Finding Sanctuary and The Man

Today, I'm taking a break - a very long, much needed afternoon hiatus, while life goes on without me.

Oh, okay. I'll be honest, it's not a hiatus, I'm simply hiding. Hiding from people, from circumstance, from responsibility... from everything that I can possibly hide from on this crisp, sunny fall day.

I'm sitting in the grass at the base of a tree, in my own little personal slice of heaven on earth, that no one else knows I own. I had the foresight to bring a full thermos of coffee, along with a sandwich - turkey and swiss, with apple slices, and a dab of horseradish on wheat - in case I feel a bit peckish later.

A sturdy floral canvas tote sits on the ground next to me. It contains all manner of curiosities - my journal and pens, a new book I've yet to start, a pocket knife that once belonged to my grandpa, a square of dark chocolate, my little .22, a bottle of water and various other items of no real consequence.

As I sit and survey my surroundings, I adjust the bill of my cap, and listen to birds and squirrels chatter, the rustle of the wind teasing the dry leaves in the trees, the distant bark of a dog, and small creatures scurrying to and fro in the underbrush. Sitting here, feeling the cool breeze on my skin, it's easy to relax and finally breathe.

I lean back against the base of a tree, close my eyes, and let intentional thought give way to ponderences...some that make me smile, others that would be better left alone, yet I can never seem to do that.

Today, my meandering thoughts have no set path, no limitations, and no guide map to adhere to. They are free to pick a direction and run as far and as long as they desire. They wind and bend - flow like a river racing down its own familiar path - unencumbered and free. Left to their own devices, there's no telling where they will end up or what revelations might be thrust upon me.

As I sit and reflect on my life and current responsibilities, events of the past, how much emotional armor I adorn every day to keep me going, and how little it can sometimes take to strip me of that armor, I realize exactly how exhausted I am. I sigh and come to understand I no longer have it in me to pick up even just one more kernel of sorrow or sadness, even if it isn't mine to carry. My heart and soul are empty and there's nothing left to give - not to myself, or anyone else.

I wish things were different, but I accept that they're not, and try to move on.

Lately though, I have put out so many fires, shuffled appointments, taxied loved ones, advocated for those who couldn't, given love to those unable to reciprocate, foolishly offered all of the olive branches I had to give..

I've worried over and fought for, loved and cared about, and cried with people who were sick and dying... I have seen the inside of too many hospice and hospital rooms, lately. I have given more than I had and am running on IOU notes. It is not only physically exhausting, but mentally and emotionally as well.

My gas tank is dry and just my luck, the fuel stop is bankrupt and posted with a sign that reads "Closed until further notice." Great.

Eh, my thoughts don't stop there, though. They are determined and insistent. My mind is a little bastard screaming out everything scheduled on my list for tomorrow, next week, and next month, while making sure to drive home the likelihood of failure. My mind asks me once again what kind of horrible human being I must have been in a previous life to be shouldering this alone and without support. It continues to whisper accusations that I'm selfish for taking this current waste-of-time respite. Guilt is tossed around inside my head as though an amateur juggler who has not yet mastered aim or the ability to keep all the balls aloft and in line, has taken up permanent residence.

While I try to tame my errant thoughts, I look to the east to see the moon beginning to rise.

Ah, and there he is... My main squeeze, my trusted friend and confidante. The one I tell all my secrets to in the afternoons and the dark of the night. This one who promises not to break my heart, or my confidence...and him, I find I can believe. I smile and say, "Hello, old friend. We have much to talk about, you and I. Well," I say softly, "I'll talk, and you listen." He stares down in silent agreement, from his perch high in the sky, his expression unchanging, like all the other times before when we've met here. He, and he alone is witness to my vulnerability...my tears...my heartache. He and he alone is privy to my secrets, confessions, admissions of regret and disappointment, confessions of needs and desires...my lame attempts at silly jokes no one else would probably appreciate. He takes it all in stride.

In all this time, he's never been one to betray my confidence, nor is he impatient or too busy to listen to my quiet musings. He lets me talk about the silly and the serious...never belittling my thoughts or ideas. He simply listens, shines his light on my face, and lets me unburden this weary heart.

I've found that people don't do that. Everyone is in a hurry, living in their own heads, too busy and too uncaring, too dismissive to be concerned about anyone else - too worried about what they want to say, to be bothered to actually listen to what'sbeing said. People will take and use what they want for a time, then cast it all away at the drop of a hat - calling it an unimportant bother. And even more than that, I find people can't trusted - with emotions, thoughts, a heart, needs and desires, wants and secrets...not with anything it seems.

So, l'll keep coming here - to my secret hide-a-way, down the dirty, dusty, sometimes rutted and muddy lane, to my quiet, secluded spot, tucked far back in the woods where prying eyes can't see and telephone signal can't reach. I'll lean against my favorite tree while I listen to the frogs and the turtles splash in the little pond. I'll take the scolding of the squirrels who are too busy preparing for winter to welcome an interloper. I'll commune with nature and talk to the man in the moon. I'll let my thoughts wander...ebb and flow...with no particular path in mind. I'll shed my tears when I need to, and I'll smile up in Thanksgiving when it suits me. I'll continue showing up to unburden my heart. I'll keep coming here, to sit and just be. I'll let it all fill my tank, if that's possible.

In a life, devoid of trust, this will be enough. In this life, without warmth, yet rife with helplessness and heartache, it will have to be enough.

Maybe the next life will be kinder. I'd like to think so.

But who's to say?

No one.

Not even our stoic, constant, reliable, trustworthy Man in the Moon.