Rain.

Its raining. She can hear it. Even though her eyes are still closed and her head under her blanket. She knows the smell of it. The slow, lazy, pitter-pattering deluge that she wakes up to every morning during rainy season. The ground would be a river of sticky, fragrant, red mud. All the trees shiny, emerald green from their daily polishing.
She begins a to-do list in her head. First thing being a cold shower. She really needs to get that hot water heater fixed. This is the third time it has broken. Its probably just given up the ghost this time.
Prepare some lessons for the kids. They are learning about soil and erosion this week. Should be an easy lesson with every sloshing footstep illustrating what water can do to earth. They will grin at her stumbling attempts at their musical language.She will learn some new phrases today. The velvet syllables easily dancing off their lips will sound like a skipping record coming from hers.
Sweep the cobwebs out of her hut. Found a golden orb spider yesterday. They are beautiful. Their lacy webs look like they have been touched by Midas. She had seen the effects of an orb bite. Better avoid it than admire it. A lot of things are like that in Africa.
 Patch the hole in the cinderblock wall behind her bed. The rats have been getting in and chewing her shoes. Feed the chickens. She is down to five chicks from the last hatch. Stupid snakes. Her neighbor says "Iwe (you) go' da chickens Mianda, iwe ge' da snakes". She hates snakes. Pull some weeds in the garden. Shes got to find a way to keep the baby tomatoes from rotting in all this wet. Pasteurize the milk that Michael will be bringing in by the bucketful....
She waits one more minute under the blanket. Still halfway between a dream and wakefulness. Her eyes still closed to the grey light... She bolts upright in a moment of awareness. Not in Africa. Seattle. The rain continues outside the window. Onto a roof that is decidedly not made of elephant grass. Her tiny room is cozy. No rats, no cobwebs, no broken hot water heater... with a heaviness in her heart, she swings her legs over the side of the bed. The hardwood floor is cold. She pulls a sweater on against the damp. Its still three hours till she has to be at work. She pushes the button on her ipod and Radiohead reminds her " you do it to yourself, you do, that's what really hurts"  The scalding hot water of her shower is mocking her. Some kind of guilt puts pressure on her stomach. She can't put a finger on it.
Coffee. Coffee will help. To the coffee shop. She shoves her work clothes into a backpack and grabs the first book she sees off of her night stand. It's about two blocks to the bus stop. Her hair is still damp from the shower. There are  a few people waiting for the bus. Not the usual suspects since she is still two hours early for her normal commute. She wonders what it is like for them to wake up in the morning. Are they similarly haunted by pasts? Do their bodies wake up in another country from the one their heart wakes up in? The bus arrives and she shuffles into the crowded mass of commuters. Everyone is plugged in. The lady in front of her is dressed to the nines. High heels, headphones and a smartphone. She is standing next to a homeless man. Miss Smartphone looks decidedly uncomfortable. He looks like he spent the night under a bridge. He balances a big pack on one shoulder and pats the head of his dog with his other hand. The lady casts her a glance that says "What do you think you are looking at?" The homeless man grants her a loving smile and a friendly wink. She finds it strangely comforting that she identifies more with that scraggly man. Her heart smiles. "Next stop: Pike and Sixth street" squeaks from the bus intercom. She shuffles towards the door. The homeless man shuffles next to her.
"Can I help with your bag" She says.
"Shure" He smiles.
They hop off the bus.
"Where you headed?" She asks.
"Anywhere its not raining"
"You want some coffee?"
"Absolutely"
"Well, I know a good spot for coffee"
"Hank" he grins " this is Stetson" Pointing to the dog.
They head down the street. She thinks about that guilt feeling ... she realizes in that moment that it isn't guilt. Its a reminder to be human. A reminder that a broken heart is the one that feels the most. The heart that pours all out and loves whoever is in its wake. Especially the hungry ones.

On life. Generally.

I recently had coffee with a good friend of mine. We had a very encouraging conversation. It is often difficult for me to have meaningful conversations with people because a lot of my experiences go above and beyond what you would generally talk about with friends. Every once in a while I find a person that can resonate with my past and with whom I can share a bit of my heart.
This conversation, stimulated me to think about where I am. Most of the time I get caught up focusing only on events in the present time. Never looking back and only looking far enough ahead to see my next foot fall. I find that a lot of my past experiences are like band-aids over scabs. I know that in order for those things to truly heal I need to bring them out into the open. However, I know that removing that band-aid is going to hurt like the dickens.

During the course of my conversation with my friend I was reminded of an event in my life that shaped me as a human being. It is still the single most important moment of my life. I was a newby missions intern in Zambia. We were on our first medical mission out to the bush. We were providing a medical clinic for people who barely ever got to take an aspirin let alone see a doctor. There were probably about a hundred men, women and children lined up at the door. I was flitting in and out of the lines making friends with the people and playing games with the children. A young woman approached me and in broken English she told me her story. Her husband had died recently of aids and had left the young woman to take care of four children. She was obviously unwell. I became more and more concerned as she spoke to me. When she finished her story she looked at me with sorrowful eyes and she held out her infant child to me. She begged me to take the child because she was dying. There are not words enough in the dictionary to describe the pain that I felt at that moment. When your world shatters and everything that you knew to be true is just a wave on the ocean.

I can't explain to you what this experience did to me. BUT I can tell you that it completely changed the way that I view my life.

It's funny how we have this idea in our society that we have to be all put together and have everything figured out. I don't understand where this simplistic view of "what we should be" came from. How many of you can stand up and say that you are well adjusted emotionally, that you have the perfect body, that you are happy with your job, that you are glad you are in debt because school was worth it, you are good at saving money, your relationship is without flaw?

Nobody. But is this not what we pretend on a day to day basis? Are these not the things that we are supposed to have figured out? Well then I have a confession to make. I am not well adjusted emotionally. In fact I'm a bit of a hot mess. I am not satisfied with how my body looks, but I am me.  I don't like my job but I do it because I have to. I am angry that I am in debt for a stupid year of school that didn't mean anything. I am the WORST at saving money. When it comes to relationships... I am one big blob of spaghetti like emotions. All connected and mixed up together and topped off with a brokenhearted tomato sauce.

You know what? I am tired of these expectations of normal. I want to shout it from the Mountains that I am a mess. A beautiful mess. Poetry comes from broken hearts. Music is born out of passion. I won't apologize for my flaws. Only use them to make art and to live life in such a way that I cause others to stop and listen to the music. I will never have it figured out. because I know that everyday we must approach life like that young woman. Willing to give everything for someone else to experience the world. Willing to love so deeply that it will break you apart.


Cally Jane