Tag Archives: play

Today is October 4, 2015. I am alive and well.

The light is on in the corner, blinking rhythmically. The light in front of me is steady; it keeps the blinking light from becoming irritating. I would change the bulb, but that would require a trip to the grocery store and for the moment, I am ill prepared to walk out of my house. I have yet to brush my teeth and I fear the sunshine would sting. Sunshine and I have a weird relationship. I know it is beautiful and fresh, but I don’t care for it soaking into my skin. I prefer the warmth coming from the concrete, waking my soles.

As a kid, I loved the sun. I spent a great amount of time outside and bare foot, running in the grass just for the sake of motion. I am white, but I was so tan that I looked either Hispanic or Native American, my features tentative, but with a ready smile. I climbed trees, picked their leaves creating fall as I let them slip through my fingers. I brought pans from the kitchen and made mud with water from the hose and dirt. From the mud, I shaped little mud men and women, placed them on chairs I created from grass and let them dry in the sun. Once dry, I dressed them in strips of white cotton that had been torn from an old sheet.

Light then seemed always outside of myself. I didn’t mind because I unconsciously radiated. Now, as I am fifty-two, I am glad I sense the light within, the light that holds fast to my soul allowing me to breathe in love and exhale love. Spirit is good to me. Spirit allows me to stand tall in the warmth of the world, recognizing that all is not violent outside of my body. The world is a violent place, but not always. There are always moments of bright light even in a dim hall. Eventually, I will walk out of the house today, knowing the sun won’t burn me, knowing that light is lighter than dark, but not fearing the depth that dark might play. I shine; for this I am grateful

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Today is August 10, 2015. I am alive and well.

To begin, I don’t have kids and have not often been around them. I don’t know if I’d be any better in my interactions with them then the parents I see at the library. Yesterday, a mother was screaming, yes screaming in the library, at her four-year-old son “there is no where to play right here.” The boy was spinning around and around with an empty red basket in one hand. Who was he harming? No one. He wasn’t even in the way because he spun in a tight circle, his body gaining momentum as if he could drill a hole through the floor.

There’s a pond in the library. I don’t know what else to call it other than a pond, a body of water on the first floor beneath wide cement stairs that contains no fish, just scattered change from well wishers. The toddlers are fascinated by this. I applaud the parents who let their children touch the water. The children recognize wet. Water drips from their chubby little hands.

I abhor parents that put their child on a leash. They do this buy attaching a back pack, usually in the shape of a monkey, to the child’s back. The monkey’s tail becomes a leash about five feet in length. This contains the child. Just as I think a child should be able to play anywhere that suits their imagination and doesn’t disturb the reality of others, I don’t think children need to be contained in such a way, especially if they’re in the children’s area of the library.

It is creative chaos in the children’s section. There is more than just books. There’s a puppet house with puppets, large building blocks of wood, a canoe shaped item that the kids rock in, some PVC pipe creations ready to be reconfigured, puzzles, computers, desks and chairs. Virtually, a small bit of paradise for children to explore. Let them roam, I say. Let them laugh loudly and thwart the screaming mother’s chastisement…but then remember, I am not a mother.

I regret not having children even though there are many good reasons why I didn’t. First off, I would have to come off all ¬†my psychiatric medications. This would be traumatizing, and I suspect the trauma would have a negative effect on my fetus. Then there is the fact that I’ve never been financially stable. Nor would I want my child to inherit ¬†schizophrenia from me. I do applaud women in my same situation for going for it despite everything. I have met some of these mothers. Their babies are loved and cared for. As adults, these same babies will probably have a great deal of compassion for the downtrodden. I understand it could go another way, but for today, I am hopeful that mothers with mental illness do well by their children. I am hopeful that mother’s without mental illness do well by their children.