I am guilty of it: thinking words like "luminous" only apply to the big moments, the breakthroughs, the transcendent times where I suddenly (and instantly) feel better about my cancer or my son's autism or my brother's death.
Truth is, though, the moment I most recently felt luminous was much quieter. A snippet of a moment within a day that so easily could have been passed over on my way to a bigger moment, a moment that seemed like it should bear the title "luminous."
Emma and I were almost to Texas via New Mexico along Interstate 40. As we pulled off I noticed huge stands of sunflowers dotting the side of the road. I adore sunflowers. I adore sunflowers, dancing along the side of the road, happy simply to be there and I believe in some fairy part of me, so happy to know I am observing, smiling and grateful.
I had the "insta-thought" - "I want to capture them but I'm not sure how..." and we trundled off to the rest room at the travel stop.
We had a surprising amount of fun in there, not unusual. There was a car museum inside and the restrooms were labeled "Marilyn" and "Elvis" rather than "Women" and "Men". Along the famed Route 66 roadside stops can't be ordinary, they need to out muscle the other stops so people will return to see the 1954 truck or which new Marilyn cutouts have been added since last time.
We laughed and wound our way back to the car. I looked toward the sunset, giving myself space to feel longing. It was the longing to take my camp chair out of the back of the car and sit for a while, to watch it leave the sky and transition to its next place, which I knew included my family and friends two time zones away.
I started to drive back to the freeway and said, "I have to get a photo. I have to get a photo."
Thankfully Emma is used to her mother leaping into creative moments without warning and normally she doesn't complain. Another truth? I don't mind her complaints. They make sense. My creative flow can be torrential and quite an interruption in other people's intentions.
Perhaps it is that we were not focused on destinations yet we were. We had a reservation at a motel in Elk City, Oklahoma but that still felt otherworldly. We knew we would get there and I knew this tugging at my heart needed to be honored.
I gave my heart space to be hugged.
I didn't worry about getting any place at any specific moment, I stayed present to the moment I was in.
I pulled over in a spot that wasn't meant for that and attempted to take a decent photo. It wasn't happening.
"Get closer" my yearning said.
I stepped into the messy barrier to the flowers. Immediately flurries of something rose from my feet. I took another step and more flurries. Crickets! An infinite number of them leaped into my steps, one ahead of me.
I tried again.
"Get closer!" my yearning insisted.
Steps and flurries. I laughed at the crickets before Iaughed with the crickets, whose movement finally felt like a flirtation. "Where are you crickets?"
I looked before I stepped. I didn't want to harm my new striped friends, dearly camouflaged by my feet. I couldn't see them ahead of time to take their photo. I decided it was enough to just laugh rather than capture.
"Get closer," my yearning giggled as the sun continued her descent.
Up close the sunflowers were so different and yet so the same.
Some were withered, without their gold crowns anymore. They danced, anyway. Some were standing proud and perky. Some were facing me, some away. Some had lost friends and continued the dance.
Tears filled my eyes as I clicked the button on my phone to distill the memory into visual nibbles which I hoped would carry me through to someplace someday somehow.
I was conscious time is fleeting and honored both that nature of time and the reality I wanted to get back on the road, so I felt my way into deep presence, to being and feeling luminous.
I stepped back through the tall grasses and weeds and burrs at my feet, watching crickets - fewer now - fly as I stepped.
I got back into the waiting car with my patient daughter. I put the key in the ignition, turned it and drove east.
For this year's August Moon, the plan was like this:
I will be writing for five minutes stream of consciousness style on the prompts offered and post whatever shows up. I will be traveling for a good portion of the time (could it be more perfect?) so I will share as consistently as possible.
What actually happened was my computer went kaput so I am writing this morning from a hotel in Lebanon, Missouri. I had hoped to write well and I think I did respectfully this time, but no proofing was done - this was all stream of consciousness. Hooray for improv! I am not sure when I will be back to write more, but the AugustMoon is in me even when I am not sharing here.
Julie Jordan Scott inspires people to experience artistic rebirth via her programs, playshops, books, performances and simply being herself out in the world. She is a writer, creative life coach, speaker, performance poet, Mommy-extraordinaire and mixed-media artist whose Writing Camps and Writing Playgrounds permanently transform people's creative lives. Watch for the announcement of new programs coming in Fall, 2015 and beyond.
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