whip away my worries

"Love is the wind, the tide, the waves, the sunshine."
~ Thoreau

            Love is an amazing sensation.  It bubbles through my body, flowing through my veins, beginning at my heart, and warming my fingers and toes.  I take deep breaths and close my eyes, tears of wonder dampening my lashes.  It is like nothing else I have ever felt. 

            I love my parents who have nurtured me from birth and given me a safe place to heal.  I love my sister, my beautiful, kind, intelligent sister who has become a friend and an amazing mother.  I love my niece who is incredible to watch as she explores this new world with wonder- I hope she always finds wonder in the world.  I love my cousin who speaks like someone much older than she is.  I love my friend who has supported me through these difficult times with unwavering loyalty- I wish her the greatest joy.  I love my cat and bird, who always make me laugh and feel needed in this world.  I love the trees and honeybees, the sky and the clouds, the wind and the rain, fresh air and warm sun, dolphins and whales, minnows and frogs, crickets and caterpillars, hawks and eagles, chickadees and finches, earthworms and butterflies. 

            Although it is so easy to feel sad and discouraged, when love overwhelms me, I look at the world with the wonder of my niece and I am thankful to be alive.  I am ALIVE.  I feel the wind whip away my worries and I stand listening to the rustling leaves and the chirps of the birds and buzz of the bees, breathing in the crisp autumn air, watching as clouds travel across the sky.  I see the sun dip below the horizon and the first star pierce through the dimming fabric above me.  The owl hoots as the Milky Way glitters a path across the sky and I spy another galaxy and another world.  I am alive here, now, and I can’t wait to begin.

the fall forest

        Yesterday, I treated myself to a dose of autumn—to the bright warm sun, crisp biting air, and dry crunchy leaves.  As I enjoyed the wonders of nature, I let my worries of the future fall away and focused on the sounds, smells, and sights around me.  I couldn’t help but marvel at each patch of moss and mushrooms, at the colorful leaves rustling in the trees and beneath my feet, the twittering birds, hooting owls, and the running water of the creek.  Walking the last stretch of trail, I spread lovingkindness to myself, to my family and my friends, to those I had met along the path, and to all the beings in the world.  I felt myself quiet even further.  When I stepped into my car and started the engine, the motor rumbled loudly, and the radio shouted news of war and politics.  I turned off the radio and rolled down the windows as I reentered civilization, trying to hold on to the quiet I had found once again in the fall forest.

A lattice of roots.

Creek view.

A trail for hiking.

Golden leaves.

Turning.

A bumper crop of mushrooms.

back to where I had smashed the sponge

“It couldn’t be any other way.  Each moment of your life is the sum total of all the prior moments.  There’s not a single thing that happens to you that doesn’t leave its mark, doesn’t redirect your course somehow, doesn’t make you more fully who you are.  It took every single step—even the steps you took as life dragged you by the hair of your head—to put you exactly where you are.”

                                    ~~ Jefferson Bass, Bones of Betrayal

            I’ve had many dreams of late, colors and words and faces swirling together in a stream of changing scenes and feelings.  Waking up, I can only try to put together the fragments, like a thousand piece jigsaw puzzle, some locking together to create a longer narrative while others never quite come together.

            “How do you feel, sitting with these classmates again?” a voice within me inquired.  I looked around at the smiling, expectant faces, eager to learn and expand their knowledge of molecular biology.  Years ago, we had been classmates, some even friends, and we had not seen each other since then.  Now, we came back together to listen to teachers weave together stories about the building blocks of life, how we all came to be.

            “I am pleased,” I replied, smiling at the others.  “We are making amends.”

            “Amends?” the voice asked, confused by what I meant.

            “For not being kind enough to each other.  For taking others for granted, for ignoring the inherent truth at the core of us all—that we all struggle to survive and we all need to hear that we will be okay.”  I paused, to remember the countless days I wandered the hallways trying to be optimistic, but also hoping I would go unnoticed.  “We are together again having seen more of life and the world, and we will be kinder.  Although we cannot rewrite the past, we can make amends.”

