Birthdays are interesting. One thing that people fail to recognize is that the day is really a celebration of the preceding year -- not really the upcoming one. When your child is one, it's because she successfully lived through her first year of everything on the planet, not because she's about to venture into her first year on the planet. It's recognition that you've made it through, you've persevered, you've overcome the obstacles that life has thrown into your path and you've survived to see another year. Hopefully.
But that first birthday...that's a day to celebrate, for sure. There are all sorts of hazards to be had those first twelve months. In that first year, our dependence on others for mere survival is incredible. Others feed, clothe, house, challenge, and encourage us. Others soothe us, nurture us, and care for us. And in our society, we are led to believe that at some point we stop depending on others for survival. I'm not sure that's really true. We just become interdependent in other ways. It's no longer about the food and housing that others provide, but about the perspective, outlet, inlet, and space we offer to one another. Without it, I'm not sure life would be so exquisite.
So this year, for my birthday, I received an incredible gift from a dear, dear friend. A phone call. A birthday wish. For almost 20 years this friend has remembered my birthday. And this year, he told me how. "Your birthday, two and four," he said.
"Uh-huh," I replied.
"It makes six."
"Uh-huh," I replied again.
"Add two more sixes and you get..."
"Eighteen?" I thought to myself.
"Six, six, six. The number of the devil. You were the devil to me for a while. Satan."
"Oh." Followed by laughter -- billowing, guffawing laughter. Not because I'm uncaring, but because I get it. I was the devil to him. "Call me Beelzebub," I said.
Why I was his own personal Satan is a story for him to tell. And I'll let him if he wants to. But I knew exactly what he meant without him explaining it. We all have our devils in this world. Most often it's people (in my experience) but sometimes, I'm sure, it could be a job or a situation or an illness. The list is infinite.
For this girl, though, my devils are usually people. People who don't do what I think they should, don't behave in the way that's best for all concerned. People who leave, who never show up. People who confuse me, disappoint me, anger me. People who don't give me what I want or take away what I think I need.
However, the devils in my life -- like most things I'm finding -- are dual-purposed. They are like sheep in wolves' clothing. They're the key to my life lessons. And the lessons they bring are like March -- they come in like lions and leave like lambs.
The discomfort and disappointment, sadness or despair I feel in relation to these devils, in the end, always requires me to look at me. I always end up having to take stock of my own character assets and liabilities. But only after considerable waltzing with these maniacs. Only after I've exhausted every alternative. I'm a person who has to look at something from every angle, the Underworld included, before I make a move. So I tend to stew with my Satans. Until I can't any longer.
When enough is finally enough (I can't ever seem to predict when that will be), I have to take stock, and be willing to grow new bits of me, improve aspects of myself and address my shortcomings, or lose bits of me altogether if they've lived their useful life. And in this way, those harsh, abrasive, sad and uncomfortable times my devils bring help me to uncover my strengths, my insides, my truth.
Many of my Satans still live in my life. There is no getting rid of these people, nor would I want to. They are my loves, my friends, my breath. But some have had to exit. In the final analysis, it was them or me. And I chose me.
I'm not proud that I've been the devil to others. But I know enough that I'm thankful for my own Beelzebubs and how they've required me to grow, have ushered in my person. So I'm hoping my dear friend will see the silver lining in the cloud I brought to his life. And I'm hoping he'll maybe VISIT me on my next birthday.
A girl could hope.
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Way Harder Than I Imagined
Finished. Thrift store run done. Appointment at the consignment store made. Housecleaner came and worked her magic. Papers in their place.
And it's Valentine's Day. And it shouldn't be difficult, but it is.
Missing is my least favorite emotion. Of all of them. I'd take depression, sadness, anger -- I'd take ANYTHING rather than missing. But in the scheme of things, my missing is really minor and I'm aware of that. There are people who are really missing, and here's my story of just that.
My son and I always run a race together at Valentine's Day. This year, his Other Commitments got in the way. And although he was clear that he would rather race than fulfill his Other Commitments, the mommy-follow-through-guilt got the better of me, and we didn't run together. When I went to pick him up from his Other Commitments, he was clear -- he would have MUCH RATHER RACED. Me, too. There's a whole life of Other Commitments waiting at the door. There's only so many do-it-together races to be had.
