Everything Has Changed

I'm processing through poetry more and more, so here is my latest offering:

I think I am a wandering minstrel
Spinning my song as I go
There and back again
Un-tethered, I am free to travel
Adaptable, I easily flow as
Air: light, wild, unpredictable
Earth: rooted in truth
I am reaching balance
Becoming healthier, more and more
I feel it, from the inner clockwork
To the outer shell
The cracks repair
The time has arrived
Say goodbye to former fears
Dawn has come, day begun
Wings have grown
The time has come to fly
There will be no glancing back, reaching for things past
They satisfy no longer
"You are ready, go out, you can make it on your own," is uttered
The choice is made, the course is set
The time for owning has begun
Who I am
I am me
Changing constantly
Messy, friendly, entertaining, passionate, God-breathed
Artist

Shaped

Stories flowing over me

Water slowly eroding

Shaping, creating who I am

How can I resist the constant pressure?

How do I shape what has shaped me?

I am water too

I erode you

Do I make you jagged and broken

Or soften the edges others have made?

I am both

Silt

Impure, and rough

I cut through rock

Reaching your heart

What do I do when I get there?

Movement

Moving is losing the voice that tells me I can't in a joyous flow of steps
It doesn't have to make sense
There are no thoughts, only pulsing impulses
I'm giving myself to them, letting them rip through me
Spinning, pounding, slipping, moving, slowly, quickly
The driving need to find the next place to be my sanctuary
Escape, oasis, my reality
Away from fear and doubts, cries of all that's lost
My pocket of peace, where all I have to do is be

Freefall

On stage
Looking in your eyes, it seems I'm
Hearing these words for the first time
My mind spins with how to respond
My mouth is moving, saying my next line
This is a new sensation, I'm not sure what's coming
Yet I know this rhythm, for we've been practising
How could each carefully crafted moment hold a new discovery?
Nothing is default
This is what it is to freefall

Thoughts after acting class today. What it's like to be in a scene so deeply, that you don't know what's coming next, yet you do. It's hard to describe. It's freefall.    

Shifting

The world smears and blurs and bends.
The morning mist drifts across the road as I walk to class.
My backpack is loaded with books, my mind full with everything I'm doing today.
I trudge on, into the lifting fog.
I hear the voices of my classmates as we travel to our next class.
I know the sun is shining beyond the fog. I blink, and a ray spears through, illuminating the hoar frost on the grass. The sunbeam reflects, and the blade of grass is transformed into an icy spear, the tip burning light. I pause, and let myself absorb the sight. It lasts only a few seconds, but I continue on my way with a sense of peace and awe. Yes, life as a Rosebud student is hectic. Yes, I feel overwhelmed a large percentage of the time.
But oh, yes, there are these precious moments where I stop and see the breathtaking beauty that makes my heart hurt, in the best way.       

Shifting

I wouldn't have noticed that two months ago

Awareness

I'm becoming attuned

Beauty

Its there

Surrounding

How many of these moments go unseen?

Now. Here. This.

The winding road wended its way down into the valley. . . 
That is how I arrived in Rosebud. Driving down into a lush green bowl, where cell service is spotty, and the water tastes funny, but you don't care because you're surrounded by beauty. 
The road to Rosebud has been travelled. Three long years, and now,
I live in Rosebud. 
Rosebud. 
I usually don't repeat words that much, but 
Rosebud.
I'm here.
This is home now.
I'm repeating myself, trying it out, seeing if it feels real.
I was looking back over this blog; there are things I wrote three years ago, that I don't have the heart to take down or edit, though some don't represent  who I am any more.
My posts are snapshots of who I am, and where I've been, since I don't usually take pictures.
Am I leading up to one of those, "it's been great for a season, I've loved blogging, but I'm too busy now, blah blah blah" posts?
No. 
This space has been a place for me to vent, heal and process.
I'm already an infrequent writer, so sporadic posting is consistent with my style.
Plus, I have a ton of writing to do for school.
The Road to Rosebud. 
The title isn't going to change.
I will.
I already am.
I'm acclimating to a hectic school schedule. On a typical day, classes start at 8:30 am, and sometimes you don't get home till 9 pm, with breaks for meals in between.
Maybe I love it.
Maybe I'm scared, and uncertain about how to balance homework, people, meals, and sleep.
Maybe I'm figuring out how to maintain my relationship with God in all the crazy.
Maybe my mind is hurting sometimes from information overload.
Maybe I find myself crying while watching a heart-wrenching performance.
Maybe I absolutely love my room, and having my own space.
Maybe I love it.
Maybe there's no maybe; simply a word standing in the way of the truth, a truth no one will be surprised by, and I just wrote all that because I like the sound of the words flowing together. 
I love it.
It's not all sunshine and roses, and I know I'm going to be unravelled and undone
But  
If there were ever a place for that to happen, I'm already here.

