I experienced a true first yesterday. At least I think it was, nowhere in my memory do I recall it ever happening before.
On a whim, I decided to visit my extended family. Sunday morning I received a call from my 'baby' brother. Another family crises had cropped up that he wanted my input on.
I decided it was time to visit my parents, and whoever else might be around.
Upon arriving at the home of my parents, I found no one home except for my father, and my one year old great niece. We do not have a lot to talk about,my father and I, so Miss Daughter and I sat on the sofa, watching a movie with him, (the end of The Fantastic Four, I think).
Feeling rather antsy, I was unable to sit there for long, and my daughter and niece were happily getting reacquainted with a game of peek-a-boo. The three seemingly content, I decided to visit my sister at the small local tavern she spends her weekends at working as the bartender. (One cool thing, she introduced me to all of her friends, and they thought I was the younger sister!....Woo hoo...preening, a teeny tiny bit! She is three years younger than I.)
The tavern was quite busy for a Sunday afternoon, but she had a moments here and there in which we could talk. And, talk we did. We covered a lot of territory, in those small amounts of time. Her problems, and my most recent decision.
She surprised me, the last time I had spoken to her about my life, she had been very negative in regards to the decision I am facing. This day though, she was very positive, in fact, what advice she gave me was all in the nature of letting me know that she would be there for me, to help me get through it all. Her view, her hope, being that even though she knows it will be very difficult, and may take years, that someday, my husband and I may come out the other side amicably, or at least able to share in the lives of our children with a sense of friendship.
Of course, she being who she is, we did mostly discuss her problems, but that is OK, I am used to that, very aware that it will happen. I am their earth mother, I am the one who doesn't try to solve the problems, I listen, commiserate with them, and desperately try to point how the many emotions at play in the crises of the moment are skewing their reactions to the problem, (there always seems to be a crisis brewing), trying to get them to take a step back into rational thought. (how come I can't do that for myself?)
Encouraging them to see, there is always a solution, a solution that they will eventually find. But I was also very pleased to learn that she has decided her daughter is so important, that she has decided to stop drinking. In times past when I would make a brief stop there to see her, she always had a bottle of beer or a mixed drink set to the side for herself, this time, a bottle of water.
We had a nice time, I had the opportunity to observe her in her world, not the 'family' world. She was amazing, even in the midst of one of her woeful stories to me, she was still fully capable at keeping the 15 or so customers happy.
While there, my youngest brother called me. When he found I was at the tavern, instead of the home of my parents, he told me that he and my older brother were on their way. (I am beginning to believe there truly are serendipitous moments in our lives, moments that karma intervenes at just the right time, this was a time I needed them, yet they did not know that)
They walked in, we exchanged hugs of hello, and moved to a table, one in which my sister could join us, each time she had a few moments to spare.
My first. I realized while sitting there with my two brothers and the occasional visit of my sister, that we have never ever done that before. The four of us, sitting, talking, laughing, even sharing a few tears, normally, my parents or one or more of our children is usually with us, it has never been just the four of us with the privacy to just be us.
But this time it was just us, as adults. I enjoyed it very much, and I could tell they did too.
I am always the observer, so I did notice that we still 'played' our family defined roles to an extent, but that those roles also were not fully evidenced. It was an enlightening experience in many ways.
My oldest brother has always been the most materialistic of us all. When he was wealthy, all that money could buy, was purchased by him. In the hopes I suppose that he would feel happier.
Didn't work of course, but until tonight, I did not realize that he had learned that lesson.
At one point as were talking of then, now, tomorrow, he said, "With age, I have finally realized I have no wisdom."
My reply, "Ah, dear brother, that is your wisdom, knowing that what you once thought you knew, is what you do not know, you are wise in knowing that you do not know."
He looked at me, I could see the thought process flicker across his face, "Did she just something profound?", then he laughed.
For the first time, I was open to both of my brothers concerning the state of my marriage. They were accepting. I was amazed! Two years ago, I had discussed my thoughts of divorce with my oldest brother, and he tried to talk me out of it, counseling me about the length of time I have been married, asking me, how I could give that up.
Last night though, he said nothing of the sort, he offered his support. He offered advice on the vile ugliness of divorce. And, when I tried to explain I had no wish for that to happen, both brothers vehemently chimed in, telling me I would not have that choice, as in a marriage, divorce also takes two. They were trying to convince me to be tougher. Telling me that I will not be able to waver, when my nurturing side wants to take over, that I must stand tough. Telling me that I needed to realize that I deserved happiness.
My youngest brother then had his own moment of profundity, "All four of us somewhere along the line, have decided that we do not deserve happiness. But we do, we do deserve it. You deserve it, accept that."
The moments turned into several hours, we moved away from the problems of our lives, to just enjoying being there, four people with very strong ties, ties of blood, of shared pain, of shared memories, of shared joys, of shared laughter, of shared tears, of shared love.
Monday, February 26, 2007
Friday, February 23, 2007
My Day At The Beach
This past Monday, I had the day off from work, and finally answered a call. The Lake has been calling me for weeks, months. Someone, actually several someones, recently ask me why there? Why do I occasionally feel it's pull?
I have no real answer. I believe it to be it's utter hugeness, the scrubbing of the wind that blows there. The fact that the area in which I visit, even though there are signs of man every where, it still has the rawness, the very earthliness of nature's forces. It is an easy place to put life into focus. An easy place to find a balance of thought, emotion, an easy place for me to just be.
I took my camera along with me, I am not really sure why, I have no abilities in the photographic arena, but in winter, most especially, when I am out and about, I always wish I had it, so I took it along. Perhaps my way of documenting my thought processes whilst there.
And document I did, I made several trips up and down the portion of the beach I deemed it safe to walk upon. There were several areas that were not safe, to the untrained eye difficult to recognize, areas which were hip deep snow drifts covered with sand, looking like solid ground. Areas in which the snow and sand covered a thin layer of ice over the water, areas in which the ice looked quite shallow, but upon closer inspection, I could have had very wet feet and legs if I had not been careful. So I walked the well-trodden paths. I followed the paw prints of dogs in the snow and sand, and those of their masters. Most of the time anyway.
Each portion of the lake view, or the beach itself seemed to have something to say to me, some song of soothing.
When I first arrived, the intense exhilaration I felt surprised me, I felt as if my soul were home. Once I arrived, I hiked up a dune, and felt as if I were gathering the sights, the sounds, the air into me.....allowing them to wash over me, fill me with their magic.
But then a hesitation took me over, a feeling of why I am here? What made me think I would find my answers here? They were there though, I had them already, I just needed a place that I felt free to examine them.
Ignoring my initial hesitation, I started walking, knowing that it would come, it would just come upon me........I had no idea what, or where, but I knew I would find a spot, several spots that I was intended to stop at, places I was supposed to let something go, places I was supposed to find something, places I was supposed to just sit and absorb. I did.
I had walked only ten minutes or so, when the first wave hit me, the tears started falling, shoulder heaving tears, tears of sorrow, tears of remorse, tears of asking for forgiveness. In that place, for the first time, I was able to let them flow, let them overtake me, let them do their work. When my eyes cleared, there in front of me resting on the sand was a dark gray rock, in the shape of heart, running diagonally through the center was a continuous white line, effectively cutting it in half, into two connected but disconnected pieces. My first something.
I do not cry often, so the after effects always surprise me, a few sniffles, a few wet tracks down my cheeks, a few last shudders through my body, and I feel cleansed, more whole. Able to move on.
In that moving on, there was no continued thought, no continued sadness, there was only the admiration, the awe at what I was seeing.
Eventually, I came to a point along that eastward walk, when I knew it was time to turn, and head the other direction, it was if I was supposed to go the other direction. The Lake is one of the few places I visit that I allow this inner force to guide me. Looking down, a feather, one a bit tattered on the edges, but the lines still clean and whole. Me?
In my reversing of direction, I came across a small flow of water that was dividing the beach running from the dunes along the road side and feeding the Lake. This too, was a place I was supposed to be. I felt somehow that I must stay there, in that spot for as long as it took. Not evening knowing what it was. I have no idea how long I rested there, but eventually I heard only the flow of the water, only that, no far off voices on down the beach, (they are restoring several historic homes in the area, and I was even able to shut out the sound of power tools and hammers that the wind carried to me), in that meditative state, some of my truths were allowed their voices. Truths that I knew, but had been unable to truly accept. Acceptance filled me, swept over me, enveloped me. When I stood, at my feet one pure white feather, I picked it up too.
Turning my face once again to the west I continued to walk, again only breathing, allowing the cool crisp wind to refresh my spirit. Two more rocks jumped out at me, I still do not why they were the ones I had to pick up, they were not really that different than the multitude of others lying there, but pick them up I must, adding them to the growing collection in my left hand.
Another place was found, another spot in which I was supposed to stop, sit, contemplate. An old fallen log, gray with time and age. Smoothed from the wind and the sand. There I stopped looking into the past, and gazed toward the future. A future that is completely unknown, but one that contains amazing possibilities. I tried to refuse some of those possibilities, telling myself they were impossible. My heart would not allow that refusal. An adamant denial. I breathed, I allowed my eyes to scan the horizon, past the snow and ice covered water, deep into the horizon where the water still ran free. Farther yet, until I could just make out the shoreline barely perceptible through the clouds. I opened myself to the future, accepting what it may bring, I was joy at that moment. Looking down at the sand, another feather, a small silvery gray one, so soft, clean, and fluffy.
Opening my left hand, I looked at the things I had gathered, I held the three feathers in between my fingers, as the wind picked up, I let them fly, thinking they would all go in the same direction, flutter along the sand as they landed. But they didn't, one went straight down the beach, one flew out over the water,(OK...the snow over the water), and the other towards the dunes, I am sure there is some aerodynamic explanation. But to me there was a message, I have many paths available to me, I have choices, many choices.
Looking down into my hand, I had somehow gathered five rocks, all of different sizes, different colors, they came home with me, they now sit in a special place in my office at work, surrounded by small sticks scented with sandalwood, an altar to my future perhaps.
I left there that day, with only one ache left within me. An ache I fought, an ache I kept telling myself was wrong, very wrong. But with each mile that passed the ache only grew stronger. I gave into it. I am very happy I did. In answering that ache, it became the perfect end to a perfect day.
I have no real answer. I believe it to be it's utter hugeness, the scrubbing of the wind that blows there. The fact that the area in which I visit, even though there are signs of man every where, it still has the rawness, the very earthliness of nature's forces. It is an easy place to put life into focus. An easy place to find a balance of thought, emotion, an easy place for me to just be.
I took my camera along with me, I am not really sure why, I have no abilities in the photographic arena, but in winter, most especially, when I am out and about, I always wish I had it, so I took it along. Perhaps my way of documenting my thought processes whilst there.
And document I did, I made several trips up and down the portion of the beach I deemed it safe to walk upon. There were several areas that were not safe, to the untrained eye difficult to recognize, areas which were hip deep snow drifts covered with sand, looking like solid ground. Areas in which the snow and sand covered a thin layer of ice over the water, areas in which the ice looked quite shallow, but upon closer inspection, I could have had very wet feet and legs if I had not been careful. So I walked the well-trodden paths. I followed the paw prints of dogs in the snow and sand, and those of their masters. Most of the time anyway.
Each portion of the lake view, or the beach itself seemed to have something to say to me, some song of soothing.
When I first arrived, the intense exhilaration I felt surprised me, I felt as if my soul were home. Once I arrived, I hiked up a dune, and felt as if I were gathering the sights, the sounds, the air into me.....allowing them to wash over me, fill me with their magic.
But then a hesitation took me over, a feeling of why I am here? What made me think I would find my answers here? They were there though, I had them already, I just needed a place that I felt free to examine them.
Ignoring my initial hesitation, I started walking, knowing that it would come, it would just come upon me........I had no idea what, or where, but I knew I would find a spot, several spots that I was intended to stop at, places I was supposed to let something go, places I was supposed to find something, places I was supposed to just sit and absorb. I did.