So on the way home, we stop at the Farmer's Market, both feeling a little verklempt. I park the car and look across the street at all the stalls and people bustling about. This woman emerges from the crowd carrying two large bunches of flowers -- yellows, rusts, reds, oranges. She was probably in her 60s. Short. Stout. She looked absolutely stunning. It quite shocked me to see here there. She was just picture perfect.
I pointed her out to my son. "Look at her with those flowers. She looks beautiful." I think I heard his eyes roll.
We got out of our car and grabbed our bags. Started to head to the market. When I looked up, she was just there, walking toward her car parked next to ours. She couldn't have been more than five-feet tall. Dyed strawberry blonde hair. Sunglasses. Pants that she could have worn on a cruise.
I said, "You look so beautiful with your flowers. Just beautiful."
She turned and looked at me. "Thank you so much for saying that," she said. Her mouth turned down and tears sprouted. She went on, "Because I am SO SAD. I just lost my husband and he was always the one who told me I looked beautiful. No one has said that since he's..." and she cried.
I then sprouted my own tears, walked over to this perfect stranger, took her in my arms and rocked her. And she cried and I cried.
And I think my 13-year old sat in the background in wonder and perhaps pubescent embarrassment.
After a second we let go, and she told me her husband's name and where I could find the bench dedicated to him in the Village Green and she invited me to sit there one day if I wanted.
And I stood there at that minute and knew. I'm sure they had their troubles. I'm sure they are flawed just like the rest of us. But for whatever reason, that woman let me know in that brief interlude that their love was pure. It was extensive.
As we turned to leave, she said to my son, "Thank you for watching." And I knew what she meant. Thank you for witnessing my missing. Thank you for witnessing my pain. Thank you for being present while I was being human.
So, Nameless Lady, Happy Valentine's Day to you. I'm sure no one has told you yet today, so let me be the first. You look beautiful today.
And it's Valentine's Day. And it shouldn't be difficult, but it is.
Missing is my least favorite emotion. Of all of them. I'd take depression, sadness, anger -- I'd take ANYTHING rather than missing. But in the scheme of things, my missing is really minor and I'm aware of that. There are people who are really missing, and here's my story of just that.
My son and I always run a race together at Valentine's Day. This year, his Other Commitments got in the way. And although he was clear that he would rather race than fulfill his Other Commitments, the mommy-follow-through-guilt got the better of me, and we didn't run together. When I went to pick him up from his Other Commitments, he was clear -- he would have MUCH RATHER RACED. Me, too. There's a whole life of Other Commitments waiting at the door. There's only so many do-it-together races to be had.
So on the way home, we stop at the Farmer's Market, both feeling a little verklempt. I park the car and look across the street at all the stalls and people bustling about. This woman emerges from the crowd carrying two large bunches of flowers -- yellows, rusts, reds, oranges. She was probably in her 60s. Short. Stout. She looked absolutely stunning. It quite shocked me to see here there. She was just picture perfect.
I pointed her out to my son. "Look at her with those flowers. She looks beautiful." I think I heard his eyes roll.
We got out of our car and grabbed our bags. Started to head to the market. When I looked up, she was just there, walking toward her car parked next to ours. She couldn't have been more than five-feet tall. Dyed strawberry blonde hair. Sunglasses. Pants that she could have worn on a cruise.
I said, "You look so beautiful with your flowers. Just beautiful."
She turned and looked at me. "Thank you so much for saying that," she said. Her mouth turned down and tears sprouted. She went on, "Because I am SO SAD. I just lost my husband and he was always the one who told me I looked beautiful. No one has said that since he's..." and she cried.
I then sprouted my own tears, walked over to this perfect stranger, took her in my arms and rocked her. And she cried and I cried.
And I think my 13-year old sat in the background in wonder and perhaps pubescent embarrassment.
After a second we let go, and she told me her husband's name and where I could find the bench dedicated to him in the Village Green and she invited me to sit there one day if I wanted.
