i don't know how to get out of my box.

careful conditioning keeps me tucked quietly inside

even as i ache for what is beyond these walls.

my box is safe.

i know how to live in it and keep it clean

how close i can go without bumping into the sides

how much air i am allowed to breathe to remain alive

but my head is crashing into the top

and sometimes i catch a glimpse of a bewitching bright star

or goldfinches fly over with joyful lilting songs

and i want out -

want to bask in the wide open light of day

drink in the sweet damp mystery of night.

i have to get out -

have to kick and elbow and expand larger than the four walls

so they break away like the shell of a hatchling

or a snakeskin shed and thrown away.

i need liberation

room to grow mammoth wings

and fly through the cloudless blue summer sky

long and lean and infinite on the orange horizon

loose and weightless - floating on the breath of fate.

i am afraid to create a brave new self

and surrender the place i hide

from the unblinking gaze of reality.

they said beware the danger lurking 'out there'

like a vampire waiting to suck the life blood from my veins,

but the ugliest evil is where life blood is gone

where dry sand and cold dirt pump the heart

just enough to stay alive

but paralyzed with numbness.

the danger 'out there' calls my name

beguiles with the juice and muck and mire

of love and passion

bits of earth under my fingernails

bee stings from dipping my nose deep into honeysuckle blossoms.

i don't want to be the cat locked in the cage

for safety

as it cries with longing at the window

to step into the wet dew of daybreak

chase a mouse through lovely tall grass

sit among red and golden leaves

fluttering to the ground as a new season brings a chill to the air.

i don't want a safe empty life inside a tidy box

never tasting

freedom

fear joy longing heartache

or the release of stepping from a cliff

falling through air

plunging deep and whole into cool turquoise water -

rising to the surface for a gasp of pure sweet air

and clear eyes that see only open space

without walls.

someone told me once to write about the person you admire most - don't think about it - just write. the first word that poured from my pen was daddy.

he isn't perfect - never was - never will be - but he has never stopped trying. the words i remember most as i went through the agonizing pains of growing up were, "bokey, there's no use in looking back - there's no point in regret. you just have to decide and then go on. if you don't you'll just spend your life wishing for what didn't happen." those weren't empty words from a parent to a child - they were the words he lived by -

his mantra for each day of his life.

he had grown up poor and at christmastime his stocking was filled only with apples and oranges and nuts - so when i was a little girl the giant bowl of fruit and nuts wasn't a holiday decoration, it was a celebration of the childhood he survived and lived to tell about. he was the oldest child - often pushed aside for the younger ones - the work of a man placed on his little boy shoulders. when he married mom at seventeen he worked hard at the gas station - then the shirt factory - never once failing to provide for his four little blond-headed children. he moved us all to jackson to work for a better life where we grew up and he worked twelve hour days at truex chevrolet to make sure we could eat and have a home. he never failed to take a break to come home for supper to share the lively dinner table with his adoring kids in homespun clothes and his young pretty wife. he usually lost several pounds in the summertime from the sweltering body shop but he was grateful for his work. when he came home from the shop and didn't go back after supper the garden called to us, so he would take me by the hand to walk in the soft dirt searching for a ripe red tomato or a strong dimpled bell pepper to eat on the spot. my feet were so dirty from walking in the garden that my bedtime routine included brushing my teeth, changing into soft flowered shorty pajamas and scrubbing my feet.

daddy has always been the strong humble hard working man with scraped calloused hands who could find a gentle wise word to calm the wildest of beasts. he still has that gentleness, but too much quiet these days. his life has always been given to his family - his purpose defined by the work of his hands. he left truex to buy his own body shop - a big one where his customers could still trust a handshake and no one ever sued because daddy's work ethic demanded much more than anyone would ever ask. when i was in high school he went to classes to earn his ged and he was prouder of his diploma than some would be of a summa cum laude college degree. we were proud too. it took a lot of courage to do the things daddy did. his own family had all but disowned him when he moved away to make life better for his family. he has always suffered silently for that, but as he said to me, there's no reason to look back, you'll just spend your life wishing for what didn't happen.

i live by that philosophy just as daddy taught me. it has given me the courage to live with conviction and unwavering strength. daddy has taught me so much about facing life as it comes with kindness and humility. he is truly a noble man of honor and goodness and i am so grateful to call him my dad.