More ramblings to come soon!  

Metallic Fog

The meds make my mouth taste like metal
In the fog I stumble, blindly
Trying to find a scrap of me
I'm sick, but no one knows what that means
Because nobody sees
Why don't you drink coffee?
They ask when I say I have no energy
They don't understand as I try to explain
The pain the meds take away is replaced
With mind-numbing fog
Get some sleep! It'll help you feel better
I know that but
My body is a rebel
My mind an endless tangle of thoughts
And concerns that never stop
More medication required
Till I'm taking more pills that my grandparents
And it tastes like metal in my mouth

Recovery is really really hard.
I feel like I keep trading one problem for another.
Cancer is gone, Yay.
Cancer causes lots of stress, and so does creating an EP, and performing in two fringe shows.
I haven't recovered yet.

I'm on multiple medications for various things.
Sometimes my meds don't get along, and my mind is the field they battle upon.
I'm tired.
I leave for Rosebud in 11 days.
But I'm trying to find the off switch for the fog machine someone put in my brain.
There are rays of light, like long talks and walks in beautiful parks with wonderful people.
And I know today was especially difficult; there are good days and bad days, and I'm writing this post under extreme exhaustion. Who knows, I might read it tomorrow and delete it.
Please grant me grace in the upcoming days, as I adjust to the medications and side effects.
Much love,
Esther

The End of the Beginning

Weird. I feel weird. The last nine months have been focused on the album. Writing, editing, singing, practicing, recording, coordinating musicians, my schedule has been all about the album.
I finished recording the last song. 
Frankly, it was anticlimactic. I had a good chat with my producer, and walked out the multiple soundproof doors, like I regularly have for the past four months. Except. That was it. My job in the studio is done. It seems only yesterday I was laying the scratch tracks while sick with the flu.
Now, months later, after many mugs of tea, and minus the flu, the final tracks have been mixed and mastered. Unquenchable Hope releases May 26th.
I'm waiting for the artwork to be finished, then everything will be sent off to be printed.
Weird.
It's weird to have to shift focus, and realize recording wasn't the end, it was the end of the beginning.
My time in the studio was it's own adventure, filled with laughter, tears, and learning curves.
Creating Unquenchable Hope has been full of surprises and challenges. I have no idea what to expect next. It might be a huge success, beyond the horizons of what I could dream.
Or, like a shooting star, it could blaze for a moment, then disappear.
It's already done the job I intended for it--an outlet for my emotions. The rest is up to God.
But, if I were to dream out loud, my desire is that the EP (extended play, industry speak for my project) would touch you, deeply. That you would cry with me, and come out celebrating your battle scars, emotional, physical, or both.
Unquenchable Hope.
It's an ambitious title to live up to.
The thing is, I'm not referring to myself ;)
    

There Was No Funeral

There was no funeral

No flowers
No ceremony
No one had died

No weeping or wailing.

Just in my heart

I can’t. . .

But I did anyway,

and nobody knew I couldn’t

I don’t want to. . .

But nobody else said they didn’t

So I put down my panic

and picked up my luggage

and got on the plane.