And I stood there at that minute and knew. I'm sure they had their troubles. I'm sure they are flawed just like the rest of us. But for whatever reason, that woman let me know in that brief interlude that their love was pure. It was extensive.
As we turned to leave, she said to my son, "Thank you for watching." And I knew what she meant. Thank you for witnessing my missing. Thank you for witnessing my pain. Thank you for being present while I was being human.
So, Nameless Lady, Happy Valentine's Day to you. I'm sure no one has told you yet today, so let me be the first. You look beautiful today.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
The Sorting of a Life
I made the plunge. My good friend L always used to tell me, "Awareness is curative." When I was 20. I'm not sure what she thought I was capable of then. Now...I get it.
Life's processes follow a predictable order. The cycle of conception, growth and development, outgrowing your space, birth, more growth and development, outgrowing that space, rebirth....on and on and on.
And in there, the 'outgrowing your space,' to me, is predictable as well. There is the life being lived; the recognition (awareness) of things not quite right; the rationalization and justification that 'as is' is okay; the growing discomfort; the increased internal rearrangement ensuring the status quo; the ever-growing chorus of internal voices on high, banding together to make their point known -- things are not quite right; and then the cataclysm...the body leaving, the relationship ending, the emotional car wreck unseen to all, but felt inside.
The cataclysm can take any of a million forms. I guess that's why I still never know what to be on the lookout for so I can avoid it. But that absolute destruction leaves behind fertile ground for this girl. And so I plant my garden again.
But that first glint of awareness, recognition, internal conversation -- that's the one that begins to set me free. Once I experience it, it's only time until the secrets I keep from myself are revealed and the lies I tell myself come undone.
There's comfort in the process, although the process is far from comfortable.
So for me the cataclysm this time is in the form of paperwork. The paperwork of two lives being lived together is onerous. Making the two lives back into one singular seems completely overwhelming. And so for two years now I've avoided the paperwork. I've filed and tried to keep things neat-ish. But there are a whole host of papery decisions to be made -- things to be gone through and kept or discarded -- that have weighed heavy on my soul.
And then one day, last week, I told on myself. I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that the next great frontier on this internal odyssey is to sort my life, my paper life, my former paper life.
I had to call in reinforcements. I had to tell on myself to a few people, so I wouldn't chicken out. I had to make a time limit and just go for it. I'm in the middle now. It's exhausting work. Old Valentine's Day cards, family pictures, journals. Financial papers, insurance papers, attorney papers. I feel like I need a life preserver, like the current could wash me out to sea, like I could very well disappear under the silky smooth surface of still waters.
And I press on, forward, another trip to the recycle, trash, thrift store pile. The feeling of overwhelm is just a feeling. The reality is I'm fine. The reality is I'm one step closer on my path to freedom. The reality is there is sure knowing inside me that calls me along this path.
When that awareness is born inside of me, I rarely want to see or take care of it. I make sport of disregarding it and avoiding it. But today, awareness and I are joining forces. One paper at a time.
Life's processes follow a predictable order. The cycle of conception, growth and development, outgrowing your space, birth, more growth and development, outgrowing that space, rebirth....on and on and on.
And in there, the 'outgrowing your space,' to me, is predictable as well. There is the life being lived; the recognition (awareness) of things not quite right; the rationalization and justification that 'as is' is okay; the growing discomfort; the increased internal rearrangement ensuring the status quo; the ever-growing chorus of internal voices on high, banding together to make their point known -- things are not quite right; and then the cataclysm...the body leaving, the relationship ending, the emotional car wreck unseen to all, but felt inside.
The cataclysm can take any of a million forms. I guess that's why I still never know what to be on the lookout for so I can avoid it. But that absolute destruction leaves behind fertile ground for this girl. And so I plant my garden again.
But that first glint of awareness, recognition, internal conversation -- that's the one that begins to set me free. Once I experience it, it's only time until the secrets I keep from myself are revealed and the lies I tell myself come undone.
There's comfort in the process, although the process is far from comfortable.
