Once upon a time I had a friend I liked a lot. I told this friend, “I am nothing more to you than an ecru comma.”

What a perilous way to be, an off white comma, a brief stop on the way to something better.

There is nothing worse than to be a comma.

A comma personified.

Ten plus years later, at times I feel like I remain a comma. Is there such a color as faded ecru? Aged ecru? Stained, torn, battered and bleeding ecru?

Let me rephrase that: I do not see myself as anything like that ten-year-plus presumed comma. I have been stained, torn, and scarred. I have bled and I have healed. I have devoted myself to presence and passion and moving forward.

Commas haven’t committed. They aren’t first or last, they are a hesitation.

As I wrote that last sentence, a meadowlark sang after she took a nibble from the mulberry tree in my front yard. Fully committed, she sang in joy and praise. Can a comma be that precise?

A comma isn’t as firm as a dash – that says – wait.

Almost a period, but not quite enough and we stand there almost falling over a comma is steady and filled with air. I imagine it is easily popped.

I believe I chose this line “Of commas on her face— a breath, a word … “from the poem “My Darling Turns to Poetry at Night” by Anthony Lawrence, to meditate with today because I know what it is to be lost to poetry when others are around. I probably seem to separate myself into an otherworldly place at times when poetry – my own and others, scoops me up and takes me away.

As an apology for losing myself into whatever non-human experience I was passionate about, I let go of getting lost to those loves and devoted myself instead to human tasks and helps, forgetting that I was worthy of both passions and an assist and a collaborative effort from time to time.

Sometimes it is lovely to be a comma, even an ecru comma.

Now that I think about it, a peaceful smile looks something like a comma.  I will claim that, too.

Perhaps we, we humans, would be better off embracing our loves for what they turn to that isn’t us – as long as it isn’t a wall between us and them. I love poetry and theater and deep soul conversations and the occasional ridiculous television show and that doesn’t mean I want to separate myself from those I hold most dear or darling. Sometimes embracing the comma time as a place to meditate on love itself and on humanity herself would be a better choice than wall building.

In this musing I realize how much meditation is like a comma.

A breath, a word to center, a breath – more words… and then words disappear and there is breath… a comma.

A comma is a part of something bigger than herself. She is an important part of the overall story.

She is a bridge. She is a sign-post. She takes a stand for what she believes to be true.

I am proud to be a comma and more. I am proud to be a stained, shiny, torn, healed, scarred, fierce, frightened, passionately active, ecru and purple comma.

Julie JordanScott has been writing since before she was literate by dictating her thoughts to her mother and then copying in thick crayons onto construction paper. She was a pioneer in epublishing and continues to reach readers through her blog, bestselling books, greeting cards and her essays and poems in anthologies. Join her for one of her upcoming #5for5BrainDump programs or an upcoming writing circle or writing for social media programs.