I had walked only ten minutes or so, when the first wave hit me, the tears started falling, shoulder heaving tears, tears of sorrow, tears of remorse, tears of asking for forgiveness. In that place, for the first time, I was able to let them flow, let them overtake me, let them do their work. When my eyes cleared, there in front of me resting on the sand was a dark gray rock, in the shape of heart, running diagonally through the center was a continuous white line, effectively cutting it in half, into two connected but disconnected pieces. My first something.
I do not cry often, so the after effects always surprise me, a few sniffles, a few wet tracks down my cheeks, a few last shudders through my body, and I feel cleansed, more whole. Able to move on.
In that moving on, there was no continued thought, no continued sadness, there was only the admiration, the awe at what I was seeing.
Eventually, I came to a point along that eastward walk, when I knew it was time to turn, and head the other direction, it was if I was supposed to go the other direction. The Lake is one of the few places I visit that I allow this inner force to guide me. Looking down, a feather, one a bit tattered on the edges, but the lines still clean and whole. Me?
In my reversing of direction, I came across a small flow of water that was dividing the beach running from the dunes along the road side and feeding the Lake. This too, was a place I was supposed to be. I felt somehow that I must stay there, in that spot for as long as it took. Not evening knowing what it was. I have no idea how long I rested there, but eventually I heard only the flow of the water, only that, no far off voices on down the beach, (they are restoring several historic homes in the area, and I was even able to shut out the sound of power tools and hammers that the wind carried to me), in that meditative state, some of my truths were allowed their voices. Truths that I knew, but had been unable to truly accept. Acceptance filled me, swept over me, enveloped me. When I stood, at my feet one pure white feather, I picked it up too.
Turning my face once again to the west I continued to walk, again only breathing, allowing the cool crisp wind to refresh my spirit. Two more rocks jumped out at me, I still do not why they were the ones I had to pick up, they were not really that different than the multitude of others lying there, but pick them up I must, adding them to the growing collection in my left hand.
Another place was found, another spot in which I was supposed to stop, sit, contemplate. An old fallen log, gray with time and age. Smoothed from the wind and the sand. There I stopped looking into the past, and gazed toward the future. A future that is completely unknown, but one that contains amazing possibilities. I tried to refuse some of those possibilities, telling myself they were impossible. My heart would not allow that refusal. An adamant denial. I breathed, I allowed my eyes to scan the horizon, past the snow and ice covered water, deep into the horizon where the water still ran free. Farther yet, until I could just make out the shoreline barely perceptible through the clouds. I opened myself to the future, accepting what it may bring, I was joy at that moment. Looking down at the sand, another feather, a small silvery gray one, so soft, clean, and fluffy.
Opening my left hand, I looked at the things I had gathered, I held the three feathers in between my fingers, as the wind picked up, I let them fly, thinking they would all go in the same direction, flutter along the sand as they landed. But they didn't, one went straight down the beach, one flew out over the water,(OK...the snow over the water), and the other towards the dunes, I am sure there is some aerodynamic explanation. But to me there was a message, I have many paths available to me, I have choices, many choices.
Looking down into my hand, I had somehow gathered five rocks, all of different sizes, different colors, they came home with me, they now sit in a special place in my office at work, surrounded by small sticks scented with sandalwood, an altar to my future perhaps.
I left there that day, with only one ache left within me. An ache I fought, an ache I kept telling myself was wrong, very wrong. But with each mile that passed the ache only grew stronger. I gave into it. I am very happy I did. In answering that ache, it became the perfect end to a perfect day.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Life's Merry Go Round
Life, the very craziness of life at times sets my head spinning.
So much happening, so many changes, outward changes, inward changes.
In an older post I wrote briefly of my observations on the growth of my children over the years. How, as I watched each of them grow, watched each new stage of their development, (whether it be mental or physical), each stage was at first accompanied by many many faltering steps.....many failures......and then.......all at once.........it would all just seem to come together.......and there would be success!
Thus even though there is much upheaval happening.....or going to happen in my life. I also have this "Moondust Magic" (reference to yet another post) feel in my heart. I have taken so many faltering steps, had some major failures along the way, yet my world seems to be filling up with choices, wonderful possibilities are beckoning to me.
A little more than 3 months ago, I changed focus in my career, I am still in the same field, but in two areas (I really perform two different jobs) in which I feel that I am able to give so much more. I truly love what I do.
Sigh.....Now, there is another job opportunity open, in a field I strongly considered entering many years ago. The position is one in which I am not sure I am mentally nor emotionally qualified to do, but it intrigues me immensely.
The problem with such opportunities, is that one does not often have the time to ponder them for long, or they will disappear.
When I was first told of the position, I immediately wanted to jump up, print out a copy of my resume and mail it in. But, since I am desperately trying to learn the arts of practicality and patience....I made myself take a breath, then another, told myself I am quite happy where I am......and promptly forgot all about it.......(it hasn't helped that I have been completely preoccupied in other areas of my life either......although some of those preoccupations are so very enthralling)
But this evening, I was once again reminded of the position........a whirling dervish flew in my front door.....excitement radiating off him......telling me, "It's still open, are you going to apply or not?!?!?!?!?!"
My initial reaction....."Yes! It would be an amazing job. An area where everyday would be exciting. An area where the smallest little thing I do would make a difference in the life of a child. I would love to see if they think I am qualified, if I have those special qualities it would entail."
My next thoughts......."Am I truly capable, could I give it my very best?"
It is a position that requires very special skills to do correctly, to perform in the best interest of all involved. It would take empathy, patience, knowledge, love, so very much love, discipline, a whole lotta discipline, some days it would take just plain old grit.........most days it could mentally wipe out the best of the best. Every day would be stressful. But, there is so much potential for good. The potential to help a child take steps toward a brighter healthier future.
So I ask myself, "Do I have that in me? Do I want to leave where I am now? I do truly love my job!"
Then I tell myself........"But, it wouldn't hurt to just send in my resume, possibly interview, after all, they probably wouldn't want me anyway, since I don't hold all of the necessary credentials. What can it hurt?"
Sigh, I haven't decided yet, some research to do, but 85% of me........really really wants to send that resume in......and even the thought of being rejected doesn't bother me........I keep thinking of possibilities.......of facing fears........too many years of hiding because of fear of failure? Or fear of success?
I think I talk to myself too much.
So much happening, so many changes, outward changes, inward changes.
In an older post I wrote briefly of my observations on the growth of my children over the years. How, as I watched each of them grow, watched each new stage of their development, (whether it be mental or physical), each stage was at first accompanied by many many faltering steps.....many failures......and then.......all at once.........it would all just seem to come together.......and there would be success!
Thus even though there is much upheaval happening.....or going to happen in my life. I also have this "Moondust Magic" (reference to yet another post) feel in my heart. I have taken so many faltering steps, had some major failures along the way, yet my world seems to be filling up with choices, wonderful possibilities are beckoning to me.
*************
A little more than 3 months ago, I changed focus in my career, I am still in the same field, but in two areas (I really perform two different jobs) in which I feel that I am able to give so much more. I truly love what I do.
Sigh.....Now, there is another job opportunity open, in a field I strongly considered entering many years ago. The position is one in which I am not sure I am mentally nor emotionally qualified to do, but it intrigues me immensely.
The problem with such opportunities, is that one does not often have the time to ponder them for long, or they will disappear.
When I was first told of the position, I immediately wanted to jump up, print out a copy of my resume and mail it in. But, since I am desperately trying to learn the arts of practicality and patience....I made myself take a breath, then another, told myself I am quite happy where I am......and promptly forgot all about it.......(it hasn't helped that I have been completely preoccupied in other areas of my life either......although some of those preoccupations are so very enthralling)
But this evening, I was once again reminded of the position........a whirling dervish flew in my front door.....excitement radiating off him......telling me, "It's still open, are you going to apply or not?!?!?!?!?!"
My initial reaction....."Yes! It would be an amazing job. An area where everyday would be exciting. An area where the smallest little thing I do would make a difference in the life of a child. I would love to see if they think I am qualified, if I have those special qualities it would entail."
My next thoughts......."Am I truly capable, could I give it my very best?"
It is a position that requires very special skills to do correctly, to perform in the best interest of all involved. It would take empathy, patience, knowledge, love, so very much love, discipline, a whole lotta discipline, some days it would take just plain old grit.........most days it could mentally wipe out the best of the best. Every day would be stressful. But, there is so much potential for good. The potential to help a child take steps toward a brighter healthier future.
So I ask myself, "Do I have that in me? Do I want to leave where I am now? I do truly love my job!"
Then I tell myself........"But, it wouldn't hurt to just send in my resume, possibly interview, after all, they probably wouldn't want me anyway, since I don't hold all of the necessary credentials. What can it hurt?"
Sigh, I haven't decided yet, some research to do, but 85% of me........really really wants to send that resume in......and even the thought of being rejected doesn't bother me........I keep thinking of possibilities.......of facing fears........too many years of hiding because of fear of failure? Or fear of success?
I think I talk to myself too much.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Serenity
What does the word serenity mean to you?
Is it just living day to day life, accepting whatever comes your way? Perhaps, sometimes questioning the bad things that happen....with a...."Why me?" Just accepting the good that comes along, perhaps occasionally saying a "thank you", to whatever divine being you believe in?
I met a woman of 65 years today, actually we had two meetings today, in that first meeting to all outward appearances I had the impression that she was serene, tranquil. That for her life was as it should be, she was content, at peace with who she is, how she lives, loves.
Ten minutes into our conversation though, it was startling clear to me that she was far from serene. Yet, I do not think she knows it, she is one of those people that I think of as living life shallowly.
If we had had only one meeting, I would have eventually forgotten my secondary impression of her, assumed that she was just having a "not so tranquil" day.
But we did meet again, within 30 minutes of her leaving my office, she returned with a whole new set of questions, a whole new set of problems. She was searching for answers, but the questions were not the questions she needed to be asking, nor were the answers I gave her the answers she needed. She came back, because she is afraid to be alone with herself.
Her outer appearance so deceiving, her voice, her mannerisms all emoted serenity.
Yet.....within moments of beginning conversation with her, I knew, she is living only outwardly.
She does not search within herself to find the answers to her fears, to find the answers to her loneliness, to her agitations. She is experiencing the very early stages of an illness....COPD....a respiratory ailment, a disease that kills many. Yet she is in such early stages of the disease that it has not effected the quality of her life, she has many avenues open to her if she were willing to explore them. If she were willing to discover the nitty gritty details of her illness, discover the many possibilities that exist to maintain a fine quality of life for many more years to come. This illness is the only fact I know about her life.
What my intuition informed me of her though, is that she is lonely, very lonely, she is unsure of her future, yet not willing to explore within herself to find her many possibilities. She looks outward to satisfy her inner needs.
Looking outwardly for satisfaction of uncertainty is the easiest for many. If we spend too much time looking inward, we may find things about ourselves that we do not like....and once that happens.....then we might have to do some deeper self-examination, and make some changes.
Changing our inner selves takes work. Work of a kind that is harder than even the most intense physical labor.....change within also does not afford one with that feeling of immediate gratification of a job well done.
Change within is a never ending process. We may have moments, those phenomenally exciting moments when we realize that we have reached a plateau along the journey of becoming who we want to be. But those of us that explore our inner depths, also know that we have not reached that pinnacle of becoming. Although I am not entirely sure we ever reach that culminating point of becoming the best human being we can be. Exactly because we are human.
I used to believe that the ultimate place to be in my life, as a human being, a kind, loving human being would be the place I call serenity.
So what does reaching a serenity of being mean to me?
Comfort, acceptance with me, who I am.
Confidence, a sureness that I will do the most true, right thing in any given situation.
Tranquility, an inner peace that develops as I grow, as I learn to give to, and fully accept those I love for being who they are.