*******************

thank you daddy - i love you

where does she go when she wants to go home?

when she needs the safety of four walls and a door

but her life is made of boxes and food

found tossed away

because it might leave a scent

in the leather seats

if we take it in the suv -

when she needs to hide from averted eyes

and cry the tears

of a life gone miserably wrong -

when she needs to take off the layers

of cast aside clothing

and gloves that don't match

and rest her feet

from the too small shoes with newspaper

blocking the pavement

from her soul -

when she needs to be

just mary

not the crazy woman who fights with air

and strokes the hair of an invisible child

in the night

as she hugs the last drops of warmth

leaking from the restaurant's back door

where she prays for one more day to do it again

maybe tomorrow will be different

the day eyes look in her direction

and don't look away

someone's hand touches hers

and she knows she is

still real

still connected

to humanity

and it will be enough.

she can push the cart one more day

search for her life

anybody's life

in the shadows

in the street

in the heart of the pigeons

who are her only friends.

my list of what i can't live without has grown shorter through the years as i realized most of what fills our lives is unnecessary and cumbersome - often getting in the way of what is true and essential. i cannot live without my children and my husband - they are the core of my life - what i think about from the time i wake until i sleep and they fill my dreams.

i always thought i couldn't live without pets filling my home, but i feel myself coming to a time when my cherished dogs and cats will be released one by one as they live out their lives - not to be replaced. gardening, which i have loved for many years is beginning to loose its hold - and while i once thought i couldn't live without my abundant and slightly overflowing perennial gardens and wide open spaces, i feel a tug to a simple cozy border

of plants more easily kept in order.

the hair on my head has long since morphed from a carefully blow-dried bob to a thirty second short and out of the way style. clothing has never been a great concern with a uniform of t-shirts and jeans - but shopping has become an even greater aversion since i began my journey to simplicity - the purging of all that is meaningless from my home and my life.

books have always been my safe place, even though i have given away box after box - only holding on to my beloved memoirs and volumes of poetry and spiritual guidance i read over and over. i am looking toward a day when i simplify to a single electronic reader so i can release the shelves of words and paper - but i am not there yet. books have been my best friends since childhood when i sat against a tree in the woods - lost in another time and place until i had to be found for supper. i could more easily release a living breathing friend than my shelves of silent, but always present companions. mary oliver's poetry of lessons learned from nature and the bounty surrounding us if we will only open the door and go outside - the wisdom of kahlil gibran discovered in college and reread many times in my lifetime of seeking - robert frost - emily dickinson - bibles collected over the years - the lives of saints and mother teresa and gandhi - shelves of feng shui books marked through and through from intense study. right now i am not ready to let them go.

the artwork on the walls has long since been outgrown - amish children and garden scenes - soft pinks and greens and blues - not yet replaced because my evolution is still in progress. i want to create stunning batiks - simple images drenched in saturated

color upon color on soft silk.

so what can't i live without? my family, my books for now, the sunshine and fresh breeze through the open windows, the chatter of birds nesting in nearby trees, children's laughter, friendly camaraderie with the people on my path, a warm soft bed, jeans, a couple of t-shirts and a well-made pair of sturdy flip-flops - a pen, a notebook and my endless game of hide and seek with my reading glasses.

"what a wonderful world" was always a special song, but one christmas almost 20 years ago was the night i felt it all the way to my bones. it was elizabeth's first christmas and we had come to tennessee to introduce her to my family. jim and i were still in our haze of wonder - our dream-like bubble - the only two people in the universe who had ever experienced birth and parenthood and never tired of gazing into the face of our baby daughter. we were gathered at kathy and paul's for dinner, the whole family together, even mema and troy and linda. we filled the house - spreading from the kitchen past the dining table into the big open family room. elizabeth was in her little red velvet christmas dress with white tights and red velvet shoes - a tiny ruffled headband around her fuzzy head. the world seemed to be swirling around us as the center as she was welcomed and we were bathed in love. my ears tuned in to the words of louis armstrong coming from the stereo and i think i knew this moment in time was special - a moment i needed to remember. perhaps because it was christmas and we were all together in joy, but for whatever reason the words of the song resonated in our souls and stayed there. jim scooped elizabeth into his arms and danced through the room until the song was done - each of us in turn stopping in mid action to watch. most of us were smiling but linda's eyes brimmed with tears for what had not been as loving a life for herself and her children. the song ended and kathy took the custard pies from the china cabinet - mom helped in the kitchen and kathy's boys joined the ever present crowd to talk away the night - this special night when we had momentarily stepped away from ourselves and observed our blessings from the outside. later jim told me what he thought about as he danced with his two-month old daughter on her first christmas - he knew some day he would dance to the same song with his grown-up daughter at her wedding. even then with parenthood fresh and new - first steps and first words, learning to ride a bike, the first day of kindergarten in front of us - we realized this precious gift of our child's life in our care and we have never taken it for granted with either of our children.

as i have heard the song through the years, my reaction has always gone deep - made me nostalgic for the days when everything wonderful was still in front of us. i recently heard the story of the real inspiration for the song - a daddy coming home from war to reunite with his young daughter - all of life beautiful and full of wonder because he has come home. i have no doubt jim and elizabeth will dance to "what a wonderful world" at her wedding when she is glowing with all the world of love and family and possibility ahead of her. jim will cry and i will watch from the side with tears pouring down my cheeks - tears of pride, tears of joy for her bright future, tears of longing to do it all again in slow motion holding on as long as i can.

