about the good life
There’s an ache that comes from love, from not wanting another to suffer, from worrying, from watching a struggle and not knowing whether to step back or to lean in.
There’s an ache that comes from beauty, from the wonder of the eyelash, the glory of the curl, the softness of the skin, the strength of the embrace, the fragility of the face, so young, so tiny, so new.
There’s an ache that comes from happiness, from feeling like the luckiest girl in the world and knowing it won’t always be that way and not wanting it to end.
There’s an ache that comes from wanting, from desire, from the body, from wanting to return to that place long, long ago when it was a way it will never exactly be again. And from being so glad for that knowing.
There’s an ache that rises from the dance, from the ground, all the way up from the soles of your feet, up, up, up, reminding you that the earth is your home and your final destination. An ache so great that the only thing to do is to dance low and slow as long as your breath can carry you.
There’s an ache that comes from delight, from too much goodness, too much flow. All will ebb and fade, all will go, but right now, it’s still rising, rising, rising and that JOY feels like a heartbeat, a pulse, a rhythm that you can count on, that you can know in your bones, that will only fade when your very last breath has fallen away.
If there’s anything I’ve learned in the last thirty-nine days, it’s that JOY is really a code word for life, and when I raise my consciousness to experience it, no matter how it flows through me, I am met with gratitude, wonder and a exhilaration at the miracle, the sheer miracle of being alive and all the messiness and bliss that comes with it.
If there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that it is not a constant state, but a low grade buzz that sometimes roars and other times purrs, but that it is always available to sink down into, if I’m feeling the ache that makes for tears or the ache that makes for celebration. It is a reminder that I am here, a simple human being in the middle of a riddle that constantly asks me what matters to me most, what is it exactly that helps me know I am still here in this wild and precious life.
If there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that it exists in the intersection of my simple life and the lives of others, that when there is no one to receive our stories, that there is where our joy dims, and that when I receive the stories of others, and best yet create together the ones that we all call our own, that this is what makes our joy shine brighter and brighter and brighter.
Life is complicated and messy and hard and unruly. I’ve spent years in tears. Years, literally, in a quiet, still spot on my couch, being extremely still and silent in my sorrow, wondering if there would ever be any sun. Yet, here it is. Shining so bright, marveling at how everything changes and that even grief cannot stay, that everything, every single thing, has to keep moving and keep changing so that this ebb and flow of life can go on.
Where is your ache today?
Jen Lemen
Wild Precious Life letters from a hopeful girl
http://www.hopefulworld.org
life: acoustic & amplified 