So for me the cataclysm this time is in the form of paperwork. The paperwork of two lives being lived together is onerous. Making the two lives back into one singular seems completely overwhelming. And so for two years now I've avoided the paperwork. I've filed and tried to keep things neat-ish. But there are a whole host of papery decisions to be made -- things to be gone through and kept or discarded -- that have weighed heavy on my soul.
And then one day, last week, I told on myself. I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that the next great frontier on this internal odyssey is to sort my life, my paper life, my former paper life.
I had to call in reinforcements. I had to tell on myself to a few people, so I wouldn't chicken out. I had to make a time limit and just go for it. I'm in the middle now. It's exhausting work. Old Valentine's Day cards, family pictures, journals. Financial papers, insurance papers, attorney papers. I feel like I need a life preserver, like the current could wash me out to sea, like I could very well disappear under the silky smooth surface of still waters.
And I press on, forward, another trip to the recycle, trash, thrift store pile. The feeling of overwhelm is just a feeling. The reality is I'm fine. The reality is I'm one step closer on my path to freedom. The reality is there is sure knowing inside me that calls me along this path.
When that awareness is born inside of me, I rarely want to see or take care of it. I make sport of disregarding it and avoiding it. But today, awareness and I are joining forces. One paper at a time.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Three Strikes
I've received this poem three times -- from three different places -- in the last week. It happens to be one of my all-time favorite poems, so it's welcome...but I find it very interesting nonetheless...
When something comes my way three times, I have learned to pay attention.
I type for a living. Or at least part of my living. Mostly, I type legal stuff -- police interviews recounting heinous crimes, stories of people not at their best. But every once in a great while, I get a bonus -- some file that is not merely benign, but actually life-giving, creative, candy for my ears.
Such was the case a few years ago when I was asked to transcribe six hours of poetry. SIX HOURS OF POETRY. In at least five different languages. There were poems and then discussions about the meanings of poems. There was history of the poets and the tying together of that poet in time and place, her poem, its then-meaning, and its current-meaning.
The Sun Never Says
Even after
all this time
the sun never says to the earth,
"You owe me."
Look
what happens
with a love like that --
It lights the whole world.
-- Hafiz
I type for a living. Or at least part of my living. Mostly, I type legal stuff -- police interviews recounting heinous crimes, stories of people not at their best. But every once in a great while, I get a bonus -- some file that is not merely benign, but actually life-giving, creative, candy for my ears.
Such was the case a few years ago when I was asked to transcribe six hours of poetry. SIX HOURS OF POETRY. In at least five different languages. There were poems and then discussions about the meanings of poems. There was history of the poets and the tying together of that poet in time and place, her poem, its then-meaning, and its current-meaning.
The poem above happened to be included on the audio. I loved it then. I love it now. It's the simplest form I know to convey the way I intend to live my life.
Over the last several years, as I have started to reflect on relationships and self and personhood, I have had to get down to what I'm all about and what I want to be all about. And time and time again, I come back to this simple and yet unbelievably difficult-to-live notion: It's ALL about the LOVE. It's about that kind of love that I can afford to give for free, which costs me nothing. It costs me nothing except the open-hearted willingness.
It's not the tie-myself-in-knots-to-fit-your-life kind of love. It's not the we've-known-each-other-forever-and-it's-really-great-to-see-you kind of love. It's not the passionate, can't-get-to-bed-fast-enough kind of love. It's not EVEN the I-am-your-mother-and-as-such-I-love-you kind of love.
It's different.
It is the I-can-see-you-there kind of love. It's the sacred-in-me-sees-the-sacred-in-you kind of love. It's the my-humanness-depends-on-me-feeling-and-giving-away-this-love kind of love.
Many of the people to whom I give this kind of love are not the people I would choose if logic ruled my world. But there comes a day, when I've sat quietly and reflected, and been still with myself, when I know exactly what comes next in my struggles. I reach for this kind of love inside my very own soul. And as I start to pull it out of me and set it free in my world, it multiplies. It feeds me. And it frees me.