the sound of a screen door slamming lightly into its frame takes me to a different place - far away from today. my life now is absent of screen doors that break solid barriers and let in the sounds of living and fresh air and allow connection to all that is outside myself. screen doors say i am glad to be part of this world - the ladybugs are my friends - the bumblebees are welcome to coexist alongside me and stray cats are my guests for supper.

but i have no screen door.

polite affluent suburban society does not say - we are connected so come on over and never mind knocking. it does not acknowledge the sunlight and birdsong and wind whispering through the trees who are my companions on the journey, more so than the civilized society of business suits and bmw's. some might say i am blessed - lucky - to live in a center hall colonial with blue shutters and a pool, with money left over to buy useless trinkets if i desire - which i don't. i have the american dream but not my dream. it is too enclosing - too separate - and i feel powerless to break the stone walls and replace them with fresh air and screen doors. in my dream there is no glass in the windows - no solid steel door keeping me safe and locked away in isolation - no computers to give me the false sense of community with other human beings - no television shouting at me to be what i am not - no cars going nowhere special - no appointments at the hair salon to cover the gray roots and nondescript brown of who i really am.

screen doors say i am as real as ants on the kitchen floor and weeds growing among the roses and dirty sneakers tossed by the front door while i make cornbread in the iron skillet with crisco sizzling at the edges and meatloaf cooling on the stove. screen doors say we are not meant to be alone - we are part of everything and everything is welcome - come on in. they say mema is always home with windows open and dogs napping on the front porch and let's play outside where we only have one step back over the threshold to the inside where mama's baking oatmeal cookies and daddy's shelling peas. screen doors say life is simple and everything you need is right here in the sounds of children outside and the smells of pork roast in the crock pot and apples baking in the oven - without all the useless meaningless cushions surrounding us and molding us and making us what we do not want to be.

screen doors say i have a life filled with abundance of nature and green grass and chipmunks by the dozen making family compounds underneath my rock garden. they say serenity is mine for the taking as i am embraced by the swaying trees and cooing doves nesting in the backyard.

but i don't have screen doors.

i have a double steel door painted colonial blue to feign friendliness and sliding glass doors that are never clean because of dirty dog feet protesting the need for enclosure at all. when i gather enough courage to step outside away from the mind-haunting busyness i gasp with pleasure at the beauty and bounty all around me - beyond locked doors. for a little while i join what is real and true - the walls open and gardenia perfumed air rushes in - air conditioned fog and electronic blindness peel away layer by layer until i can see brilliant emerald and amethyst and bright golden yellow. a woodpecker tapping with passion wakes my ears to the symphony that is always bursting forth among the trees and crickets and blue jays. i am awake - vibrating with energy - trembling with pleasure that i am still alive and this is when i want to throw the laptops and cell phones and ipods and all artificial life into the pool and walk away - follow the brown and white spotted fawn into the forest - shed my clothes and let the brown and gray replace blond in magnificent honesty -

and never ever go back.

i thought it was purged from my life forever until the heavy nameless weight settles in, cuts my joy in one swift blow and the thick suffocating darkness begins to cloud my eyes. my face loses animation - the mask replaces expression - separation from all that is living and moving. loneliness - sadness - with no identifiable source. like falling into a well that is deep and cold and dark and i know i am drowning but my mouth is powerless to call out - the nightmare where the voice cannot produce sound - the legs cannot move - the hands and the soul too weak to pull myself out of the quicksand - going deeper. the little blue pills - my life blood - seem to lose potency for a while - but it seems like the while lasts longer than a life.

this is what depression feels like. it feels like smooth cold rocks tied around my heart - stomach aching with longing - like the world has changed overnight and become a friendless, hopeless place - a place too difficult to navigate in my aloneness so i shut the door - close my eyes - wish i could sleep until it passes. it feels like if i could only find a jagged edge on the heavy rock i would know where the hurt is coming from and pull it away from myself - ease the sadness - but it has no cutting edges, no open sores, no bloody gashes to name the source of the suffering. it is an insidious hopelessness that seeps in quietly and holds on from the inside - irrational heartache - foreboding that sits in the edge of my awareness and colors everything black and gray - and no matter how tight and knotted my stomach becomes it cannot keep the desperation at bay. it is knowing in my rational mind that nothing has changed but my mind - life is as it was yesterday when i could laugh - as it was last week when i was happy to be alive - but the knowing doesn't erase the pain.

these are days i wish i could be someone else - someone who is stable and constant - someone who has never experienced depression so ugly and life altering it cannot ever truly be gone for good. these are the days i have to gather all that is left in me - remember what i have taught my children about living one minute at a time - because i can do that - one minute is short and i can do that. i have to suit up for the war inside me that will never end - but today's battle can be won. this cold black depression can be choked and held until it releases me in the sunlight and feeling returns. age and experience tell me it will not last forever - it always passes - the dread fades away and clarity returns and i will remember with gratitude the gifts piled at my feet.

maybe not this morning, but soon.