I woke up feeling blue. I stumbled through my usual routine: grateful list, brush teeth, comb hair, put on mascara, fold laundry from last night and start the next load, toddle downstairs for a cappuccino, water my flowers…
As I was watering, I listened to the birds chirping and watched the fog laying heavy over my yard like a thick gray blanket. I love fog, I have always loved fog. It seems to mystical to me, like something magical might emerge out of it! Astounding! Transformational! Terrifying! Who knows?
I love the mystery. I like to imagine Sherlock walking out of it, swirling a big cape, using that brilliant mind to solve the crime. I wish I could apply my love for foggy mysteries to my own life. I want to see into the future, to know where the kids and I are going, where we will land. Everything feels like it’s changing minute to minute, between the divorce, the deaths of my beloved father and best friend, the pandemic…
So, I was heaving the heavy hose around the greenhouse, watering my tomatoes, when I knocked my head into the wind chimes my sister sent me. My sister loves wind chimes, and she sent me several after all the tragedies of the past two years. Two are rainbow chimes, and this particular set is beautiful and grand, and I love to tap them as I walk by. They have a black diamond in the middle that says “In Loving Memory of Kim Murphy Love Bunny.” And she sent them with a note that said, “We grieve with you.”
I like to imagine that when I tap the chimes, Kim flutters by with white feathered wings, her laughter clear as tiny golden bells. The chime brings her into focus for me, her loving joyful energy, her huge smile and warm brown eyes. Today, the chimes knocked me in the head and I thought, “If she was here, she would say, Marci, remember who you are. Remember you are magic.”
I smiled to myself sadly, missing her, as I dragged the heavy patio cushions back onto their lounges. The fog was swirling and moving in a way I’ve never seen before. As I put the cushions on, I thought “I need to go grab my camera, this fog is incredible.” I turned around and the fog had evaporated. Just like a rabbit in a hat… poof! The sun blasted through, strong and vibrant and hot on my shoulders.
I took it as a message for me: Clarity! The fog will disappear and my path will become clear. But WHEN??????
My dear New Orleans friend, brilliant photographer, and wise woman Cathy Weeks, texted me: “The more challenged you are, the more you will rise to a greater level. I speak from my own experience.” Dear God I hope this is true. I am deep in grief, and I depend on my friends to have faith for me, because I have no idea if things will ever feel okay again. But hey, I’ll take hope wherever I can find it. I texted back, “I’m going to write this down and put it on my mirror.” And I did.
The whole fog experience seemed to reflect my current meditation word: “clarity.” I like to think my path is created, I just can’t see it yet. Or maybe I’m already living it, and something magnificent is around the corner. I can hope all I want, but this unknown — it’s a scary place to be in. I am starting from scratch as a broken-hearted 51-year-old stay-at-home Mom, trying to figure out how to support my kids as an artist during a pandemic, unsure of my next step. The fog seemed apropos because as much as I focus on clarity, the fog seems to thicken so I can’t see a damn thing but gray swirl. But I suppose swirling gray mist is better than a wet gray blanket. At least I have the clarity now of living in a home of truth, integrity, and kindness, three qualities as important to me as the air I breathe. (Sadly, these qualities were missing when I was married.)
My 14-year-old son and I were discussing life and death and recreating ourselves, which of course led to discussing zombies, which led to phoenixes. I said, “It seems all of life is living and loving, dissolving the old self, and rising again as something new. Maybe after great trauma, where our old selves have died, we become a zombie or a phoenix depending on our choices: choose darkness and ugliness–zombie. Choose to spread your magnificent wings and heal others with your tears–phoenix.” Henry loved this idea.
I don’t know if I ever make any sense. I don’t know what I’m doing, where we are going, what the future holds. What I do know is that if Kim was here, she would say,”Marci, you must remember your magic. And if you can’t remember, I’ll remember for you.”
And so I got out my magic markers and index cards and wrote Cathy’s words, “The more you are challenged, the more you will rise!” I used my rainbow tape to stick it to my mirror. Next to it, I taped a sticky note with the words, “Zombie or Phoenix?”
I choose phoenix.
Just right now, I’m a phoenix in the fog.