I'm not perfect. Trust me. There's plenty of people in the world who've experienced my imperfections. But I have hope today. I have hope because I've experienced this kind of love in my life. I've been fortunate to be the recipient of this kind of love. But I'm more fortunate to be the giver of this kind of love.
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Oh, The People You'll Meet
Let me give you some background. I started running in earnest about three years ago. When I started running, I was a devout listener to silence. I looked down my nose at people who listened to their iPods while running. Running was the only peace and quiet I got in a day. I'd be crazy to interrupt it with any kind of input.
Then about ten months into running, while I was training for my first marathon (after hours and hours on the road by myself), I began to change my tune. I could NO LONGER listen to the silence, or my head, or passing cars. I needed distraction and I needed it bad. On went the iPod, in went the earbuds, and I have never looked back. I have listened to music, speakers, books. Whatever. Just anything to keep from listening to me.
However, everything, I'm finding, is fluid in this life. Here's proof.
Vehicle maintenance is the bane of my existence. Being a newly single woman, I feel like I am every mechanic's second-home-in-the-mountains dream. It would make me cry to think about the money and time I've spent at the shop in the past year. So when the mucho expensive, relatively new brake job seemed to be coming to an untimely end....well, you can imagine. I wasn't particularly pleased. In a car, being able to stop is kinda important. I carry precious cargo. So, again, I head back the mechanic's.
As is usual for me, while I waited for the mechanic to diagnose my problems, I headed for the closest hill. Nothing makes time pass like physical exercise.
Music blaring in my ears, I started up. Since I'm training for a marathon, I figured instead of hiking, I'd just run it. I am woman, hear me roar. Umm, yeah, right. Not even. Half way up, after stopping several times to gasp for breath, leg muscles screaming out in sheer exhaustion, I gave up. I continued my hike to the top at a leisurely pace and reassured myself that I would jog down. I knew I could do at least that much.
Twenty minutes later, cut to the top. While I'm all alone up there, I crank up the music (Basic Space by The xx -- thanks, C)
and get down to doing a little dancing. Just because I can.
My phone rings. It's the mechanic. They can fix my brakes. For free. It'll be an hour. It felt like some sort of small victory, but I didn't at all feel victorious. I sit down and take it all in.
Sun shining down. Views were incredible.
I think about writing -- a blog post, that long overdue e-mail, something. Just then, out of the bushes comes a sweet looking soul. Dirty blond hair piled on top of his head. Hiking pack full of water and snacks. Vibram Five-Fingers. And a bag from Whole Foods full of...something.
His entire face lit up when he saw me. And to tell you the truth, I think my face lit up, too. It was like seeing a friend, even though we'd never met.
I pull out one earbud, leave my music on. "Hi,"I said. And he replied, "Oh, hi," with a sigh at the end, like he'd been planning on seeing me there all along.
Now I'm not cavalier. I do have common sense. I'm aware that I'm a woman hiking solo on a hill (where there's been a recent unsolved homicide) and that I'm in the company of a perfect stranger, but I had no sense of danger or fright. He was just there and so was I. It seemed pre-ordained and surprising all at the same time.
I sensed he had something to say, and he didn't disappoint.
As I listened, I pulled out my other earbud and shut off my iPod.
I learned that he and his family "were just passing through," that he was from Oregon, headed to warmer climates, with sun. I learned he was "car camping," had a wife and a step-daughter. And then he leveled me...
"I'm just here to slack line," he said, holding up his Whole Foods bag, showing me it was full of his gear.
"What?" I replied.
"Slack line. It's like tightrope walking, but on a slack line. Maybe you've seen people doing it?"
"Oh, yeah. At the park. Looks fun."
"I came here yesterday," he explained. "I set up my line between two rocks on the other side of the hill there. I jumped on my line, and all the sudden felt so afraid. It was so intense. It was full-body fear. I couldn't explain it."
"Heights?" I asked.
"No, not heights. It was a deep, deep fear." He paused. "I came back today to put up my line, sit on it, and meditate. I need to know what that was all about. I came here to sit in the fear."
"Oh, really," I heard my head reply. "That's ironic. I came here to outrun mine." I'm not sure where the words came from. They just appeared without my intellectual input. Perhaps it was my inner wisdom? Perhaps I was just hearing voices?
