If I could waltz around with my maker, I’d say thank you. I feel your hand on the back of my heart. My head rests on your felt shoulder. Then you twirl me and there’s no looking back. We’re at arm’s length. I feel your presence and dance the night away.

Insufficient funs. We need more fun!

Awake then fair maiden into this morning with its flowing white flakes wet and thick as oysters at sunrise.

“It’s so gross outside!” my teenage daughter says. “I’m shorts and sundresses, not Eskimo!” She frowns at me through the glass outside the front door as though she’s been sentenced to play dodge ball with the Australian woman’s rugby team instead of take a walk through the wet lush spring.

And I, I don’t agree to walk with her and the dog to the bus stop. I’ve said “No” more recently and it’s felt good. I’ve also affirmed daily that I’m willing to be the mom she needs. Today that looked like a lot of organizing ahead and cleaning the kitchen and good communication and even letting her know this morning what we’d have for dinner. I think it allows her to be the teenager more if it at least appears like I’ve got it all handled.

It was tough for me to focus on the details—slicing the cucumbers in half so they’d fit in the eco-friendly plastic lunch container—when my inclination would have been to let the mess remain and throw a couple of bars onto the counter for her.

Since I began this affirmation, along with another one about her happiness, I’ve also been listening to her more. I’ve followed the line of her speech and heart rather than having half my mind elsewhere. It’s felt good all over.

“You tell her what you want, and she’ll tell you what you need” rings the song.

If I only have four minutes to live I’d say, oh, hell yes. We can and do deliver what we came here to do, no matter what. It’s all we have. So yes, I’ll post this blog, even if it’s truth or crap or both.

Give yourself permission to write crap.

Give yourself permission to write truth.

My piñata wipes its brow and hopes for a better children’s party next week. The fathers are always so vicious. Hasn’t anyone heard of patience anymore? Sometimes, back in the day, the piñata didn’t always break. That was part of the risk you took. Sometimes, the child cried, but it was okay. His sister would reuse the piñata at her birthday, and they’d share the spoils when it finally burst.

Stillness wide like lilacs heeds my heart’s call. I’m having second and third thoughts about marriage like I do with any commitment. I kind of hate being pinned down. As a Gemini, I’d apparently prefer to remain in the air with choices. And yet all that matters lands. All that lands is matter. I must put my blood into my life. Each choice, each true choice, matters and lands. But also, to not choose has meant keeping my distance.

I would play inside the flesh and blood and love my life fully and wholly even as I let it flow out of me.

To live a full rich life is to bleed out.

To love the world is to watch it go.

It is not to watch it from far above.

I must stake my life on life itself, on what matters. And I am the one to decide.

Only yesterday I cowered in fear when facing the normal events of this so-called life. But now I see it differently. I recognize that we draw from life what we put in. And separation and safety net poor results. Poor as in poverty. As in a thin gruel. As in broth so weak it hardly nourishes anything or anyone. Many of the very rich live in just this kind of poverty. I say this from my so-called experience. I think I’ve lived as royalty in “riches” for lifetimes. And yet it is now, today, that I first realize it is my commitments, with their high cost, that yield.

I will devote the rest of my life to a handful of the most important things to me. And it is in daring to decide that I’ll begin the most fulfilling adventures to come. And my life will yield depths of richness as bright and full as my own blood flowing on and on until I die.

How could I not have realized this sooner? The importance of commitment.

I’m not sure what I’m choosing. I think it matters, of course. But what matters more is to choose something with consciousness. To choose it soon because what matters is on the line.

God please, please show me what to choose. I can intuitively feel that it’s time at last to commit. That all my suffering now comes from holding myself back from the arena that has my name written all over it. It’s a fight, yes. Or a stage, maybe. But either way, there will be blood.

And either way, I’m ready. Or if I’m not ready yet, I’m as ready as I can be today and I ask you to make me ready all the way and help me to go for it. I came here for something. Let’s do it already. Show me, please. I go willingly to the best life ever or the slaughter, or both. Show me the way.