Serenity is the awareness that I am being the best being I can be, the awareness that I will make mistakes, the awareness that I am simple one divine human being among many.
At least that is what it means to me today. I could change my mind tomorrow.....but that very changeableness.....is huge part of who I am. A flawed human being seeking serenity.
Is it just living day to day life, accepting whatever comes your way? Perhaps, sometimes questioning the bad things that happen....with a...."Why me?" Just accepting the good that comes along, perhaps occasionally saying a "thank you", to whatever divine being you believe in?
I met a woman of 65 years today, actually we had two meetings today, in that first meeting to all outward appearances I had the impression that she was serene, tranquil. That for her life was as it should be, she was content, at peace with who she is, how she lives, loves.
Ten minutes into our conversation though, it was startling clear to me that she was far from serene. Yet, I do not think she knows it, she is one of those people that I think of as living life shallowly.
If we had had only one meeting, I would have eventually forgotten my secondary impression of her, assumed that she was just having a "not so tranquil" day.
But we did meet again, within 30 minutes of her leaving my office, she returned with a whole new set of questions, a whole new set of problems. She was searching for answers, but the questions were not the questions she needed to be asking, nor were the answers I gave her the answers she needed. She came back, because she is afraid to be alone with herself.
Her outer appearance so deceiving, her voice, her mannerisms all emoted serenity.
Yet.....within moments of beginning conversation with her, I knew, she is living only outwardly.
She does not search within herself to find the answers to her fears, to find the answers to her loneliness, to her agitations. She is experiencing the very early stages of an illness....COPD....a respiratory ailment, a disease that kills many. Yet she is in such early stages of the disease that it has not effected the quality of her life, she has many avenues open to her if she were willing to explore them. If she were willing to discover the nitty gritty details of her illness, discover the many possibilities that exist to maintain a fine quality of life for many more years to come. This illness is the only fact I know about her life.
What my intuition informed me of her though, is that she is lonely, very lonely, she is unsure of her future, yet not willing to explore within herself to find her many possibilities. She looks outward to satisfy her inner needs.
Looking outwardly for satisfaction of uncertainty is the easiest for many. If we spend too much time looking inward, we may find things about ourselves that we do not like....and once that happens.....then we might have to do some deeper self-examination, and make some changes.
Changing our inner selves takes work. Work of a kind that is harder than even the most intense physical labor.....change within also does not afford one with that feeling of immediate gratification of a job well done.
Change within is a never ending process. We may have moments, those phenomenally exciting moments when we realize that we have reached a plateau along the journey of becoming who we want to be. But those of us that explore our inner depths, also know that we have not reached that pinnacle of becoming. Although I am not entirely sure we ever reach that culminating point of becoming the best human being we can be. Exactly because we are human.
I used to believe that the ultimate place to be in my life, as a human being, a kind, loving human being would be the place I call serenity.
So what does reaching a serenity of being mean to me?
Comfort, acceptance with me, who I am.
Confidence, a sureness that I will do the most true, right thing in any given situation.
Tranquility, an inner peace that develops as I grow, as I learn to give to, and fully accept those I love for being who they are.
Serenity is the awareness that I am being the best being I can be, the awareness that I will make mistakes, the awareness that I am simple one divine human being among many.
At least that is what it means to me today. I could change my mind tomorrow.....but that very changeableness.....is huge part of who I am. A flawed human being seeking serenity.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Patience
PATIENCE......Ayanla Vanzant
"Most of us have very little trouble identifying what it is that we want in life. The difficulty we experience is in waiting for what we want to manifest itself as a tangible condition. Waiting takes patience, and it is a virtue most of us do not posses. Patience requires faith. Faith demands trust. In order to trust, you must know the truth. The truth is usually relative to our experiences. When you explore and understand the elements required to actually demonstrate patience, it is probably safe to say that a large majority of us are in a great deal of trouble when it comes to having patience. Without patience, we worry, we complain, and sometimes we give up hope. We do not understand that a delay is not a denial, and that if we faithfully trust the truth, we would find it a lot less difficult to employ patience."
"The greatest challenge to the development of patience is being able to wait for the tangible evidence that your efforts are paying off. We have a fixed idea of what we want and what it will look like when it shows up. We hold that idea so firmly that often we are unable to detect that the very thing we want has actually arrived. If it does not look the way we thought it would, or if it does not feel the way we imagined it would, we are unable to detect its presence. Discernment is an important part of patience. We must be able to see through the appearances, and be able to recognize the manifestation of our desires. This requires inner knowing, that knowing is called patience."
"Patience is the ability to discern the unfolding of a goal in the midst of a windstorm. It is knowing that your efforts are paying off even when there is no tangible evidence to support that belief. Patience is being able to retreat to your core when you are being challenged and pull up everything in your arsenal of truth that will glorify the presence of the divine in your being. Patience is knowing that you have done your best,and that what will be on the test is what you already know."
"You don't have to get an A on life's test; you only have to pass."
Patience is one virtue I find myself sadly lacking in, I try, oh how I try. If it is truly being able to discern the truth from faith, trust, and hope.......then I am currently sadly lacking in those areas too.
If I can do that, will I have hope in the brighter future/dreams I seek?
I am not complaining, really! It doesn't feel like denial, it feels exactly how Ayanla describes it.....a loss of hope.
Huge, huge..............SIGH.
"faithfully trust the truth"
If I can do that, will I have hope in the brighter future/dreams I seek?
I am not complaining, really! It doesn't feel like denial, it feels exactly how Ayanla describes it.....a loss of hope.
Huge, huge..............SIGH.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Sonorous Ablutions
The word of the day today from Dictionary.com was Sonorous. (yes I get that emailed to me still, weird I am)
Sonorous: \suh-NOR-uhs; SAH-nuh-rus\, adjective:
1. Giving sound when struck; resonant; as, sonorous metals.
2. Loud-sounding; giving a clear or loud sound; as, a sonorous voice.
3. Yielding sound; characterized by sound; as, the vowels are sonorous.
4. Impressive in sound; high-sounding.
As I was thinking of what is sonorous, my mind drifted to clarity.
Clarity of sound, clarity of mind, clarity of thought, clarity of emotions.
I have that, for the first time in years, I feel clarity like no other time in my life.
My next thought, was, will it stay? Will I continue to feel this almost audible perception of what is right? Or will I allow ambiguity to take control once again?
There are many in my life who fight my clarity of emotion, that sonorous ringing in my heart and soul. I have often wondered, do I have a constant look of perplexity when in comes to emotion? One such that other's feel the right to question what I do, what I feel?
When they do that, I feel as if a shroud is being fitted around me, mist rises in my mind, I have to shake off the distortion of thought their words engender. Some look at me with sadness in their eyes. Is it a sadness for me? Or a sadness they feel because they think I can not see clearly.
What they do not realize is that I am seeing more clearly than I have in years. I always have and always will, take an issue and try to 'see' all sides, view it from all angles, from all perceptions, from all ways of living it. But sometimes that is impossible, I can only view it from what I have lived, experienced.
In the past when I have attempted to examine my life from my own internal perspective, there has been no clarity, it has always been twisted, off kilter, sometimes so internally focused that what I truly felt was incomprehensible. My 'sight' sought too deeply into the depths of my soul, reaching into the farthest corners. Seeking the balance of what life should be. In that seeking, I missed something, I went around it, over it, under it, I missed the center, I missed where clarity resides.
In my seeking to understand this new clarity, my mind shifts to.........
Wounds. So many events were visited upon me as a child that were out of my control.
These childhood traumas punctured my soul creating deep wounds that did not truly heal, scar tissue formed over the entry points, but the holes were still there, the slightest pressure anywhere in the vicinity of a soul-scar, would send tendrils of pain shooting through me. When this occurred, I would feel as if I could not breathe, there was not enough pure, clean air to aid me.
Vertigo would overtake my soul, my mind, my body, each time that happened I would question my reality. At times it seemed as if I looked at myself, my life from a distance. Obscurity ruled me, creating a distance of self-protection, it kept the pain at a bearable level.
As the years have passed, I have healed the wounds inflicted during childhood, those in which I have been able to find the source of, I opened them up to the light of day, drained out the infection, and sent healing tendrils of light into them. There are scars left behind. Necessary scars, that were at times still tender, but as the tissue thickened, the fear of it being reopened lessened until one day the realization came, it is healed. HEALED.
It took me many years to heal the deepest stab wound, But once that occurred, I stepped out into life, relishing, reveling, delighting in my new pain-free world. Thinking I was whole. Life went on, years of life. Oh, I knew. Deep within I knew that there were still impurities residing inside. But I could ignore them, I was viewing my world in childlike wonder, there was a grace to life, I had faith in the future, I had faith in me.
But, I have an introspective nature. Eventually events occurred, and I would feel a tiny ache, an ache that would have to be probed, gently at first, each probing amplifying the pain. So I would stop. Retreat, ignore, try to recapture the joy I had felt. But I was ever drawn back, I couldn't stop that tentative probing, seeking its source, always always knowing the true source, just not accepting it.
I couldn't stop, my soul wouldn't let me. I have witnessed the lives of those who are unable to seek healing, and I have no wish to live that life.
So, I examined, I pressed all around the initial entry point, occasionally brushing over the thin outer scar, but not willing, not having the courage to reopen the wound. Instead I bandaged it, and re-bandaged it, continually applying new layers of gauze over the old, building a buffer zone of protection.
Life moved on. Not quite as joyful, I had developed a limp. I still tried to dance my way through life, but occasionally my steps would falter, the gauze was loosening.
There came into my life someone who opened my heart in a way it never had been before.
I dreamed of possibilities, oh how I dreamed.
But somewhere in those dreams, darkness hid. I could sense the shadow, but I would close my eyes to it. I kept them closed. Living in my dream world.
But reality will not stay hidden for long. It sneaks up on you. Pouncing when you least expect it. Reality struck out at me, in one blaring exploding sonic boom of emotion. I ran, I tried to hide, I twisted, turned, whirled, lied to myself, lied to my soul, lied to my heart. It didn't matter. Reality peeled the gauze away, reality probed, ripped, stabbed, draining my life away, draining my joy away. I tried another bandage, and another, and another, none could cover the pain though.
My soul was screaming.
I would not believe what I found, could not, it was an impossibility.
How could I have spent years and years of my life not feeling so many repeated stabbings?
I didn't believe, a part of me still does not.
I didn't want to believe, because there was no one to blame but myself.
Even though the initial wound was dealt by another. I am the one who kept the wound open, I am the one that allowed it to fester.
The pain came, intensified. Oh, how I tried to pull away from it, but I couldn't, I didn't really want to, it was a foully sweet pain, a pain that gave me a melancholy pleasure, repulsive, yet deserved, one that validated my misery.
Intense pain has power, so much power it sometimes radiates outward, often obscuring its true location, the original injury. Obscurity, clouding our judgment, infecting our souls. But only if we allow it that power.
I am taking its power away, each new day, the power lessens. My wounds are scarring over once again, in that process, there is still pain, and it is a bittersweet pain, but there is a difference it is also a pure pain, the stench of infection is gone.
In my seeking for answers, in my desire to heal, in my desire to live with joy, I have to ask myself.
Do we ever completely heal? Is that even necessary? Perhaps all that is necessary is acknowledgment. In that acknowledgment of the pain, the desperation disappears, healing begins, protective scars form. We live with a new clarity.
Sonorous: \suh-NOR-uhs; SAH-nuh-rus\, adjective:
1. Giving sound when struck; resonant; as, sonorous metals.
2. Loud-sounding; giving a clear or loud sound; as, a sonorous voice.
3. Yielding sound; characterized by sound; as, the vowels are sonorous.
4. Impressive in sound; high-sounding.
As I was thinking of what is sonorous, my mind drifted to clarity.
Clarity of sound, clarity of mind, clarity of thought, clarity of emotions.