We talked for a while more. I don't remember much. I know I felt the itch to leave. Made an excuse that I had to go get my kids. As I turned to leave, he called out to me. I turned back and saw him standing there, with his clenched fist over his heart. "I feel called to say something to you. I'm not sure why." He took a breath and continued, "I can see you're open-hearted. I know you're looking for something. You are finding your beloved. It's here. It's being uncovered."
I'm being stripped down to my essence...
I turned back around and started running down the hill. My head started to dissect the conversation. Fear. What is it that I'm afraid of? Being alone. Why? Loneliness. Why? Silence. What if I sat in my fear? What if I made friends with it rather than ran from it? Where would the slack line of my fear be? What if fear wasn't fear, but just a message about something else altogether? What would my fear tell me about me? It went on and on an on. Deeper and deeper, I looked inside. The fear behind the fears behind the fears.
And then it happened. I found myself back down the hill, back downtown, standing at the shop. No music. No earbuds. No iPod. Silence. I found myself perched on the slack line of my fear. And I wasn't afraid at all.
Then about ten months into running, while I was training for my first marathon (after hours and hours on the road by myself), I began to change my tune. I could NO LONGER listen to the silence, or my head, or passing cars. I needed distraction and I needed it bad. On went the iPod, in went the earbuds, and I have never looked back. I have listened to music, speakers, books. Whatever. Just anything to keep from listening to me.
However, everything, I'm finding, is fluid in this life. Here's proof.
Vehicle maintenance is the bane of my existence. Being a newly single woman, I feel like I am every mechanic's second-home-in-the-mountains dream. It would make me cry to think about the money and time I've spent at the shop in the past year. So when the mucho expensive, relatively new brake job seemed to be coming to an untimely end....well, you can imagine. I wasn't particularly pleased. In a car, being able to stop is kinda important. I carry precious cargo. So, again, I head back the mechanic's.
As is usual for me, while I waited for the mechanic to diagnose my problems, I headed for the closest hill. Nothing makes time pass like physical exercise.
Music blaring in my ears, I started up. Since I'm training for a marathon, I figured instead of hiking, I'd just run it. I am woman, hear me roar. Umm, yeah, right. Not even. Half way up, after stopping several times to gasp for breath, leg muscles screaming out in sheer exhaustion, I gave up. I continued my hike to the top at a leisurely pace and reassured myself that I would jog down. I knew I could do at least that much.
Twenty minutes later, cut to the top. While I'm all alone up there, I crank up the music (Basic Space by The xx -- thanks, C)
and get down to doing a little dancing. Just because I can.
My phone rings. It's the mechanic. They can fix my brakes. For free. It'll be an hour. It felt like some sort of small victory, but I didn't at all feel victorious. I sit down and take it all in.
Sun shining down. Views were incredible.
I think about writing -- a blog post, that long overdue e-mail, something. Just then, out of the bushes comes a sweet looking soul. Dirty blond hair piled on top of his head. Hiking pack full of water and snacks. Vibram Five-Fingers. And a bag from Whole Foods full of...something.
His entire face lit up when he saw me. And to tell you the truth, I think my face lit up, too. It was like seeing a friend, even though we'd never met.
I pull out one earbud, leave my music on. "Hi,"I said. And he replied, "Oh, hi," with a sigh at the end, like he'd been planning on seeing me there all along.
Now I'm not cavalier. I do have common sense. I'm aware that I'm a woman hiking solo on a hill (where there's been a recent unsolved homicide) and that I'm in the company of a perfect stranger, but I had no sense of danger or fright. He was just there and so was I. It seemed pre-ordained and surprising all at the same time.
I sensed he had something to say, and he didn't disappoint.
As I listened, I pulled out my other earbud and shut off my iPod.
I learned that he and his family "were just passing through," that he was from Oregon, headed to warmer climates, with sun. I learned he was "car camping," had a wife and a step-daughter. And then he leveled me...
"I'm just here to slack line," he said, holding up his Whole Foods bag, showing me it was full of his gear.
