Glimmers

When I started this website ten years ago, I called it “Glimmers”. Let me tell you why that made sense.

Because at twenty-something, I could only see glimmers of truth. We did so much to keep ourselves busy, to distract ourselves. We stayed so busy, it drowned out most of reality, most of the truth. My days were so focused on my work; and my thoughts were centered around my aspirations and my ambitions. I wanted to do it all, and I wanted to do it better than anyone else. I was a little short-sighted, and I hadn’t quite developed my intuitive sense yet. So, really, the only truths I knew were in my memory. And even those, only came to me in glimmers. Like flashes of light in the dark, tiny moments glimmered in my memory amongst the rest. The rest of the times in my memory were clouded by mostly darkness, or doubt, or criticism of myself, criticism from others, just all the worries I always carried.

When we fill our minds with these things, it doesn’t leave a whole lot of room for the things that matter, the things that stay… the truths. But there were a few that I couldn’t drown out, no matter what. Like, the first time I remember seeing my dad. Remembering how he felt like a stranger to me, and how suddenly it felt like he showed up in my life, and how odd it felt like he expected to stay. What my mother looked like as she got smaller and smaller from an airplane window, and how I would never shut that window the entire flight. What it felt like when I fell asleep hugging her picture, in a cold, dark sublevel apartment, in a place far, far away. What it felt like being the new kid, again. Cold mornings waiting for the bus. How my sister always seemed to know the way. The warmth of my grandma’s hug, the warmth of her breath as she napped next to me. Being so little, and so near to her, I would try to synchronize my breath with hers, until I fell asleep. I still remember her fingernails as she tickled me awake. Always, tickled me. A song Mom sang to me to wake me up. How my grandma whistled a song better than most people could sing one. The sound of Dad’s fingers on the piano in an empty house. How I remember all the houses changed, so did everything inside of them, but there was always a piano. How we would play Monopoly for what felt like weeks. How I would play with Barbie dolls, combing their hair to perfection for hours, it seemed. The way I got all tingly the first time I heard praise music in my sister’s youth group, and how that has never changed. These things, although they were only glimmers in my memory, they have never left me. These are the moments I have lived in forever.

As I’ve grown, I’ve learned to hold the moment, like singing a note, to hold it longer- to stretch it longer, to examine it in my memory, and feel my way around it, to see the truths behind it. Isn’t is funny, how time itself seems to be composed of just a few of these moments, and the rest is just kind of filled in with how we feel about them? These moments were few and short. But how we feel about them stretches them across time, and then moments seem like years. And these become our truths. Like flashes. Good. Bad. Sad. Happy. Peaceful. Worrisome. All, just glimmers, suspended in time. Well, I’ve taught myself I can’t just live in my past. I’ve taught myself that I can’t stay there. I’ve learned that I have to give the future a fair chance. And how we spend so much time avoiding the present moment. So, I have learned to love the glimmers as they pass. I’ve learned how to savor the moments. I close my eyes and I hold them, like the taste of something sweet in my mouth, taking from them everything they can offer me, now. And I have even learned that when I used to “dream,” it wasn’t a dream… it was glimmers of my future. and I have learned not to dismiss them. I learned to hold on to them, and keep them near. Even if they’re scary. Even if I know they will hurt. The glimmers I see, are the moments yet to come. And I allow myself to feel them, too, so that when they arrive, I will know how to face them. All of this has enabled me to taste a beautiful cloudy sky, and to feel the stars in the depth of my being. Like a gift. Because it’s all a gift. The ability to remember how it was, to see it happening, and to see it coming. I’ve dedicated this page to those glimmers. I’ve dedicated time to feel it all through. And when it feels like my heart can’t take it anymore, they seep out of the very eyes that see them. Like glimmers.