I have that, for the first time in years, I feel clarity like no other time in my life.
My next thought, was, will it stay? Will I continue to feel this almost audible perception of what is right? Or will I allow ambiguity to take control once again?
There are many in my life who fight my clarity of emotion, that sonorous ringing in my heart and soul. I have often wondered, do I have a constant look of perplexity when in comes to emotion? One such that other's feel the right to question what I do, what I feel?
When they do that, I feel as if a shroud is being fitted around me, mist rises in my mind, I have to shake off the distortion of thought their words engender. Some look at me with sadness in their eyes. Is it a sadness for me? Or a sadness they feel because they think I can not see clearly.
What they do not realize is that I am seeing more clearly than I have in years. I always have and always will, take an issue and try to 'see' all sides, view it from all angles, from all perceptions, from all ways of living it. But sometimes that is impossible, I can only view it from what I have lived, experienced.
In the past when I have attempted to examine my life from my own internal perspective, there has been no clarity, it has always been twisted, off kilter, sometimes so internally focused that what I truly felt was incomprehensible. My 'sight' sought too deeply into the depths of my soul, reaching into the farthest corners. Seeking the balance of what life should be. In that seeking, I missed something, I went around it, over it, under it, I missed the center, I missed where clarity resides.
In my seeking to understand this new clarity, my mind shifts to.........
Wounds. So many events were visited upon me as a child that were out of my control.
These childhood traumas punctured my soul creating deep wounds that did not truly heal, scar tissue formed over the entry points, but the holes were still there, the slightest pressure anywhere in the vicinity of a soul-scar, would send tendrils of pain shooting through me. When this occurred, I would feel as if I could not breathe, there was not enough pure, clean air to aid me.
Vertigo would overtake my soul, my mind, my body, each time that happened I would question my reality. At times it seemed as if I looked at myself, my life from a distance. Obscurity ruled me, creating a distance of self-protection, it kept the pain at a bearable level.
As the years have passed, I have healed the wounds inflicted during childhood, those in which I have been able to find the source of, I opened them up to the light of day, drained out the infection, and sent healing tendrils of light into them. There are scars left behind. Necessary scars, that were at times still tender, but as the tissue thickened, the fear of it being reopened lessened until one day the realization came, it is healed. HEALED.
It took me many years to heal the deepest stab wound, But once that occurred, I stepped out into life, relishing, reveling, delighting in my new pain-free world. Thinking I was whole. Life went on, years of life. Oh, I knew. Deep within I knew that there were still impurities residing inside. But I could ignore them, I was viewing my world in childlike wonder, there was a grace to life, I had faith in the future, I had faith in me.
But, I have an introspective nature. Eventually events occurred, and I would feel a tiny ache, an ache that would have to be probed, gently at first, each probing amplifying the pain. So I would stop. Retreat, ignore, try to recapture the joy I had felt. But I was ever drawn back, I couldn't stop that tentative probing, seeking its source, always always knowing the true source, just not accepting it.
I couldn't stop, my soul wouldn't let me. I have witnessed the lives of those who are unable to seek healing, and I have no wish to live that life.
So, I examined, I pressed all around the initial entry point, occasionally brushing over the thin outer scar, but not willing, not having the courage to reopen the wound. Instead I bandaged it, and re-bandaged it, continually applying new layers of gauze over the old, building a buffer zone of protection.
Life moved on. Not quite as joyful, I had developed a limp. I still tried to dance my way through life, but occasionally my steps would falter, the gauze was loosening.
There came into my life someone who opened my heart in a way it never had been before.
I dreamed of possibilities, oh how I dreamed.
But somewhere in those dreams, darkness hid. I could sense the shadow, but I would close my eyes to it. I kept them closed. Living in my dream world.
But reality will not stay hidden for long. It sneaks up on you. Pouncing when you least expect it. Reality struck out at me, in one blaring exploding sonic boom of emotion. I ran, I tried to hide, I twisted, turned, whirled, lied to myself, lied to my soul, lied to my heart. It didn't matter. Reality peeled the gauze away, reality probed, ripped, stabbed, draining my life away, draining my joy away. I tried another bandage, and another, and another, none could cover the pain though.
My soul was screaming.
I would not believe what I found, could not, it was an impossibility.
How could I have spent years and years of my life not feeling so many repeated stabbings?
I didn't believe, a part of me still does not.
I didn't want to believe, because there was no one to blame but myself.
Even though the initial wound was dealt by another. I am the one who kept the wound open, I am the one that allowed it to fester.
The pain came, intensified. Oh, how I tried to pull away from it, but I couldn't, I didn't really want to, it was a foully sweet pain, a pain that gave me a melancholy pleasure, repulsive, yet deserved, one that validated my misery.
Intense pain has power, so much power it sometimes radiates outward, often obscuring its true location, the original injury. Obscurity, clouding our judgment, infecting our souls. But only if we allow it that power.
I am taking its power away, each new day, the power lessens. My wounds are scarring over once again, in that process, there is still pain, and it is a bittersweet pain, but there is a difference it is also a pure pain, the stench of infection is gone.
In my seeking for answers, in my desire to heal, in my desire to live with joy, I have to ask myself.
Do we ever completely heal? Is that even necessary? Perhaps all that is necessary is acknowledgment. In that acknowledgment of the pain, the desperation disappears, healing begins, protective scars form. We live with a new clarity.
Saturday, February 17, 2007
ME
A most remarkable, inspiring, beautiful soul of a person requested that I look for this song, telling me that the lyrics would resonate within me........he was right........they do.....I do not wish to forget them...they are the words to the song in my soul.
Me
I am not the person who is singing
I am the silent one inside
I am not the one who laughs at people's jokes I just pacify their egos
I am not my house, my car, my songs
They are only just stops along my way
I am like the winter
I'm a dark cold female
With a golden ring of wisdom in my cave
CHORUS:
And it is me who is my enemy
Me who beats me up
Me who makes the monsters
Me who strips my confidence
I am carrying my voice
I am carrying my heart
I am carrying my rhythmn
I am carrying my prayers
But you can't kill my spirit
It's soaring and it's strong
Like a mountain
I'll go on and on
But when my wings are folded
The brightly colored moth
Blends into the dirt into the ground
Chorus
And it's me who's too weak
And it's me who's too shy
To ask for the thing I love
And it's me who's too weak
And it's me who's too shy
To ask for the thing I love
That I love
I am walking on the bridge
I am over the water
And I'm scared as hell
But I know there's something better
Yes I know there's something
Yes I know, I know, yes I know
That I love
But it's me
And it's me
But it's me
~Paula Cole~ Me~
Thank you.
Me
I am not the person who is singing
I am the silent one inside
I am not the one who laughs at people's jokes I just pacify their egos
I am not my house, my car, my songs
They are only just stops along my way
I am like the winter
I'm a dark cold female
With a golden ring of wisdom in my cave
CHORUS:
And it is me who is my enemy
Me who beats me up
Me who makes the monsters
Me who strips my confidence
I am carrying my voice
I am carrying my heart
I am carrying my rhythmn
I am carrying my prayers
But you can't kill my spirit
It's soaring and it's strong
Like a mountain
I'll go on and on
But when my wings are folded
The brightly colored moth
Blends into the dirt into the ground
Chorus
And it's me who's too weak
And it's me who's too shy
To ask for the thing I love
And it's me who's too weak
And it's me who's too shy
To ask for the thing I love
That I love
I am walking on the bridge
I am over the water
And I'm scared as hell
But I know there's something better
Yes I know there's something
Yes I know, I know, yes I know
That I love
But it's me
And it's me
But it's me
~Paula Cole~ Me~
Thank you.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Saying Goodbye
I feel as if I have spent a lifetime saying goodbye.
So many goodbyes.
From very early childhood my life has been full of goodbye.
During those early years I did not know when it would happen, how it would happen, there would just be a shift in my world, maybe, I truly don't know. I have no memory. Pieces of a life that don't feel as if they truly exist because I cannot remember them.
But there are people, faces and hugs, touches, good and bad, those I remember. Places, places I remember. Colors and textures, and scents, so many scents I remember. Bringing flashes of memory.
I must have been about 3, standing in front of a glass door, looking out, my little sister beside me. I can still feel the warmth of her small body leaning against mine. Someone was leaving, we were, my first awareness of goodbye?
I remember summer.
The summer I turned 5. A wonderful playground of a neighborhood, nestled along a river, a special muddy tang to the air. Family living across the street, my cousin also my best friend. Children playing everywhere. Lawns overflowing with children. Magical summer evenings, with those connecting swards of green, overhung with what seem like giant Oaks, filled with the parents of those same children. Those young adults of the early sixties. The young men and women that were teens in the mid-fifties. The women emulating Jackie Kennedy, the men, looking quite Fonziesque in my mind's eye. The women all wearing shirtwaist dresses with floating skirts, or pedal pushers. All gathered in lawn chairs, gossiping and laughing, the mother's drinking lemonade, or iced tea, the father's drinking beer and smoking cigarettes, watching their children catch fireflies. The last of all that was good?
An illness, a flood, more goodbyes. We never returned there again.
The summer I turned 7. A new place, a place in the country. The air was supposed to be better for my ill mother. No people to remember, but the place, the feel of the air, the scent of new mown hay. No neighboring children, just siblings to play with, wild places to explore in the woods near by. But the laughter was gone.
The summer I turned 8. Another house, still in the country, raising goats this time, the milk was supposed to help my mother grow stronger. More scents, rich earth, dust mixed with machine oil, the feel of a warm goat teat under my fingers, but fear too, that house contained fear. More wild places to explore, only these were barns, sheds, corn cribs, grain storage rooms. Lofts and ladders, railroad tracks to follow. Wild strawberries, and saurkraut memories.
The summer I turned 9. Memories that stop making sense, a death in the family, another move, leaving behind my father. The hugs of my grandmother. A rich orange clay earth, children singing, laughing, many children again.But the fear had already been instilled, I knew I would have to say goodbye, so I lived more quietly, I didn't know how to live loudly anymore.
The summer I turned 10. An amazing adventure filled playground, a railroad trestle to cross in excited terror, a stone quarry to play king of the mountain in, a creek to catch crawdads and freeze our bare feet in. But I still lived ever more quietly. New people to learn to know, new people to have to say goodbye to.
More and more moves, onward it seems to continue to flow
Pieces of me left behind. Second grade, Third grade, Fourth grade, Fifth grade, Sixth grade, only pieces and particles. Upheaval, sickness, nightmares (not mine), never knowing, marital squabbles. Marital accord, marital discord. With four small children orbiting the periphery of their lives.
So many years of saying goodbye. Then it stopped, but too late, I had forgotten how to say hello. Eventually though, I did, but something else happened, I forgot how to say goodbye.
The summer I turned 16. I remembered again, to never forget again. Another move, and another that year. It continued into the rest of my teen years, still not truly understanding the reasons why, a continual shift in the gravity of my world. Realizing one day, my world contained no gravity of its own. I was just one of four terrestrial bodies following the pull of my parents.
Always always more and more goodbyes.
Always one person, one place that was my center, my sanity in a world that had not grown mad, but a mad world I had grownup in.
Then my center, my earth, my home was gone. Another goodbye. A final goodbye to all that was good in my world. I decided then, no more goodbyes, if it had to be, it would only be a quiet slipping away, their choice not mine, which many chose to do. Because you see, I had not learned, I had not learned that if you don't want to say goodbye, you have to remember to keep saying hello.
I was lost then, have been lost, constantly searching, constantly seeking, trying to find that center again. Now knowing, she is in me, I am my center, out of the corner of my eye, I can see the path glimmering greenly before me,
I learned goodbye, not hello, I learned how to leave quietly, not how to stay. With others in my life, when I don't understand, when I become frightened, when I think I have become too attached, when I think I have begun to need them, I seek the time to say goodbye, by slowly quietly slipping away.
