Mary MesenburgLeave a comment

From Toilets to Virginia Woolf

Image by StockSnap from Pixabay 

“I peed standing up!” a male friend proclaimed defiantly as he walked outside holding another beer. Having lived with me for a time, he knows my predilection for the sanitary and his devious grin told me that he just might have intentionally left the situation untidy. 

What men fail to realize about their bathroom escapades is that it isn’t the drops on the seat, but rather, the ureic streaks running down the bowl of the toilet that go unnoticed. Being more observant than is pleasant, my eyes lock in on these things and won’t let go until all is put back in order. 

Isn’t that true of life? We notice what falls into the pattern of what we’ve been taught to observe. But, what about all the nuanced detail that exists in our lives? I wonder how much I fail to see. As I’ve allowed myself to be swept away by the tasks of life, my view has become more myopic, focusing in on the things in front of my face; the fabricated demands that require my attention now. 

In an effort to be more observant, I have tried to slow down, providing myself with the opportunity to absorb what is around me. It has become hard for me to be still, to just sit. I am a doer and despite myself, I’ve been caught up in the manic way of the modern world. A sense of restlessness settles over me when I’m not accomplishing something; chores, gardening, reading, writing, exercising; something, I must always be doing something. 

One of the many items on my checklist is to read more classic literature and I decided to read Mrs. Dalloway by Virgina Woolf. I got so frustrated in the first few pages by what seemed to be a distracted ramble, that I tossed the book down and headed to bed early! However, I am tenacious, I want to read and appreciate this great work. The next time I picked the book up, I slowed down and almost felt my brain click into a different gear. I race around in high gear and in order to appreciate this work a downshift was required.

Reading classical literature takes a different type of reader. I’ve been buried in fantasy books and non-fiction for some time now; the action is quick and the facts straight forward. Mrs. Dalloway is something else entirely. There are no chapters, and the pages drift from one character to the next, getting lost in their thoughts about the surroundings. To be honest, it’s been a bit hard for me to follow. 

The writing is beautiful though. There have been sentences that cause me to pause and ponder. Finding these literary gems reminds me that I ought to slow down and enjoy the splendor that is around me; not everything is an A to B dash. 

I once loved reading poems. But now they baffle my mind and I finally understand the befuddled state others have described when trying to read poetry. I trust that with practice and a little down shifting, I’ll once again be able to open the part of my mind that gaps in wonder while reading. I crave that sensation when a line hits me just right and I feel like I’ve been given a glimpse into the wonder of the universe.  Where has the magic gone? 

Why… it is all around me if I’d only take the time to appreciate it.

Mary MesenburgLeave a comment

Morning Rumination

Photo by Jen Theodore on Unsplash

I was once more bold in sharing what I like to call my ruminations. These are sparked by a random thought and morph into mental essays that I can’t wrap my head around until I write them down. My journals are filled with such intellectual meanderings, I’m always writing; it seems to be the only way to clear my head.

I suppose, as I’ve grown older and have tried integrating myself more with society, I have become somewhat embarrassed by my willingness to be so open, so vulnerable on public forums. However, I do believe it is the responsibility of writers to be bold in bearing their souls. If one is going to write, then there ought to be meaning in it. If I’m going to write, I must write something worth reading. 

This thought came up again as I was reading Margaret Atwood’s The Blind Assassin where she says – “Some day when I’m feeling better I’ll go back there and actually write the thing down. They should all be cheered by it, for isn’t it what they want? What we all want: to leave a message behind us that has an effect, if only a dire one; a message that cannot be cancelled out. But such a message can be dangerous. Think twice before you wish, and especially before you wish to make yourself into the hand of fate.”

That section really struck me with its truth. Once a private thought becomes a public one, there is no recalling it; no delete, no cancel, no return to sender on the envelope. But, even in the header on this website I’ve already captured the essence of my soul – Reader… Thinker… Writer…

That is my preamble as I jump off the precipice of opening myself up slightly and sharing what is really on my mind. If you enjoy these ruminations, if they strike a chord with you and you can relate, give them a like or leave a comment and I’ll know that they are going somewhere other than the void. 

Morning Rumination

I don’t know how to ignite a purpose within myself when I no longer feel one. When I lost my faith in a higher power, I lost the sense of my life having meaning. I used to feel like I was being pulled to something, a higher calling, a meaning, a purpose, a reason that my single flame in a sea of fire meant something. 

After my great fall from believing in something outside myself, I was swallowed up in a yawning depression. This lasted for years. As I slowly re-awaken to the life around me, the life in me, I wonder where to go next. I do not have a partner, I have no children, my life is mine and mine alone. When one does not live for other people, what does one live for?

I see much writing out there that starts by describing a struggle and ends with a message about how the author moved forward and steps that others can take to do the same. I don’t have any such advice. It would feel inauthentic to pretend that I do. Who am I to instruct others on what it means to live a good life? 

I’m relaxing into knowing that I simply do not know. I feel liberation in slowing down and being aware. What calls to me? Is a simple life a bad thing? Will I suddenly wake up one day and once again know how to spend my time in a way that feels worth something? 

I may, and I may not. The only way I know to be okay with the unknown is to accept that it is there and that I can’t force it to change.