"What?" I replied.
"Slack line. It's like tightrope walking, but on a slack line. Maybe you've seen people doing it?"
"Oh, yeah. At the park. Looks fun."
"I came here yesterday," he explained. "I set up my line between two rocks on the other side of the hill there. I jumped on my line, and all the sudden felt so afraid. It was so intense. It was full-body fear. I couldn't explain it."
"Heights?" I asked.
"No, not heights. It was a deep, deep fear." He paused. "I came back today to put up my line, sit on it, and meditate. I need to know what that was all about. I came here to sit in the fear."
"Oh, really," I heard my head reply. "That's ironic. I came here to outrun mine." I'm not sure where the words came from. They just appeared without my intellectual input. Perhaps it was my inner wisdom? Perhaps I was just hearing voices?
We talked for a while more. I don't remember much. I know I felt the itch to leave. Made an excuse that I had to go get my kids. As I turned to leave, he called out to me. I turned back and saw him standing there, with his clenched fist over his heart. "I feel called to say something to you. I'm not sure why." He took a breath and continued, "I can see you're open-hearted. I know you're looking for something. You are finding your beloved. It's here. It's being uncovered."
I'm being stripped down to my essence...
I turned back around and started running down the hill. My head started to dissect the conversation. Fear. What is it that I'm afraid of? Being alone. Why? Loneliness. Why? Silence. What if I sat in my fear? What if I made friends with it rather than ran from it? Where would the slack line of my fear be? What if fear wasn't fear, but just a message about something else altogether? What would my fear tell me about me? It went on and on an on. Deeper and deeper, I looked inside. The fear behind the fears behind the fears.
And then it happened. I found myself back down the hill, back downtown, standing at the shop. No music. No earbuds. No iPod. Silence. I found myself perched on the slack line of my fear. And I wasn't afraid at all.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Bridges
I am a total fan of the Universe. If her team had a jersey, I'd be one of those schmucks wearing one on her game days. Or even every day, just to show my allegiance.
My life is a series of near misses and just-barely hits. But for the seconds it took to get the shoe on, the car backed out of the driveway, that extra-long red light. Sometimes it all seems like mistakes. And then I happen upon THE bit I WAS NOT supposed to miss, and I realize the Universe is universally sound in her timing and set rearrangement.
This morning, the coughing boy who needed a ride to school was just a ploy. My friend, Missy, and her boy's wrecked bike brakes, and his sudden need for a ride to school? Well, that was just a ploy, too. We were supposed to happen upon the same spot at the same time. I needed to hear what she had to say, because, like so many times with her, she was speaking my very thoughts and feelings.
I really have few people in my life who seem like they are just other parts of me flying free out in the world. She's one. Our lives are constantly intermingled. Being in her presence is really like being alone, but with audible validation of my existence, thoughts, feelings, and ideas. I think she might feel the same. I'm thankful to have found her. The again and again and again times that we have found each other.
I've been waking up at 3:46 every morning. I can't seem to sleep any longer than this. I wake up to the same recurring thoughts, mind chatter, feelings. This morning when I woke up, there was the usual tape playing in the background of my mind, but then a new idea happened in. I felt it, experienced it more than thought it. I'd like to think I'm embodying it more than examining it.
Over the course of my lifetime, I've always had something to hold on to, retreat into, rely on. Until now. In the last several months, those people, places, and things that have been my life have slowly and/or suddenly been disappeared. I've been in a constant state of rearrangement, re-centering, renewing my ideas of self, the world, and her people. It's been a challenge. And in this time, I've been aware, more and more, that the process is internal. There isn't a person, a place, a thing that can or will do it for me. It's an internal reconnection and resurrection that's taking place.
This morning I saw it like this:
A bridge. With missing bits. Connecting me to myself. And the same bridge. With missing bits. Connecting me to the Universe, God, Creative Spirit (whatever you call it, whatever floats your boat). And there is NOTHING else. This journey I'm on is the coming back to Source or the open awareness of Source or the claiming of Source that is in its essence me or It...I'm never quite sure which. I'm not sure it matters.
