Traveling Mercies by Anne Lamott. Highly recommended. Anne's writing is beautifully open and vulnerable, speaking of life lead by a feeling of faith. The phrase "traveling mercies" holds a lot of tender and true meaning for me.
One of my dearest friends went in for oral surgery on Tuesday and Imogen Heap's lyrics revolve through my mind. "Closing in I hope that you make it Closing in I hope that you find your way"
It is Good Friday. All of academia is on spring break this week and next and it seems our bodies know this routine well. They function, function, function and then CRASH!
Get me out of this still air. The fluid in my lungs might be sucked out and put to better use among other man-made lakes. Oh to vomit it forth, to pull its arms from the walls of my throat the way a magician yanks on an endless rope. We have forgotten how to breathe. The joy of expanding one’s lungs until all digits extend.
My rope would be long and tangled. It’s tentacles spelling out the names of those who’ve untaught me to breathe. My last gasp continues to pull me inward towards my navel carving their letters. I am flooded as you wrap about my organs. Your mouth has tied you down and borne me high in this flood.