There was no funeral

This was a poem I found in a book for MKs (missionary kids. Another post for another day) I really connected with it. Moving countries is hard, especially when you have no say in the matter.
Recently, I came back to this poem because it applies on another level.
I had no say when the tumor came, made me pack my bags, and travel to the country of Cancer. The plane landed in the middle of a field, at the foot of a huge mountain. The natives wore white lab coats.
Cancer is a different culture. You learn a different language, and how to navigate new territory.
You're told that there is no way around; you have to climb. This is when the strange irony sets in. You're in a different country, but geographically speaking, nothing has changed.
Your friends cheer as you start hiking. Days go by, and the echo of their words fade. Close friends keep up with your progress, and supply you with energy bars. (In Cancer, energy bars can be visits, encouraging notes, or prayer)
You have a goal: Go through radiation, surgery, whatever it takes to ascend. Finally, the peak is in sight; hitting the mountaintop is being told you're cancer free.
The thing is, after the declaration has been made, you can't get on a plane and leave the place it brought you to.
You're still stuck in another country, on a mountain, and the only way off is to trek down.
Only you feel like you have nothing left, nothing more to give. Even your tears have been used up.
There aren't quite as many people cheering, because the worst is past, right?
The assumption is once you hit the top, a helicopter comes, life returns to normal.
It doesn't.
The natural high from reaching the peak fades quickly. You sit down, confused, engaged in a different kind of struggle. There was a wide, clear cut trail leading to the top, but now, a forest stretches ahead, and you realize you have no compass. The air is thin, forcing you to get back up, and keep going, though the destination is unclear.
You find an overgrown deer trail and start bushwhacking. It's dark, and sometimes lonely.
Again, the contradiction of Cancer washes over you. You still hang out with friends, and try to do normal stuff, but nobody can see the forest. Life has gone on normally. Yours has continued in the sense that you eat, breathe, try to sleep, and meet new people. But it also involves forging new paths, and being unable to shake a deep feeling of loss. Then guilt sets in over feeling that way. Everyone is asking when you're going back to work, telling you that this was only a small part of your life, and look to the future!
But the trees.
They can't see the trees.
As you continue hiking, your daily interactions reveal fragments of an answer.
There was no funeral.
Somewhere along the way, innocence was lost. Nightmares of intense, traumatic pain became real.
Dreams died.
The whirlwind of your experience engulfs you, ripping through your body, leaving exhaustion in it's wake.
Dazed, you look around, wondering where to go, who to talk to. How to mourn.
Fear sets in. Will anybody want, or try to understand?
There was no funeral.

To the Person Who Noticed My Feet

Yes. I am wearing two different boots, one black, the other brown.
I'll give you credit for noticing; not many people do.
I saw amusement on your face as you whispered to your neighbor, and then both of you were staring. Laughing. Judging. I could see it in the way you whispered.
I'll admit, I'd wonder too if I saw someone with odd shoes. Chalk it up to absentmindedness, quirkiness or a new form of hipster.
But I wouldn't laugh at them. I might even ask them about it.
Everyone has a story, motivation for the things they do.
You had no way of knowing I had cancer, or that surgery left my foot large and swollen, which makes normal shoe wearing impossible. The reason my shoes don't match, is that in order to find something to accommodate the skin graft, I had to buy boots three sizes bigger than normal. I hope you have enough imagination to realize where this is going. On occasion, I wear extra socks so that my right foot fits, resulting in uniformity of footwear, but sometimes I want to wear one nice shoe.
You see, you judged too quickly. Without knowing my full story, you looked at a slice of it, and I became the butt of a joke.
Honestly, I don't mind that much. If it gave you a funny anecdote, fine. I often joke about it.
So, why am I writing you?
There is a deeper issue than laughing at the unconventional.
We live in a world where tolerance is frantically being drilled into everyone's vocabulary and actions. It's a nice thing to talk about, but much harder to practice.
Our world is also full of reality TV, America's Funniest Home Videos, and endless posts on Youtube of unfortunate incidents occurring. We are trained to be spectators, forgetting that the people we mock and ridicule are precisely that: People. Skin, bones, blood, hearts, feelings, brains, souls. 
I am blessed to be surrounded by a lovely community who know my story. I can laugh at the fact that you had nothing better to do than gossip about my footwear. I don't care what you think about me, I'll never see you again.
But I'm worried about the next person you'll gossip about. Maybe they will be hurt by the derisive whispers and giggles. Remember, you don't know their story.
And, believe it or not, sometimes I actually wear shoes that match.