Only there came a time when I couldn't say goodbye easily, I couldn't leave quietly, I couldn't just slip away to be some forgotten face, a memory, so I stayed too long.
Inside the little girl in me curls up into her protective fetal position, quietly rocking, cringing, quiet tears falling, tears of farewell. Knowing it is once again time to say goodbye,not to slip away quietly, but this time to say goodbye.
Knowing it is time. There is not enough of me to stay, no more of me to give? The receptacle is empty. There was never enough of me.
Memories lost, memories that contain goodbyes.
Tears falling, healing, quietly healing.
Memories, something to hold onto, something that is golden to treasure, to remember. Will they hold me in my goodbye?
So many goodbyes.
From very early childhood my life has been full of goodbye.
During those early years I did not know when it would happen, how it would happen, there would just be a shift in my world, maybe, I truly don't know. I have no memory. Pieces of a life that don't feel as if they truly exist because I cannot remember them.
But there are people, faces and hugs, touches, good and bad, those I remember. Places, places I remember. Colors and textures, and scents, so many scents I remember. Bringing flashes of memory.
I must have been about 3, standing in front of a glass door, looking out, my little sister beside me. I can still feel the warmth of her small body leaning against mine. Someone was leaving, we were, my first awareness of goodbye?
I remember summer.
The summer I turned 5. A wonderful playground of a neighborhood, nestled along a river, a special muddy tang to the air. Family living across the street, my cousin also my best friend. Children playing everywhere. Lawns overflowing with children. Magical summer evenings, with those connecting swards of green, overhung with what seem like giant Oaks, filled with the parents of those same children. Those young adults of the early sixties. The young men and women that were teens in the mid-fifties. The women emulating Jackie Kennedy, the men, looking quite Fonziesque in my mind's eye. The women all wearing shirtwaist dresses with floating skirts, or pedal pushers. All gathered in lawn chairs, gossiping and laughing, the mother's drinking lemonade, or iced tea, the father's drinking beer and smoking cigarettes, watching their children catch fireflies. The last of all that was good?
An illness, a flood, more goodbyes. We never returned there again.
The summer I turned 7. A new place, a place in the country. The air was supposed to be better for my ill mother. No people to remember, but the place, the feel of the air, the scent of new mown hay. No neighboring children, just siblings to play with, wild places to explore in the woods near by. But the laughter was gone.
The summer I turned 8. Another house, still in the country, raising goats this time, the milk was supposed to help my mother grow stronger. More scents, rich earth, dust mixed with machine oil, the feel of a warm goat teat under my fingers, but fear too, that house contained fear. More wild places to explore, only these were barns, sheds, corn cribs, grain storage rooms. Lofts and ladders, railroad tracks to follow. Wild strawberries, and saurkraut memories.
The summer I turned 9. Memories that stop making sense, a death in the family, another move, leaving behind my father. The hugs of my grandmother. A rich orange clay earth, children singing, laughing, many children again.But the fear had already been instilled, I knew I would have to say goodbye, so I lived more quietly, I didn't know how to live loudly anymore.
The summer I turned 10. An amazing adventure filled playground, a railroad trestle to cross in excited terror, a stone quarry to play king of the mountain in, a creek to catch crawdads and freeze our bare feet in. But I still lived ever more quietly. New people to learn to know, new people to have to say goodbye to.
More and more moves, onward it seems to continue to flow
Pieces of me left behind. Second grade, Third grade, Fourth grade, Fifth grade, Sixth grade, only pieces and particles. Upheaval, sickness, nightmares (not mine), never knowing, marital squabbles. Marital accord, marital discord. With four small children orbiting the periphery of their lives.
So many years of saying goodbye. Then it stopped, but too late, I had forgotten how to say hello. Eventually though, I did, but something else happened, I forgot how to say goodbye.
The summer I turned 16. I remembered again, to never forget again. Another move, and another that year. It continued into the rest of my teen years, still not truly understanding the reasons why, a continual shift in the gravity of my world. Realizing one day, my world contained no gravity of its own. I was just one of four terrestrial bodies following the pull of my parents.
Always always more and more goodbyes.
Always one person, one place that was my center, my sanity in a world that had not grown mad, but a mad world I had grownup in.
Then my center, my earth, my home was gone. Another goodbye. A final goodbye to all that was good in my world. I decided then, no more goodbyes, if it had to be, it would only be a quiet slipping away, their choice not mine, which many chose to do. Because you see, I had not learned, I had not learned that if you don't want to say goodbye, you have to remember to keep saying hello.
I was lost then, have been lost, constantly searching, constantly seeking, trying to find that center again. Now knowing, she is in me, I am my center, out of the corner of my eye, I can see the path glimmering greenly before me,
I learned goodbye, not hello, I learned how to leave quietly, not how to stay. With others in my life, when I don't understand, when I become frightened, when I think I have become too attached, when I think I have begun to need them, I seek the time to say goodbye, by slowly quietly slipping away.
Only there came a time when I couldn't say goodbye easily, I couldn't leave quietly, I couldn't just slip away to be some forgotten face, a memory, so I stayed too long.
Inside the little girl in me curls up into her protective fetal position, quietly rocking, cringing, quiet tears falling, tears of farewell. Knowing it is once again time to say goodbye,not to slip away quietly, but this time to say goodbye.
Knowing it is time. There is not enough of me to stay, no more of me to give? The receptacle is empty. There was never enough of me.
Memories lost, memories that contain goodbyes.
Tears falling, healing, quietly healing.
Memories, something to hold onto, something that is golden to treasure, to remember. Will they hold me in my goodbye?
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Blasts of White
All day yesterday, the radio, television repeatedly warned us of an upcoming snow storm, depending upon the part of the state, we were either in for 6-14 inches of snow, or freezing rain.
By 6:00 P.M most of the school corporations had declared today a snow day.....gleeful hearts for the children.....NO SCHOOL!
Sometime after 8:00 P.M. I received a call that the agency I work for was closing also. I was surprised, but accepting.....hey....a day to sleep in, hoping we received the snow instead of the freezing rain, knowing that freezing rain always brings a loss of power, which for me also means no water, since we have wells. Also knowing, depending on the severity of the icy impact, it could be days before power gets restored on these back country roads. So, hoping for the snow.
I awoke at my usual time, wanting to be very sure the predicted snow did arrive. I wasn't certain at first, my bedroom window faces the east, the deck of my bedroom the north. It really didn't look too bad to me, I have seen worse. It was, and is extremely windy, 22 mph winds with 30 mph gusts, most straight out of the east, but also seeming to almost bounce off the very air, twisting around and coming from all directions. Whiteout conditions if driving, but all in all not too bad. I thought it best to check the south side of the house before truly making my decision.......yes......the snow had arrived.......the driveway was drifted shut, thigh deep, I could not even see the tire tracks that should have been visible from when my husband left for work an hour earlier. The wind blowing, such that I could not tell if it was still snowing or no. I made the very important decision to crawl back beneath my oh-so-very-warm-and-toasty down comforter.
Two hours later, I once again decided to emerge from my downy cocoon, conditions remain the same. Looking to the north and east, one would think we have very little snow, just frigid conditions, and gusting winds. To the south east though, the drifts are deeper, waist high, with the wind I still cannot tell if snow is still falling, though the weatherman tells me it is.
During a short lull in the gale, a flock of barn sparrows landed under the Crab Apple tree, puffed up to twice their size, hurriedly filling their beaks with the small red apples and just as quickly disappearing back into one of the barns. No fear of the multitude of barn cats preying on them today. I am sure they are all snuggled in their warm piles of hay in the loft.
I find it strange, it is 18 degrees Fahrenheit,(-4 Celsius), with the winds it feels like 10. But I have the strongest urge to wrap myself in the warmest of outerwear and venture forth.....to feel the icy wind tear through me, pluck against my clothing, batter against the small amount of exposed skin on my face, chasing away the shadows in my mind, erasing the feeling of dissipation, eroding, smoothing out the imperfections, leaving behind a feeling of cleanliness, an exuberance.
But I only had to rest my gaze upon the few cattle that have decided to brave the weather to find sustenance in a round bale of hay. I decided, nope, not an urge I wish to explore today.
A day to snuggle down with a good book, or books. Wishing I had someone warm and toasty to cuddle up with. Instead I have Mr. Cat, although his purring motor does bring its own sense of warmth.
The views from my bedroom, to the North, and to the East......from these you wouldn't be able to guess that the South side is waist high in snow drifts.
By 6:00 P.M most of the school corporations had declared today a snow day.....gleeful hearts for the children.....NO SCHOOL!
Sometime after 8:00 P.M. I received a call that the agency I work for was closing also. I was surprised, but accepting.....hey....a day to sleep in, hoping we received the snow instead of the freezing rain, knowing that freezing rain always brings a loss of power, which for me also means no water, since we have wells. Also knowing, depending on the severity of the icy impact, it could be days before power gets restored on these back country roads. So, hoping for the snow.
I awoke at my usual time, wanting to be very sure the predicted snow did arrive. I wasn't certain at first, my bedroom window faces the east, the deck of my bedroom the north. It really didn't look too bad to me, I have seen worse. It was, and is extremely windy, 22 mph winds with 30 mph gusts, most straight out of the east, but also seeming to almost bounce off the very air, twisting around and coming from all directions. Whiteout conditions if driving, but all in all not too bad. I thought it best to check the south side of the house before truly making my decision.......yes......the snow had arrived.......the driveway was drifted shut, thigh deep, I could not even see the tire tracks that should have been visible from when my husband left for work an hour earlier. The wind blowing, such that I could not tell if it was still snowing or no. I made the very important decision to crawl back beneath my oh-so-very-warm-and-toasty down comforter.
Two hours later, I once again decided to emerge from my downy cocoon, conditions remain the same. Looking to the north and east, one would think we have very little snow, just frigid conditions, and gusting winds. To the south east though, the drifts are deeper, waist high, with the wind I still cannot tell if snow is still falling, though the weatherman tells me it is.
During a short lull in the gale, a flock of barn sparrows landed under the Crab Apple tree, puffed up to twice their size, hurriedly filling their beaks with the small red apples and just as quickly disappearing back into one of the barns. No fear of the multitude of barn cats preying on them today. I am sure they are all snuggled in their warm piles of hay in the loft.
I find it strange, it is 18 degrees Fahrenheit,(-4 Celsius), with the winds it feels like 10. But I have the strongest urge to wrap myself in the warmest of outerwear and venture forth.....to feel the icy wind tear through me, pluck against my clothing, batter against the small amount of exposed skin on my face, chasing away the shadows in my mind, erasing the feeling of dissipation, eroding, smoothing out the imperfections, leaving behind a feeling of cleanliness, an exuberance.
But I only had to rest my gaze upon the few cattle that have decided to brave the weather to find sustenance in a round bale of hay. I decided, nope, not an urge I wish to explore today.
A day to snuggle down with a good book, or books. Wishing I had someone warm and toasty to cuddle up with. Instead I have Mr. Cat, although his purring motor does bring its own sense of warmth.
The views from my bedroom, to the North, and to the East......from these you wouldn't be able to guess that the South side is waist high in snow drifts.
Monday, February 12, 2007
Just Listen
"The most basic and powerful way to connect to another person is to listen. Just listen. Perhaps the most important thing we ever give each other is our attention…. A loving silence often has far more power to heal and to connect than the most well-intentioned words."
~Ralph Waldo Emerson~
I am "on call" three days a week, (finally got out in the field to do home visits the past two weeks! *does the happy dance*). But no matter which job of the two I do, the very most important part of either, is listening.
Of the multitude of calls I dealt with today, the best ones, the calls in which I felt success at the end of the day, were the ones I remembered to listen first, and listen last.
Often that is really all many callers need, someone to listen. The heartbreaking calls almost always have tears hidden in them somewhere, and once the caller realizes that I am listening, many will allow those tears to fall.
