This is the current situation in the hen house. Sitting hens and their guard sister. Women folk getting about the business of doing what they do. They depend on me.
These two girls do too. They wait for me morning and evening for their attention and food.
I'm pretty sure that my efforts saved this girl's life. She requires feedings, walks, grooming, and attention.
And... there's these three. Building pirate ship bunk bed forts in the morning after plates of DQ gravy and biscuits, power outages, changed diapers, band aids, smiles, and tears.
These pictures were all taken today. This is my day. Most every day. A constant giving of life needs and comforts that make living happily for these people and friends possible. It's the hardest work I've ever known and yet it is the most important.
Sometimes I get in such a routine of day in and day out, I forget that my heart and mind are demanding more of me. They are demanding I feel this life and live it with all I have. That I, who is constantly apologizing, live it unapologetically. It isn't any coincidence that the more you learn about yourself and the reality of life, the more life can ache. Falling back on the routine, and going about it as you always have, can be a way to numb that ache.
Get your slop boots on.
Shoulder 50 pound feed bags across the yard and pour two in the big barrel drum.
Get them fed and some good yard greens in their run.
Watering takes 3 gallon jugs filled by squatting over the creek - hands in cool water and minnows with their babies grazing your fingers.
Try to look not melancholic, or full of thoughts, or tired, but never can quite pull it off. Wondering if I will always be that girl who feels, thinks, and worries about her impact on others just a little too much. Hoping one day the fire in my heart will gleam in my eyes.
A moment down the path to my special place. It kind of hurts to breathe. To be alone. To feel alone.
A reward from the kind Mother after a walk with my daughters and our dog through the fields. You are ok. You are supported. Remind yourself. She says.
Check on the garden. The grass desperately needs mowed.
Yoga and breath. Yoga and release. Then, it comes. The fire in my heart chakra and solar plexus. It burns uncomfortably hot. It has a wash of tears behind it, like a flood that wants to drench the flame, but the flame says absolutely NOT! I'm here. I'm... here. I'm HERE!
That's the moment that you realize the routine is a cloud. It can completely blur the feeling that comes from wanting to know what all is possible for me. What all I can really offer others who want to be there with me. What example I can be for the women I am raising. Being in the cloud deadens the ache, the burning, the churning stomach. The release is when I know there is so much more to be done. So far to go. It's the moment I want someone with heavy arms to hold me so I can just be and feel, and figure this all out. I'm ready to grow. The energy is there. So much energy. It really is the hardest feeling I have ever had to feel. Deep fears of my entire life made into a truth holding the answer to who I really am. And, I lay in savasana trying not to think my way out of feeling it. Knowing it is there and meaningful, and longing to share itself.
Kelli B. Haywood is the mother of three daughters living in the mountains of southeastern Kentucky. She is a writer, spiritual explorer, and avid yogini. Haywood is the Public Affairs Director for WMMT-Real People Radio in Whitesburg, Kentucky. Connect with her on Facebook @ Confluence Mama.
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