Calendar Graffiti

As the blank spaces on the calendar fill in, the graffiti of loss or pain that encroaches on the untouched, sacred squares stirs a unique kind of annoyance in me—an anger, wrapped in time and tension.

It demands my attention.

Slows my steps.

Intrudes my sanctuary.

Bullies my spirit.

But really, it just hasn't finished its work on me.

My instincts say to actually feel anger asks too much of my mind—to relinquish control and trust both my body's wisdom and my heart's resilience. It threatens the part of me that has always deferred, always been nimble, always adjusted, always assumes second priority, with the challenge of taking up space.

And even in this work of feeling, my mind still wields the process to keep control. To inch anger toward resolution, quietness, peace...

But what if releasing control of the anger means I don't get to live without it?

What if it means I have to shift my aim away from reshaping the nature of what comes, toward reshaping the nature of who I am when it does?

Who do I want to be when my anger comes back around?

I want to be kind.

Compassionate.

Soft.

Open.

Fluid.

Malleable.

Teachable.

Unashamed.

And if I'm honest, I want to be seen...

I want to be someone who knows that the graffiti on the calendar is just as sacred as the space between.

I want to see its demand for my attention as a cry for love.

To feel the slowing of my steps as a reminder to stay grounded and still in this, my only moment.

To view its presence in my sanctuary as an opportunity to build something holy together.

And to understand its force on my spirit not as resistance, but alignment...

Not a push to the ground, but a push to fly.

And if that is my aim, I cannot dull the days that remind me of my anger or grief, and disguise that dullness as peace.

I must practice who I want to be by being...in all its fullness.

Excelsior.