A woman called me today, only a few years younger than I, she has been struck down by a musculoskeletal chronic pain illness, Fibromyalgia....an illness affecting close to 7% of our population, the majority of which are women. A very often debilitating illness, a mysterious illness, one that plays havoc with many women's lives, the lives of their husbands, their children, their families. Those afflicted, never know when they will have a wonderful feel-good day, or if they will wake up tomorrow and not even have the ability to crawl out of bed. It seems to strike each person in a slightly different way, relief for one, does not always work for another.
My caller. She called today seeking help. Sadly, after 45 minutes on the phone, we both finally realized that there were very few options available to her, the middle-aged disabled fall through the cracks in our current health care system. Toward the end of conversation, I asked her one simple question......"What is the one thing you need the most?"
Her answer surprised her, she said, "Someone to come in and help me maintain my home."
I asked, "How often?"
Silence, as she thought for a long moment, finally in a quiet voice, replying, "One day per month?"
I said nothing, I waited, I listened.
With a tiny hint of vitality in her voice, she said, "I can do this, we (she and her husband) can do this!" "Thank you!"
She thanked me, me! Why? I did nothing, I had no answers, nor could I find a solution for her. She just needed someone not involved in her daily life, not involved in taking care of her to listen. Just listen.
Her call to me, was a way for her to take a more objective view of her changed life. It has not a pleasant change....far far from it...... it is an illness that has robbed her of who she was/is. What did she need? She needed to feel as if she is not completely useless....that she is not just her illness.
She needed to realize that she is still needed, still capable, still human. Not a disease, not a weak person. She is just her, bad days and good days, still her.
I love my job, there are days when it is very difficult to listen, there are days that if I did not see the humorous twist to some of the stories I hear, that I would cry instead. There are days in which all I want to do is give someone a hug, there are also days when if I were a violent person, I would want to give someone a slap and yell, "WAKE THE HELL UP!".
Most days though, most days, I am just happy to listen. Hoping, no, knowing........that I too have people in my life who.......Just Listen.
Of the multitude of calls I dealt with today, the best ones, the calls in which I felt success at the end of the day, were the ones I remembered to listen first, and listen last.
Often that is really all many callers need, someone to listen. The heartbreaking calls almost always have tears hidden in them somewhere, and once the caller realizes that I am listening, many will allow those tears to fall.
A woman called me today, only a few years younger than I, she has been struck down by a musculoskeletal chronic pain illness, Fibromyalgia....an illness affecting close to 7% of our population, the majority of which are women. A very often debilitating illness, a mysterious illness, one that plays havoc with many women's lives, the lives of their husbands, their children, their families. Those afflicted, never know when they will have a wonderful feel-good day, or if they will wake up tomorrow and not even have the ability to crawl out of bed. It seems to strike each person in a slightly different way, relief for one, does not always work for another.
My caller. She called today seeking help. Sadly, after 45 minutes on the phone, we both finally realized that there were very few options available to her, the middle-aged disabled fall through the cracks in our current health care system. Toward the end of conversation, I asked her one simple question......"What is the one thing you need the most?"
Her answer surprised her, she said, "Someone to come in and help me maintain my home."
I asked, "How often?"
Silence, as she thought for a long moment, finally in a quiet voice, replying, "One day per month?"
I said nothing, I waited, I listened.
With a tiny hint of vitality in her voice, she said, "I can do this, we (she and her husband) can do this!" "Thank you!"
She thanked me, me! Why? I did nothing, I had no answers, nor could I find a solution for her. She just needed someone not involved in her daily life, not involved in taking care of her to listen. Just listen.
Her call to me, was a way for her to take a more objective view of her changed life. It has not a pleasant change....far far from it...... it is an illness that has robbed her of who she was/is. What did she need? She needed to feel as if she is not completely useless....that she is not just her illness.
She needed to realize that she is still needed, still capable, still human. Not a disease, not a weak person. She is just her, bad days and good days, still her.
I love my job, there are days when it is very difficult to listen, there are days that if I did not see the humorous twist to some of the stories I hear, that I would cry instead. There are days in which all I want to do is give someone a hug, there are also days when if I were a violent person, I would want to give someone a slap and yell, "WAKE THE HELL UP!".
Most days though, most days, I am just happy to listen. Hoping, no, knowing........that I too have people in my life who.......Just Listen.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
A Compromising Life or Heart?
Compromise: To reduce in quality, value, or degree; weaken or lower.
dishonor, give in, imperil, mar, spoil, weaken, whore
There are many ways we compromise, oft times it may be a compromise of ideals, ethics, or standards in the world at large, some justifiable, some not. It depends on the the results to many. Do the means justify the end, or the end justify the means?
But what of compromise of the heart, the soul?
I have spent so much of my adult life thinking compromise was the best way to 'get along', the way to make everyone happy, even if it meant a loss of self.
When that compromise is in part due to not wanting to wound another... it feels justifiable, it feels as if I am keeping their heart whole. But is it? If it is a lie? Is it not a lie of self-glorification? "I am good, look what I do to effect the happiness of another." Is it protecting them or myself?
It may start slowly, perhaps insidiously, (that word has negative connotations for me) With the rationale of......"This one time I can live with it." But it doesn't end when one has to continue living the compromise. Eventually it becomes a way of life.
At first only burdensome, then as time moves on, it becomes more caustic to my soul, burning a small hole each time the compromise is repeated. The hole becomes filled with sadness. All due to this small insignificant lowering of......my......my......what? When it comes to the heart and fear of inflicting pain, fear of loss, fear of change happening too soon......I cannot call them standards or ethics......those words do not seem to convey a true definition......perhaps there isn't an identifiable one.
I only know the eventual revulsion I feel.
I thought I was in a place where I could examine that very revulsion, but my mind is not ready, my heart is not ready, I find myself thinking of compromise as a whole.
Compromise seems necessary, makes life easier, but what do we lose in the process?
In some instances, I do feel as if I misplaced something..... little pieces of me. Not always, but when it corresponds to a strongly held belief, an area in which my own personal standards are quite high, then I feel as if I have dishonored myself, dishonored those I love, those that love me. Luckily so far in my life these have been rare, at least it feels so.
Is it important to live honorably? What does that mean? To live honorably?
Dignity, respect, honesty, upholding principles that I believe in. Looking into my heart and knowing I have upheld the rights of others, by showing, giving them dignity, respect, truth.
Can I do that without having lived a virtuous life, without falling off the moralistic high wire that I impose upon myself, that other's often impose? The times I have teetered upon that high wire, straining to find the balance, I have questioned, had to question to remain sane. When others have questioned my life, I had to ask, "Do they live the standards they accuse me of wavering on? Or is it a feint to hide their own precarious position?"
Morals........I have compromised my morals, were they my morals, or those that my many life-teachers taught me? Where does one begin and the other end?
If the darkest of my sins were brought to public light, could I say I had lived an honorable life?
Would other's see it so? Would I care too much of these judgments of others?
I used to ask myself, "Would my children be proud of me." That question has changed. Now I ask myself "Would my children be able to forgive me?" If in what I do ........no matter the area of my life...would they understand, would they feel as if my teachings to them over the years were right and true, a way I too have lived .......or would they feel betrayed?
Would they feel that I held them to standards that were higher than the standards I hold for myself?
I look at the list, the very long list that contains the compromises of my life.........
Some I can live easily with, some I feel a little twist of my conscious when I think of them, some come as a knife thrust, an agony of a need for atonement rises inside me. But as I have allowed myself to peel away the agony, searching for the meaning behind the tormenting pangs of remorse. I ask myself, "Why, why did I do what I did?" If there seemed to be logical reason, no matter how insane, I reach an understanding, but would they?
When does an excuse become a truth?
The only answer I can come up with, is another question.
"Has what I have done made my life better, someone else's life better, without causing untoward harm to others?"
I may be compromising once again, but if I can answer yes, I can assuage my fears of failing them, lighten my own self-torment, pacify my conscious.
Where does that leave me?
Still lost.
dishonor, give in, imperil, mar, spoil, weaken, whore
There are many ways we compromise, oft times it may be a compromise of ideals, ethics, or standards in the world at large, some justifiable, some not. It depends on the the results to many. Do the means justify the end, or the end justify the means?
But what of compromise of the heart, the soul?
I have spent so much of my adult life thinking compromise was the best way to 'get along', the way to make everyone happy, even if it meant a loss of self.
When that compromise is in part due to not wanting to wound another... it feels justifiable, it feels as if I am keeping their heart whole. But is it? If it is a lie? Is it not a lie of self-glorification? "I am good, look what I do to effect the happiness of another." Is it protecting them or myself?
It may start slowly, perhaps insidiously, (that word has negative connotations for me) With the rationale of......"This one time I can live with it." But it doesn't end when one has to continue living the compromise. Eventually it becomes a way of life.
At first only burdensome, then as time moves on, it becomes more caustic to my soul, burning a small hole each time the compromise is repeated. The hole becomes filled with sadness. All due to this small insignificant lowering of......my......my......what? When it comes to the heart and fear of inflicting pain, fear of loss, fear of change happening too soon......I cannot call them standards or ethics......those words do not seem to convey a true definition......perhaps there isn't an identifiable one.
I only know the eventual revulsion I feel.
In some instances, I do feel as if I misplaced something..... little pieces of me. Not always, but when it corresponds to a strongly held belief, an area in which my own personal standards are quite high, then I feel as if I have dishonored myself, dishonored those I love, those that love me. Luckily so far in my life these have been rare, at least it feels so.
Is it important to live honorably? What does that mean? To live honorably?
Dignity, respect, honesty, upholding principles that I believe in. Looking into my heart and knowing I have upheld the rights of others, by showing, giving them dignity, respect, truth.
Can I do that without having lived a virtuous life, without falling off the moralistic high wire that I impose upon myself, that other's often impose? The times I have teetered upon that high wire, straining to find the balance, I have questioned, had to question to remain sane. When others have questioned my life, I had to ask, "Do they live the standards they accuse me of wavering on? Or is it a feint to hide their own precarious position?"
Morals........I have compromised my morals, were they my morals, or those that my many life-teachers taught me? Where does one begin and the other end?
If the darkest of my sins were brought to public light, could I say I had lived an honorable life?
Would other's see it so? Would I care too much of these judgments of others?
I used to ask myself, "Would my children be proud of me." That question has changed. Now I ask myself "Would my children be able to forgive me?" If in what I do ........no matter the area of my life...would they understand, would they feel as if my teachings to them over the years were right and true, a way I too have lived .......or would they feel betrayed?
Would they feel that I held them to standards that were higher than the standards I hold for myself?
I look at the list, the very long list that contains the compromises of my life.........
Some I can live easily with, some I feel a little twist of my conscious when I think of them, some come as a knife thrust, an agony of a need for atonement rises inside me. But as I have allowed myself to peel away the agony, searching for the meaning behind the tormenting pangs of remorse. I ask myself, "Why, why did I do what I did?" If there seemed to be logical reason, no matter how insane, I reach an understanding, but would they?
When does an excuse become a truth?
The only answer I can come up with, is another question.
"Has what I have done made my life better, someone else's life better, without causing untoward harm to others?"
I may be compromising once again, but if I can answer yes, I can assuage my fears of failing them, lighten my own self-torment, pacify my conscious.
Where does that leave me?
Still lost.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
After A While
After a while you learn
the subtle difference between
holding a hand and chaining a soul
and you learn
that love doesn't mean leaning
and company doesn't always mean security.
And you begin to learn
that kisses aren't contracts
and presents aren't promises
and you begin to accept your defeats
with your head up and your eyes ahead
with the grace of woman, not the grief of a child
and you learn
to build all your roads on today
because tomorrow's ground is
too uncertain for plans
and futures have a way of falling down
in mid-flight.
After a while you learn
that even sunshine burns
if you get too much
so you plant your own garden
and decorate your own soul
instead of waiting for someone
to bring you flowers.
