Opening a New Notebook to a New Page of Existence
The I am into am
Opening a new notebook to a new page of existence, one which has yet to see the world. Words that perhaps have not been ordered this way before.
The I am of 2024.
The words of new.
Thoughts yet to be thought.
I mean, this still seems magical to me. Every time I pick up my pen, and slow my thoughts down and be — into the place where peace meets pen meets paper.
As I awoke this day to get back to the caretaking, after a few days of fun away in Brooklyn with the family, I write again.
I grew up in the woods of suburbia. But the burb my heart also loves to be, is the Brooklyn burb. Feel like I must have had a past life, or two in Brooklyn.
It’s that unfamiliar, familiar.
Now, over the years we’ve been going together, G and I, it feels like my heart has another place to be.
My ritual of perfect to me ice coffee resumes, as do the responsibilities of this aspect of life, that I get to do.
I think I’ve got it pretty good, in deep gratitude for being, I be. Even through the challenge of stress, or the overwhelm of caring, as only one human being.
I be. I interbe.
When I’m with Gs family, I see how utterly amazing it is to have a family so large and so tight. If one person needs lifting there’s someone always there who will lift.
In my life, my born family encouragers are few. If I got myself into trouble, I had to get myself out of trouble. If I really fell hard, there were two hands to help me up. And that was about it.
There’s no question with family like Gs, no wondering how you’ll do it alone, and pushing through physically, or mentally. There is someone there who you can count on, no matter what, to be there for you.
What a huge fucking blessing to be born into that kind of love!
What a blessing it is to be loved into a family like Gs.
How awe inducing it is just to have all the hands to help. All that love! All that true care! More hands and more hearts do make lighter life — and more joy and more rest.
If only we can all help each other in this way.
It’s not something I’m used to, such a vast array family just there when you need them.
And I’ve realized how much I just go and do for myself. Sometimes, not even thinking of, or remembering there are those in my life to call, to care, to be there.
It’s an adjustment to know, really know now there are people who will reach out their hands to help me up after the fall. Without any other reason but they love me. No binding around my hands in the helping.
A simply beautiful adjustment.
I don’t have to do this life alone, fiercely independent at the cost of my peace.
In between laundry and dishes and the cleaning because I have a roof, dishes and clothes. I get to do. And I always have my pen.
Return to write.
My thoughts to place right here, future eyes to perhaps read and understand. To interbe together in these interconnected moments where we can share life, thoughts, feelings memories, hopes, dreams, untangle tangles .
All because of these thought symbols we can share in our wild, beautiful, messy and ordered beings with one another.
And how fucking brave writers are, eh?!
For me, this is my heart, my mind, moments of my life right here in my notebook. My purple soapbox moments, my opinions about this view of the world, my Nowisms.
My meandering path that may go this way, or that but it sure is lovely walking in peace enjoying the view from here. Writing the view from here in this existence.
But I think a lot the success for the greats of writing is in having no concern for the receiving of the words they write, as they write.
Some will like it, some will not. But they pour out all the words without thinking of which some. Not wondering how the words eventually reflect upon the self holding the pen.
They just write.
For me though, it’s about the reverence of the words coming into being, letting them live here in my notebook.
Words once written by a human named, Jenny Lane. Left here for anyone who may need them in their moment.
These words are my heart, my human, my mind, my spirit but they are one moment in time. One moment where I sit in the quiet cold of our back porch in my white wicker chair. And the balance of this version of my self writing in this now. But knowing with each new word I leave right here in this now and into the next, is no longer me.
Interbeing becoming this moment, becoming this pen, becoming this ink becoming this song.
All this one moment, and then letting it all fucking go in the freedom of becoming a new self in this moment into infinity.
I am sure I can, and have written forever and back again. The I am who writes. The I am who is being in this being with these words.
Into the simple one verb of my existence of this Nowism is left right here in this new notebook of existence.
.
.
.
Am.
with the words
and radical love of
I am into am,
🌈💜
~namaste~
2024 © Jenny Lane