            I’ve been researching graduate programs in Forensic Science for the last month or two.  In high school, all I wanted to be was “a Forensic Scientist for the FBI.”  For my senior project, I created a crime scene—a three-foot by three-foot by three-foot crime scene of plywood, Plexiglas, and carpet.  I found a recipe for a fluid with a similar viscosity to blood and splattered drops of it at different angles.  I calculated the ratio of the drops, pairing that ratio with the angle of impact.  Then, I soaked a sponge in the fake blood and splattered it across my crime scene, smashing the sponge with a hammer.  Working backwards, as if seeing the gruesome scene for the first time, I attached strings to the individual blood spatters at the angle at which they hit the surface and was able to trace the trajectories back to where I had smashed the sponge.

I found my project in a box of old school things and read through it.  There was a post-project questionnaire that I had to fill out and one of my answers was, "I am even more excited to study this field than before."

            I have contemplated what caused my fixation on becoming a forensic scientist.  After all, I never watched any crime shows until my junior year of college, and we didn’t have an introductory class in high school.  The only thing I can think of is the day I heard the crunch of steel on steel.  I ran to the scene of a massive accident on Lake Road.  I had my camera with me, I loved taking photos of anything, and I snapped photos from every angle.  I wondered why it had happened, who was at fault, and if it could have been prevented.  I’ve always asked questions as to why something happens and how certain things come to pass.  Perhaps it is this curious nature that caused me to choose forensic science.

            It is this need for answers that led me to choose Environmental Studies after Hurricane Katrina and the mudslides in Guatemala and the huge earthquake in the Indian Ocean that resulted in that horrific tsunami.  I wanted to answer those very same questions I had tried to answer after the car accident.  As I studied, I knew the answers would never come, but I kept reaching.  After years of obsessing, I finally accepted that these questions would never be answered when it came to nature and the environment.  So, my focus has returned to the less-grey nature of forensic science—a desired path I had buried with my pre-Katrina past, but it was always there, trying to be heard.

After analyzing how the blood spattered on each surface depending on the angles, I created my crime scene, measured the spatter and calculated the angles of impact to put the story back together.

            In order to qualify for the graduate programs I have found of interest, I must take a few more science classes before I am fully qualified.  I will take Molecular Biology & Genetics and Organic Chemistry in the spring and summer in order to begin a graduate program in the fall.  Since it has been years since I have studied chemistry, I am attempting to re-teach myself general chemistry so I will be ready for the more advanced organic chemistry.  I am still in the beginning chapters, but I find the problems to be fun—little puzzles that lead to one answer in black or white, no grey.  I have missed the world of hard science.

            However, there is so much more I have to do in order to enter a forensic science graduate program.  I have to fill out the applications, visit campuses to tour the laboratories and talk to current students.  But I am nervous that none of the programs will accept me, being as competitive as they are, and that thought makes me so anxious that I am almost too nervous to try.  Then, there is another part of me that insists if I try my best, I will succeed.  When this voice is louder, my heart beats with excitement and anticipation of what life has in store for me. 

            And how I want this so much.  I feel like I have gone to the end of the earth and returned only to find that what once was true is still true because some things never change—whether that truth is my desire to study forensics or the truth is more universal about the survival and desires of each and every one of us. 

           

we've traveled through time

             Memories are thoughts that transport us back in time, triggered by a smell, sound, place, image, taste, no matter how infinitesimally small.  Biting into a raspberry, its sweet and tart juices exploding over my taste buds, I am suddenly picking the red berries along side my grandparents, parents, and sister.  A basket tied around my waste, I move between rows of bushes, gently picking the ripe fruit.  Next, in the same rows, I have a can of water in one hand while I pick pesky Japanese beetles off green leaves before they devour the whole bush.  I walk into the kitchen with my sister, and take the beetles from the watery cans and toss them into the sink, counting each as it falls into the disposal, each worth a penny or two.  I swallow the delicate fruit and lick its juice from my lips.

            We consider time as linear—the past is on the left, the future is on the right, while we live in the middle, between the two.  But in our minds, time is anything but linear.  One moment, we’re focused on the present, the next we think of something is the past, and then we’re wondering what we will have for dinner, what we will do next weekend, what life will be like in five years.  In those few moments, we’ve traveled through time.  But really, the only time we have to act and live is the present moment.  Each breath we take happens now.  Living in the past—wishing things had been different or wishing things were still that good—only brings despair.  Obsessing about the future—worrying about what will happen—only leads to stress and anxiety.