And you learn that you really can endure
you really are strong
you really do have worth
and you learn
and you learn
with every goodbye, you learn...
~Veronica Shoffstall~
the subtle difference between
holding a hand and chaining a soul
and you learn
that love doesn't mean leaning
and company doesn't always mean security.
And you begin to learn
that kisses aren't contracts
and presents aren't promises
and you begin to accept your defeats
with your head up and your eyes ahead
with the grace of woman, not the grief of a child
and you learn
to build all your roads on today
because tomorrow's ground is
too uncertain for plans
and futures have a way of falling down
in mid-flight.
After a while you learn
that even sunshine burns
if you get too much
so you plant your own garden
and decorate your own soul
instead of waiting for someone
to bring you flowers.
And you learn that you really can endure
you really are strong
you really do have worth
and you learn
and you learn
with every goodbye, you learn...
~Veronica Shoffstall~
It feels like it has taken a lifetime, but I am learning.
Thursday, February 08, 2007
Inside Out
"But she sat down to rest. She spread her skirts over the bank around her and folded her hands over her knees. Up above her was a tree in a pearly mist of mistletoe. She did not dare close her eyes, and when a little boy brought her a plate with slice of marble cake on it she spoke to him. "That would be acceptable, " she said. But when she went to take it there was just her own hand in the air." ~Eudora Welty, A Worn Path~
I thought this was such a very apt description of the way our waking minds dream, when we are so very tired. We are awake, or think we are, but all alertness has faded away.
It happens to me. During those times in my life when no matter how I try I just cannot sleep, when I fight for sleep and it won't come. When or if it finally does, it has not been enough. As the day wears on, tiredness overwhelms, there doesn't seem to be enough coffee in the world to awaken my brain. I fight sleepiness. So many times in my previous position sitting at my desk, no phones ringing, concentrating on writing in a client contact log...I would find myself drifting into thoughts faraway. I would come to my senses, only to find I had written nonsense in the log. Sometimes it would be an entire sentence containing the thoughts that drifted through my sleep deprived dreaming brain.
I have never done it while speaking to someone though, until today. A woman on the phone at half-past four. Asking questions, not really sure what she wanted to know, and my fuzzy brain unable to intuit it for her. I found myself saying some very strange thing about train schedules when I came to my senses. (she wanted to know nothing about trains and their schedules, why would she call me for that?) I apologized, she had to wonder though, who the crazy woman was on the other end of the line.
These floating awake/half awake dreams feel so real. They fade too though just like sleeping dreams do, but I have to wonder....what the message is that is trying to get out. Trains and schedules?
Too bad these folks that call don't want information at midnight, I am very alert then!
I thought this was such a very apt description of the way our waking minds dream, when we are so very tired. We are awake, or think we are, but all alertness has faded away.
It happens to me. During those times in my life when no matter how I try I just cannot sleep, when I fight for sleep and it won't come. When or if it finally does, it has not been enough. As the day wears on, tiredness overwhelms, there doesn't seem to be enough coffee in the world to awaken my brain. I fight sleepiness. So many times in my previous position sitting at my desk, no phones ringing, concentrating on writing in a client contact log...I would find myself drifting into thoughts faraway. I would come to my senses, only to find I had written nonsense in the log. Sometimes it would be an entire sentence containing the thoughts that drifted through my sleep deprived dreaming brain.
I have never done it while speaking to someone though, until today. A woman on the phone at half-past four. Asking questions, not really sure what she wanted to know, and my fuzzy brain unable to intuit it for her. I found myself saying some very strange thing about train schedules when I came to my senses. (she wanted to know nothing about trains and their schedules, why would she call me for that?) I apologized, she had to wonder though, who the crazy woman was on the other end of the line.
These floating awake/half awake dreams feel so real. They fade too though just like sleeping dreams do, but I have to wonder....what the message is that is trying to get out. Trains and schedules?
Too bad these folks that call don't want information at midnight, I am very alert then!
********
My psychoanalyst friend called me today. There are times when he turns on his soothing shrink voice, and tries to dig in deep with me. I sighed, and told him I was just not able to "go there" this day. Didn't want to play his "What is reality game."
He was like a dog with a bone though, wouldn't let it go.....he did dig deep, brought fears I wasn't dealing with to light, and then helped me face them, helped me to realize how unrealistic many of them were....... although I think he truly just loves practicing his craft on me on occasion, and my brain is such a crazy/fertile one to dig around in. But I did thank him in the end. His final words to me.
"It's OK to cry."
He was like a dog with a bone though, wouldn't let it go.....he did dig deep, brought fears I wasn't dealing with to light, and then helped me face them, helped me to realize how unrealistic many of them were....... although I think he truly just loves practicing his craft on me on occasion, and my brain is such a crazy/fertile one to dig around in. But I did thank him in the end. His final words to me.
"It's OK to cry."
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Mindfull
My morning started out very melancholy.
Thoughts seeming to spin uncontrollably, my mind couldn't, wouldn't settle down. No true coherent thought was there.
Phrases, words, and more words would flash across my brain.
I felt so confused, the muscles in my forehead ached. I realized I was frowning in confusion. (I am developing lines! Permanent ones!)
Words, words, phrases and questions, questions that I couldn't answer, because a new thought would be quickening, arising, filling my brain.
Twisting, turning, twirling, I couldn't seem to stop them.
Take/Give
A shoveled path through the snow to my car.
Give in, give out, when did I stop giving?
Memories of wounds that won't heal.
Feel the pain or hide from it?
Lost and found.
What's good? What's so wrong? All of it. No more, no more.
Evade, conceal, reveal, pretend, focus, live.
Later, my head bent over my desk, eyes filling with tears.
A friend, "Hey, you coming to lunch with us?"
"Sorry, no lunch for me today, too much to do."
"OK, but....are you alright?"
Smiling,"Yes, I'm fine, really."
A look. I look away, she stays. "Hey."
"It shows huh?"
"Only to me, I know you too well, remember?"
She walked over to me, opened her ample loving arms and hugged me. "Just remember, I'm always here.....for......whenever, whatever."
My first smile of the day.
Then too busy to think, too busy to allow anymore worry, too busy for confusion to deal more blows.
Even later in my day.
I get to visit a client, one in so much need, a need to have just a tiny taste of freedom, from her caregiving duties. Almost two hours of talking, sharing her story, their story. Leaving her with a positive feeling.....that she could have, can have, deserves a few hours a week, a few hours when she can have peace from too much giving. Her husband cognizant today, knowing she needs the time away, to breathe.
My day is better.
Later, remembering a family dinner, with the "Stuffy One's", an Uncle and Aunt of my husbands, I groan. Not really wanting to visit with these two, who have their own agenda. Never really listening to what other's say, just pontificating over our words, never truly looking for the message we are trying to impart.
Mentally exhausted, not wanting to go, Miss Daughter and I commiserating with each other. Mr. Son refusing to attend (he hates small talk with a passion). We suggest the taking of two vehicles, while we try to convince him. A mistake or a blessing?
We tease, we cajole, we beg, I play the mommy card....laughing, hugging him, "I gave birth to you, I have loved you all of your life, I am your mother, do this, do this for me, for us. We can have fun, you can use your views to shock them if you wish, you can drive the jeep. Plus babe, it's free food. Now how can you turn that down?" He agrees to go. Miss Daughter and I laugh, congratulate each other. The three of us a team once again.
As we pull out of the drive, I tell him to turn left, puzzled he looks at me.
"Take the long way."
He does. We laugh, we giggle, we feel mischievous. Also during the drive, Mr. Son mentions getting a roommate. I ask him to hold off on that thought for a few months.
During dinner, Miss Daughter and I play our parts, we are the epitome of social discourse (yeah right! But hey it works). The six of us all playing our parts, falling into familiar roles. Mr. Son deciding to play at being the sullen son...after a teasing comment from Great-Uncle about the length of his hair.
The meal feels endless, but we three still have our lighter hearts. It has been sooo long!
The drive home, Mr. Son decides once again to take the long way.
He asks a question. "Were you serious? About when Miss Sister returns from her trip?"
I don't answer at first. How much is too much information? But they are not children any longer. So I answer. Then ask how they each feel. They are full of positive comments. I am sad, but at the same time full of amazement. I ponder, I state some of the downsides, I state how awful it will be, how very sad.
They, these two bright, loving, wonderful souls in my life. They tell me it is time, way past time for all of us.
Was I wrong to tell them? I have not decided yet.
I can only go by what happened on our return home. We sat in my room, laughing, talking, playing with words....the dictionary was involved. Miss Daughter writing an essay on the computer, as I lay on my bed reading aloud. Mr. Son sitting there listening, smiling, laughing.
Was I wrong? I still don't know.
Thoughts seeming to spin uncontrollably, my mind couldn't, wouldn't settle down. No true coherent thought was there.
Phrases, words, and more words would flash across my brain.
I felt so confused, the muscles in my forehead ached. I realized I was frowning in confusion. (I am developing lines! Permanent ones!)
Words, words, phrases and questions, questions that I couldn't answer, because a new thought would be quickening, arising, filling my brain.
Twisting, turning, twirling, I couldn't seem to stop them.
Take/Give
A shoveled path through the snow to my car.
Give in, give out, when did I stop giving?
Memories of wounds that won't heal.
Feel the pain or hide from it?
Lost and found.
What's good? What's so wrong? All of it. No more, no more.
Evade, conceal, reveal, pretend, focus, live.
Later, my head bent over my desk, eyes filling with tears.
A friend, "Hey, you coming to lunch with us?"
"Sorry, no lunch for me today, too much to do."
"OK, but....are you alright?"
Smiling,"Yes, I'm fine, really."
A look. I look away, she stays. "Hey."
"It shows huh?"
"Only to me, I know you too well, remember?"
She walked over to me, opened her ample loving arms and hugged me. "Just remember, I'm always here.....for......whenever, whatever."
My first smile of the day.
Then too busy to think, too busy to allow anymore worry, too busy for confusion to deal more blows.
Even later in my day.
I get to visit a client, one in so much need, a need to have just a tiny taste of freedom, from her caregiving duties. Almost two hours of talking, sharing her story, their story. Leaving her with a positive feeling.....that she could have, can have, deserves a few hours a week, a few hours when she can have peace from too much giving. Her husband cognizant today, knowing she needs the time away, to breathe.
My day is better.
Later, remembering a family dinner, with the "Stuffy One's", an Uncle and Aunt of my husbands, I groan. Not really wanting to visit with these two, who have their own agenda. Never really listening to what other's say, just pontificating over our words, never truly looking for the message we are trying to impart.
Mentally exhausted, not wanting to go, Miss Daughter and I commiserating with each other. Mr. Son refusing to attend (he hates small talk with a passion). We suggest the taking of two vehicles, while we try to convince him. A mistake or a blessing?
We tease, we cajole, we beg, I play the mommy card....laughing, hugging him, "I gave birth to you, I have loved you all of your life, I am your mother, do this, do this for me, for us. We can have fun, you can use your views to shock them if you wish, you can drive the jeep. Plus babe, it's free food. Now how can you turn that down?" He agrees to go. Miss Daughter and I laugh, congratulate each other. The three of us a team once again.
As we pull out of the drive, I tell him to turn left, puzzled he looks at me.
"Take the long way."
He does. We laugh, we giggle, we feel mischievous. Also during the drive, Mr. Son mentions getting a roommate. I ask him to hold off on that thought for a few months.
During dinner, Miss Daughter and I play our parts, we are the epitome of social discourse (yeah right! But hey it works). The six of us all playing our parts, falling into familiar roles. Mr. Son deciding to play at being the sullen son...after a teasing comment from Great-Uncle about the length of his hair.
The meal feels endless, but we three still have our lighter hearts. It has been sooo long!
The drive home, Mr. Son decides once again to take the long way.
He asks a question. "Were you serious? About when Miss Sister returns from her trip?"
