Water is that life force that feeds my spirit.
I am not sure if it is my Lake Michigan heritage, summers spent at the Pier, walking in the sand, looking out over the expanse of water, pondering life. It could be my time along the Gulf Coast, or simply a remnant of my heritage as a Caribbean descended woman. I'm not sure what it is, but it is life for me.
I found myself yearning for clarity and peace. There has been so much that has happened around me, living twenty-five minutes south of Ferguson. I have been innundated in "the movement," whatever that is. My inbox, my outbox, my box was full and I needed to empty out.
Just before school started and after celebrating the birth of my first grandchild, my daughters and I did a big purge. We cleaned out four bags of items from their elementary school years and six bags of clothes. I rearranged my office to have morenatural light streaming into my townhouse office. My son's bedroom had become my beach oasis.
Yet, none of that was what my soul needed.
My commitments could not be adjusted and after several across-state-trips, I knew my bank account could not handle a quick excursion to the space where water existed.
The atmosphere was stifling for me.
I watched people puff themselves up as if they were the only voices striving for revolution and freedom. I listened to those who castigated everyone over age thirty and still others render the young ones as clueless.
In the midst of the atmosphere was a child murdered, a woman scorned, and a man shot in the back.
My resolve was starting to cripple.
As a writer, I am very observant, I notice details and exist in the space of seeing. My eye was revealing as much as my soul was uncovering.
So, my need for the water was paramount.
A dear friend showed me pictures of this majestic place, this restful place, this destination without a plane ticket.
Just twenty minutes from my home.
I found myself there on a sunny Sunday amidst the mini-united-nations. There were so many languages spoken as people sliced through the wind on skates and bikes, as conversations of twos happened in languages other than my own, as children threw rocks into the water and as dogs ran after tennis balls.
My soul exhaled and for then next two hours, just breathed.
I sat on a bench and looked out over the water, looked at the sailboats, and touched my feet in the gravel. I walked along the path and made sure my steps kept me in line with the water.
There are moments when on has to step away to find clarity and purpose, to be filled back up to make choices with assurance.
The lake is good for thinking.
Yesterday, my spirit had a moment. To just sit, and think, and write, and see.
I am not sure if it is my Lake Michigan heritage, summers spent at the Pier, walking in the sand, looking out over the expanse of water, pondering life. It could be my time along the Gulf Coast, or simply a remnant of my heritage as a Caribbean descended woman. I'm not sure what it is, but it is life for me.
I found myself yearning for clarity and peace. There has been so much that has happened around me, living twenty-five minutes south of Ferguson. I have been innundated in "the movement," whatever that is. My inbox, my outbox, my box was full and I needed to empty out.
Just before school started and after celebrating the birth of my first grandchild, my daughters and I did a big purge. We cleaned out four bags of items from their elementary school years and six bags of clothes. I rearranged my office to have morenatural light streaming into my townhouse office. My son's bedroom had become my beach oasis.
Yet, none of that was what my soul needed.
My commitments could not be adjusted and after several across-state-trips, I knew my bank account could not handle a quick excursion to the space where water existed.
The atmosphere was stifling for me.
I watched people puff themselves up as if they were the only voices striving for revolution and freedom. I listened to those who castigated everyone over age thirty and still others render the young ones as clueless.
In the midst of the atmosphere was a child murdered, a woman scorned, and a man shot in the back.
My resolve was starting to cripple.
As a writer, I am very observant, I notice details and exist in the space of seeing. My eye was revealing as much as my soul was uncovering.
So, my need for the water was paramount.
Just twenty minutes from my home.
I found myself there on a sunny Sunday amidst the mini-united-nations. There were so many languages spoken as people sliced through the wind on skates and bikes, as conversations of twos happened in languages other than my own, as children threw rocks into the water and as dogs ran after tennis balls.
My soul exhaled and for then next two hours, just breathed.
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| Copyright - Tayé Foster Bradshaw |
I sat on a bench and looked out over the water, looked at the sailboats, and touched my feet in the gravel. I walked along the path and made sure my steps kept me in line with the water.
 |
| Lining life path - Copyright, Tayé Foster Bradshaw, 2015 |
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| Solitude - Copyright, Tayé Foster Bradshaw |
Yesterday, my spirit had a moment. To just sit, and think, and write, and see.
 |
| Clarity path - copyright, Tayé Foster Bradshaw |
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