harshly as I judge myself. And a lot of folks have been quite nice. I just didn’t want to have to go through it, this feeling. AGAIN! Why can’t I get this right? After all, I am well-trained, highly evolved! I should know better, Damnit!

But, here I am. Embarrassed. Intimidated.

But wait – why is my life so amazing? Isn’t that what this blog is for?  Yes, it is. I have no excuses. My crybaby worries won’t work anymore. I’m not getting out of this.

Nor could I get out of my audition today: the things I had to do to prepare; the nice man I was supposed to audition with but had to go in with someone else instead; the courage I felt in doing my best despite awkward glances; the compassion I showed myself by saying ”thank you very much”, and patting myself on the back, even if I hadn’t really “nailed” it.  Despite all of that, and the dusty hot streets I encountered as I walked to the car…  I felt good.

I wasn’t afraid anymore. Not because my source of discomfort was gone, but because it didn’t really matter anymore. I was there for a time: I connected, I shared, I laughed, I sighed. And now it was time to move on.

I am still here and my whole life as well.

At least I am not intimidated by her anymore, that little girl inside myself. I have come to love her qualities, the different temperatures and landscapes of her inner world; I am beginning to see them as passing mist, nothing to get too worked up about. And sometimes, to even cherish awhile.

When I got home, there was a pool to put up, kids to feed, a dog freshly groomed and running about. Happiness filled the moist, grassy air…

It was heaven on earth.

Oh, what was I so worried about?

P.S. I can’t say I followed my son’s advice to the rule, or that I “nailed” my post either, but at least I did it.  And so, I  continue another day. Amen.

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Day 15: Haley Sings to the Mountaintops

June 06, 2011   Krista Moore   4 Comments

Tonight one of my guilty pleasures was watching Shania Twain recover her voice in her show, “Why Not? with Shania Twain” on OWN.  It reminded me of my own transition, from when I felt on top of the world, to feeling I had lost everything. I felt so humiliated, so scared, the last thing I wanted to do was admit it to a close personal friend (let alone the world). I didn’t know how to rebuild who I thought I was (my ego) with who I was now (my home). I couldn’t reconcile my dreams with what I had become. It felt like an impossible compromise.  I was paralyzed.

Until I found my voice: Uncertain, strong, uncompromising; softly at first it rose, in the middle of the night. Out of the treetops it seemed to sing; quietly it whispered in my sleep, or wildly it cried in vain. But it rose just the same…

I wrote it all down. Every last detail, feeling, thought. I never shared with anyone, always alone. My private sanctuary from the world. Then it changed: only a few were allowed to hear, my private cries or my wild hidden voice that would spring out onto the page, sometimes delightful and poetic, sometimes irreverent and funny. It gave others pleasure to hear my voice or read my words and many encouraged me. This was a whole new world to me. My private sanctuary was crumbling.

Now, as I listen to those who write back to me, I am dumbfounded. I can hardly believe that anyone is listening, or that my words carry a piece of their heart as well. That our collective “song” rings true.

Sometimes I am an eagle, soaring high. I don’t care what other people think. I look down on the landscape and feel the wind in the trees, and I float easily over all, effortlessly. Something carries me. And the song just comes with it, effortlessly. Other times I am the sparrow, easily broken by ambiguous or harsh testimony.  I am human.

Haley is my song, the script I am working on at the moment.  I hope it comes as easily as my mountaintop expressions, spontaneously sung to the wind. But sometimes it doesn’t.  It needs a little more care than that. A little more structure. I am not used to the accountability of sharing. I am learning.

Shania will recover her voice – there’s no question. It’s scripted that way. But our story remains.

Some are broken by life; others will find their voice again. Whatever your broken-winged voice can’t say…  please, sing it anyway.

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Day 12: The Climb

June 01, 2011   Krista Moore   2 Comments

1

.

“Jump off the high dive, woman.”
She looks at him.
No.
Yes.
No.
“OK, have it your way.”
He picks her up and throws her in.
.
2
.
“Jump off the high dive, damnit.”
“NO. I can’t.”
“Yes you can.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Yes you will if I have anything to do with it.”
She pauses.
He smiles.
She runs.
He chases her.
She jumps in.
.
3
.
 
 “Go on, you can do it.”
“I know” she says and smiles.
But she doesn’t.
He pauses.
She looks at him.
“Why should I?” she asks.
“What are you waiting for?” he answers.
He waits.
She goes and climbs the first step.
 .
4
.
 
“It’s cold up here.”
“So.”
“I’m hungry. I want to come down now.”
“No.”
“Why?” she asks again.
“Because you don’t want to.”
“OK.”
She goes one step further.
.
5
.
 
“It’s high up here.”
“I know.”
“What should I do now?”
“I can’t hear you…”
She contemplates.
Nobody is there.
She is all alone.
What do I do now?
Keep going.
She doesn’t go.
She tries to come back down,
But something keeps drawing her nearer.
 .
6
.
 
She comes back down and rests.
She does other things to distract herself.
He doesn’t care.
He waits for her.
Then, when she is ready, she asks him again.
“What should I do now? Go again? Do you want me to?”
“Do you?”
“I do. Something is calling me nearer.”
“Then go if you want to. Do it.”
 .
7
.
 
She goes again,
This time she is one step nearer.
Suddenly there is a crowd.
Only a few looking up at her.
She is doing something newer.
They are cheering for her.
This is fun again.
She climbs to the top and takes a peek at all there is to see.
She freaks and comes back down.
They pat her on the back, but she has a frown.
“What’s the matter?” they ask.
“I didn’t do it yet. I pretended to. I didn’t climb the whole way. I didn’t jump off.”
“So. You tried. That is enough.”
“NO. I want to go again.”
“Good. Then go.”
 .
8
.
 
This time there is no one around.
She creeps out into the night.
She climbs the ladder fully and stands at the top.
She sings her song to the mountaintops and the trees.
She is free.
No one is listening
Or so she thinks.
In the morning there are people everywhere,
Crowding her for a time,
Congratulating her on her mountainous climb.
She is dumfounded.

“How did you know?”

“We could hear you.”

.

.

P.S. So, what number are you on?…

Krista Moore’s “The Climb”, written by Krista Moore June 1, 2011, posted on “Krista’s ‘Little Book of Miracles’”.

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