            For a very long time, I had a hard time letting go of my past.  I thought about the choices I had made, why I had chosen certain paths, and how I could have avoided the wrench that was thrown into my plans.  When Isaac pushed storm surge and dumped heavy rains over the Gulf Coast on the anniversary of Katrina, I become emotional, threatening to throw myself back into the despair I felt in 2005.  I reminded myself that it wasn’t the same.  It was a different storm, a different time.  Things have changed.  Maybe politics are just as screwed up, or more so, and the same can be said about the environment—but I’m different.  I’m the same, but different.  I have finally accepted my past.

            I have thought of the different scenarios that could have played out since my freshman year of college and what kind of person I would have become as a result.  I compare those other dimension personas with my present self, and I realize that I don’t want to be any of those people.  Due to the path that unfolded before me, because of the events that took place and the choices that I made, I endeavored on an exploration of my physical, emotional, and spiritual selves.   I have slowly put the pieces together and made myself whole once again, maybe even more whole that I ever had been.  I have new knowledge and wisdom that I will add to every day of my existence.  Although life is scary and uncertain, I am excited to be alive.

            When it comes to the trajectories of our lives, it is easy to become caught up in the “what if” scenarios.  However, if we believe that every choice we make, no matter if the outcome is labeled as good or bad, is the correct one, then it becomes easier to let things unwind.  When making a decision, we use all of our experience and wisdom to decide which path to take.  Blaming ourselves for a choice that we made, wishing we had chosen differently, is unproductive, and even destructive.  These choices have made us the people we are today.  And now, if we want things to change, we can’t think, “What if?”  We need to think about the choices that are here now, in the present, and choose accordingly.  But we can’t get too wrapped up in moving forward that we forget to enjoy the present.

just out the door

             After finally gathering up enough courage to face the day, I slowly rolled out of bed and opened the shutters to groggily survey the courtyard below.  I peered into the parsley-rosemary-caterpillar world, a small patch of vibrant greens speckled by the yellow of small blossoms.  My blurry eyes tried to focus on some movement, and squinting hard, my vision cleared and I let out a small gasp of surprise.  I propelled myself down the stairs, through the living room and kitchen, and out the door into the courtyard.

            I gasped again, this time in awe, as the black swallowtail paused its fight against the netting to open its wings threateningly as I approached.  My mind finally cleared away the last cobwebs of sleep as this wild, beautiful creature stood its ground.  The butterfly’s wings a satiny black, etched by veins filled with life-giving liquid.  Bright yellow and blue spots curved along the edge of its wings to create a delicate but menacing face to scare off predators.        

   

            It beat its wings again trying to fly up, up, up.  Its antennae and face were through the netting, but its wings were caught on the other side, and it fought to be free.  I had known that the netting, that kept out the birds and discouraged the wasps, would pose an obstacle for the newly emerged butterflies, but I had wanted to give the caterpillars a fighting chance.  But now, watching the swallowtail try to force itself through the narrow netting, I began to weigh the benefits with the risks. I had to act fast before it hurt itself.

            I pulled the netting up from the ground, fumbling to create an opening for the butterfly.  It rested again, watching me, almost laughing at me as I became tangled in the netting; better me than the fragile butterfly.  I held the net above my head; urging it to just fly, fly away.  And it did.  It took flight into the sun, pumping its wings up and down and up and down, teetering in the light breeze, until I couldn’t see it any more.  It was gone so fast, I ran back through the house, out the front door, to see if I could catch another glimpse, or get a hint as to where it was headed.  But it was off, headed to a wonderland of sweet nectar, to start the cycle once again.

            Back in the courtyard, I checked the chrysalises to find which one had hatched, but they were all intact, bright green.  This had been a bonus butterfly, magical, forming from nothing but sunshine, wind, and goodwill.  I searched the rosemary, squinting through the fragrant herb until my eyes rested on the never-before-seen shell of the hollow chrysalis.  I shook my head in disbelief—in wonder—and I smiled to myself, to the butterfly, and to the great camouflage nature provides. 

            I found the baby caterpillar, now a “teenager,” and watched it munch fresh parsley leaves.  Then, I noticed a new baby nearby, black and speckled with yellow, becoming oriented with its large surroundings.  Smiling down, like the mother they would never know, I thought of how lucky I was to witness all of this life, and every good and difficult thing that comes with it—the struggles and successes, birth and death and finally freedom—through my window, just out the door.