This morning Missy said it this way: I'm being stripped down. I am not my marriage. I am not motherhood. I am not the success of my career. I am not my spiritual community. I'm being stripped down to my essence. It's a dance with just me and me, a dance with just me and God. That's it.
I totally get it. It's excruciatingly painful to be stripped down in this way. It's unsettling and frightening to look around and see the unfamiliar landscape of a new (unintended) life. It's tiring to stay afloat in the shifting current.
And at the end of the day, what else is there to do?
Of course, there are crutches if I'd want them. There are distractions to be had. There's drama to create if I'm into that. I'm aware, however, that doesn't really do anything except delay the inevitable process underway here. It could serve as a temporary relief or harbor in my storm, but it's not the answer or the way. I'm clear on that.
And so today, again, I'm willing to let the Universe guide me in my day, to those places I didn't plan on going, into the person I hadn't really anticipated being. I'm certain that I will continue to run into just the right people at just the right time. And I'm certain I'm going to be finding some pennies along the way.
My life is a series of near misses and just-barely hits. But for the seconds it took to get the shoe on, the car backed out of the driveway, that extra-long red light. Sometimes it all seems like mistakes. And then I happen upon THE bit I WAS NOT supposed to miss, and I realize the Universe is universally sound in her timing and set rearrangement.
This morning, the coughing boy who needed a ride to school was just a ploy. My friend, Missy, and her boy's wrecked bike brakes, and his sudden need for a ride to school? Well, that was just a ploy, too. We were supposed to happen upon the same spot at the same time. I needed to hear what she had to say, because, like so many times with her, she was speaking my very thoughts and feelings.
I really have few people in my life who seem like they are just other parts of me flying free out in the world. She's one. Our lives are constantly intermingled. Being in her presence is really like being alone, but with audible validation of my existence, thoughts, feelings, and ideas. I think she might feel the same. I'm thankful to have found her. The again and again and again times that we have found each other.
I've been waking up at 3:46 every morning. I can't seem to sleep any longer than this. I wake up to the same recurring thoughts, mind chatter, feelings. This morning when I woke up, there was the usual tape playing in the background of my mind, but then a new idea happened in. I felt it, experienced it more than thought it. I'd like to think I'm embodying it more than examining it.
Over the course of my lifetime, I've always had something to hold on to, retreat into, rely on. Until now. In the last several months, those people, places, and things that have been my life have slowly and/or suddenly been disappeared. I've been in a constant state of rearrangement, re-centering, renewing my ideas of self, the world, and her people. It's been a challenge. And in this time, I've been aware, more and more, that the process is internal. There isn't a person, a place, a thing that can or will do it for me. It's an internal reconnection and resurrection that's taking place.
This morning I saw it like this:
A bridge. With missing bits. Connecting me to myself. And the same bridge. With missing bits. Connecting me to the Universe, God, Creative Spirit (whatever you call it, whatever floats your boat). And there is NOTHING else. This journey I'm on is the coming back to Source or the open awareness of Source or the claiming of Source that is in its essence me or It...I'm never quite sure which. I'm not sure it matters.
This morning Missy said it this way: I'm being stripped down. I am not my marriage. I am not motherhood. I am not the success of my career. I am not my spiritual community. I'm being stripped down to my essence. It's a dance with just me and me, a dance with just me and God. That's it.
I totally get it. It's excruciatingly painful to be stripped down in this way. It's unsettling and frightening to look around and see the unfamiliar landscape of a new (unintended) life. It's tiring to stay afloat in the shifting current.
And at the end of the day, what else is there to do?
Of course, there are crutches if I'd want them. There are distractions to be had. There's drama to create if I'm into that. I'm aware, however, that doesn't really do anything except delay the inevitable process underway here. It could serve as a temporary relief or harbor in my storm, but it's not the answer or the way. I'm clear on that.
And so today, again, I'm willing to let the Universe guide me in my day, to those places I didn't plan on going, into the person I hadn't really anticipated being. I'm certain that I will continue to run into just the right people at just the right time. And I'm certain I'm going to be finding some pennies along the way.
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