I don't answer at first. How much is too much information? But they are not children any longer. So I answer. Then ask how they each feel. They are full of positive comments. I am sad, but at the same time full of amazement. I ponder, I state some of the downsides, I state how awful it will be, how very sad.
They, these two bright, loving, wonderful souls in my life. They tell me it is time, way past time for all of us.
Was I wrong to tell them? I have not decided yet.
I can only go by what happened on our return home. We sat in my room, laughing, talking, playing with words....the dictionary was involved. Miss Daughter writing an essay on the computer, as I lay on my bed reading aloud. Mr. Son sitting there listening, smiling, laughing.
Was I wrong? I still don't know.
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
Closer to Free
Media Player was set on random today, a mixed conglomeration of songs playing quietly in the background. A song came on, somehow this one grabbed my attention.
A set of warm brown eyes, and a smiling face peeked in my door. She asked such a simple question. "Did you mean what you said the other day?"
Emotion welled up from the very depths of my being, filling my heart, brimming, teetering, almost overflowing from my eyes. Words aching to spill from my lips. An admission of pain?
Where did that come from?
One day soon I will be standing before a huge body of water.
On that day, with my gaze fixed on the endless horizon, I will say goodbye.
As I watch the waves lapping at my feet, I will sink my hands deep into the frigid water, feeling it cleanse them. I will hold them there, wanting to pull them away from the blazing cold, but not allowing myself to.
Feeling the icy numbness take them over as the water washes over them again and again, taking the old pain away.
The moment will come will I feel it let go, feel it bleed into the water. Feel it carried to a far shore.
There will be a new pain in its wake. But I will relish that pain.
As I shake the glacial water droplets from my fingers, a burning warmth will slowly begin to permeate them. That same burning warmth will weep from my eyes. Feeling the new pain, a healing pain.
Rising I will turn a half circle, my back to the horizon, my gaze will fall on the uphill climb, the sand covered hill side, where my feet will sink, trying to slide backward, but with each step taken, I will reach more solid ground.
At last I will reach the summit, to begin my journey home. I will turn before I start my descent, resting my gaze one more time on the steely water, I will lift my face to the sky, to find a smile lighting my way, as I take that first step onto firmer ground, my heart will be singing, my soul flying. That beginning step.
A set of warm brown eyes, and a smiling face peeked in my door. She asked such a simple question. "Did you mean what you said the other day?"
Emotion welled up from the very depths of my being, filling my heart, brimming, teetering, almost overflowing from my eyes. Words aching to spill from my lips. An admission of pain?
Where did that come from?
Closer to Free?
I no longer feel as if I am sliding on slippery ground.
Closer to Free?
Eyes open, heart open.
Closer to Free?
My heart no longer afraid of going, but afraid of not going.
Closer to Free?
One day soon I will be standing before a huge body of water.
On that day, with my gaze fixed on the endless horizon, I will say goodbye.
As I watch the waves lapping at my feet, I will sink my hands deep into the frigid water, feeling it cleanse them. I will hold them there, wanting to pull them away from the blazing cold, but not allowing myself to.
Feeling the icy numbness take them over as the water washes over them again and again, taking the old pain away.
The moment will come will I feel it let go, feel it bleed into the water. Feel it carried to a far shore.
There will be a new pain in its wake. But I will relish that pain.
As I shake the glacial water droplets from my fingers, a burning warmth will slowly begin to permeate them. That same burning warmth will weep from my eyes. Feeling the new pain, a healing pain.
Rising I will turn a half circle, my back to the horizon, my gaze will fall on the uphill climb, the sand covered hill side, where my feet will sink, trying to slide backward, but with each step taken, I will reach more solid ground.
At last I will reach the summit, to begin my journey home. I will turn before I start my descent, resting my gaze one more time on the steely water, I will lift my face to the sky, to find a smile lighting my way, as I take that first step onto firmer ground, my heart will be singing, my soul flying. That beginning step.
Closer to Free.
Sunday, February 04, 2007
When Someday Comes
"Does your life have in it what you cherish? If it doesn‚’t, then will you continue to pretend that someday it will? Most people hold out some wishes‚…some dreams‚…and some fantasies that when someday comes‚…so will whatever they cherish. But when it doesn‚’t will you really be surprised? More than likely you won‚’t be surprised because deep down inside you know that it takes more than you have or more than you have done to really expect that your life will be more than it currently is." ~Bill O'Keefe~
I have in my life some of what I cherish, my children. But as each day passes my role as a mother diminishes more and more. I accept that, I expected that, I have prepared myself for that eventuality.
I am not patient, I want my more, I want to have more to cherish. Something to cherish for the next phase of my life. I want to know that my someday will come. In finding that, I have to ask.........
The Magic Question: If I could do anything‚…what would I do?
I have asked myself that question so many times. How many more times will I continue to ask?
The answer is there, but I wait, I wait just a few more months. Telling myself that those months will stream by in a flash. Then I can truly search out my someday wishes, my someday dreams.
******
But I am weary. So very weary. Weary of seeking, searching, asking. Some days I am just weary of waiting.
******
I have nothing to make a comparison to. I have no other life that I can look at, and understand. Yet so many of us live such similar, parallel lives, why am I unable to learn from these similar tales?
Because I consider myself unique. They don't have my same history, my same perceptions. The similarities are not enough to teach me how to wait for my someday.
******
We live, we breathe, we love, we laugh, we sing, we dance, we cry.
We go on, some of us still chasing dreams, some of us still trying to figure out what that dream is, some of us lost.
******
Are we living pretend lives? I am weary of the endless questions I asked myself, the endless hiding, I am weary of questions not asked and answers not listened to, I am weary of not being able to say what I feel. I am weary, so very weary of wishing and dreaming, searching and hoping with no end in sight.
******
Or maybe, I see the end, I sense the end, I just don't know the when.
When is the right time, is there one, how long can I keep hiding, pretending to be 'almost here'?
When do I know it is the right time to find my more? To find what I cherish?
******
Today I am weary of waiting for when someday comes. I want to cherish now.
Friday, February 02, 2007
Spontaneity
Have you ever had the thought..... how can I make this day different?
Not anything major, just something to add a dash of exuberant feeling to the day.
A moment of spontaneity, a thought, a wish, a desire enters fleetingly through your mind. Only today, you act on it.
A day full of the business of life, of work, a request for some of your time from a friend, tiredness feels overwhelming, a "no" forms on your lips, but instead you say "yes".
Caught in a snarl of traffic, a momentary feeling of irritation as you wearily try to wind your way home, a glance out the window, a small child peering out the window of the car beside you, your eyes meet, you feel a smile form on your lips, you wave to her, she smiles in return, and waves.
The starts and stops of a day full of errands. Wondering why they seem to be your neverending weekend chore. The lanes of the freeway closed for repair, two choices for the detour, a quick trip through some city streets, or a winding two lane highway following the course of a river, you choose the winding way home.
Your mind full of today's list of 'things to do' as you begin the day, you see the tender curve of your lover's neck as they prepare the morning coffee. You ignore the list, and instead move up behind them pressing your lips to the nape of that sweet bend, arms slipping 'round them to pull them tightly to you in a warm embrace. A whispered "I love you."
Small little nigglings that we often push away, ignore. Why?
Not anything major, just something to add a dash of exuberant feeling to the day.
A moment of spontaneity, a thought, a wish, a desire enters fleetingly through your mind. Only today, you act on it.
A day full of the business of life, of work, a request for some of your time from a friend, tiredness feels overwhelming, a "no" forms on your lips, but instead you say "yes".
Caught in a snarl of traffic, a momentary feeling of irritation as you wearily try to wind your way home, a glance out the window, a small child peering out the window of the car beside you, your eyes meet, you feel a smile form on your lips, you wave to her, she smiles in return, and waves.
The starts and stops of a day full of errands. Wondering why they seem to be your neverending weekend chore. The lanes of the freeway closed for repair, two choices for the detour, a quick trip through some city streets, or a winding two lane highway following the course of a river, you choose the winding way home.
Your mind full of today's list of 'things to do' as you begin the day, you see the tender curve of your lover's neck as they prepare the morning coffee. You ignore the list, and instead move up behind them pressing your lips to the nape of that sweet bend, arms slipping 'round them to pull them tightly to you in a warm embrace. A whispered "I love you."
Small little nigglings that we often push away, ignore. Why?
Thursday, February 01, 2007
A Heart Full of Tears Unshed
Once a special day, a special night, of secret smiles, excited giggles, a celebratory dinner, laughter, songs, memories shared, frosting roses, chocolate crumbs, the scent of melting candle wax, gifts, photographs, hearts cherishing.
It was palpable, seen through, a crystal bell tower had descended, no reaching through, no walking around, no escape. A shadow hovering over it all.
It was there this night, this night that is usually one of celebration.
A shadow full of tears hovered, seen yet unseen. All aware. All aware this time.
Subdued, quiet conversation, faces smiling, eyes hiding thoughts so grave, so unmistakable even the wait staff noticed. One missing, an empty chair, the other hidden, hiding behind the glass, seen but unseen, trying so hard to hide the heart tears rising. The shadow hovering.
This time I wasn't alone, all saw it, all felt it, words unsaid, thoughts pushed away. We fought it, tried to ignore it, more heart tears welled. The shadow hovering.
Forced jocularity , the shadow of estrangement sitting there beside me in the empty chair, a heart forlorn, hearts forlorn, we breathed it in, afraid to exhale.
Moments when we tried, thought it might disapear, fade, seep away, but the shadow hung there still.
Desperate smiles, all separate, an empty chair. A moment when the heart tears rose so high, I felt as if the damn would break, I had to leave, try to breathe, start anew, force it back, force it away, but the shadow split, followed me, stayed.
My heart welling with tears unable to be shed.
Separate, but together, with one not there.
One moment, one moment when it almost was as before, but one was missing, and one was no longer there.
My body shaking, the heart tears filling and filling, but refusing to be shed.
I want to cry, I need to cry, why will my heart not let them go?
In all but words, the ending is here.
Why can't I cry?
It was palpable, seen through, a crystal bell tower had descended, no reaching through, no walking around, no escape. A shadow hovering over it all.
It was there this night, this night that is usually one of celebration.
A shadow full of tears hovered, seen yet unseen. All aware. All aware this time.
Subdued, quiet conversation, faces smiling, eyes hiding thoughts so grave, so unmistakable even the wait staff noticed. One missing, an empty chair, the other hidden, hiding behind the glass, seen but unseen, trying so hard to hide the heart tears rising. The shadow hovering.
This time I wasn't alone, all saw it, all felt it, words unsaid, thoughts pushed away. We fought it, tried to ignore it, more heart tears welled. The shadow hovering.
Forced jocularity , the shadow of estrangement sitting there beside me in the empty chair, a heart forlorn, hearts forlorn, we breathed it in, afraid to exhale.
Moments when we tried, thought it might disapear, fade, seep away, but the shadow hung there still.
Desperate smiles, all separate, an empty chair. A moment when the heart tears rose so high, I felt as if the damn would break, I had to leave, try to breathe, start anew, force it back, force it away, but the shadow split, followed me, stayed.
My heart welling with tears unable to be shed.
Separate, but together, with one not there.
One moment, one moment when it almost was as before, but one was missing, and one was no longer there.
My body shaking, the heart tears filling and filling, but refusing to be shed.
I want to cry, I need to cry, why will my heart not let them go?
In all but words, the ending is here.
Why can't I cry?
Here
"Everything got us to 'here' and only 'here' matters really.....because 'here' is the starting point every day." ~Fiona~
The past does affect us, all of those happenings that make up who we are. Some have a very hard time letting the past go. Some seem unable or not want to. But whatever brought us to today's starting point, did bring us here, now.
It is what we do with our now that is important, what we plan for our tomorrow that is important.
We must learn from the past, not dwell there.
So much learning in recent months, weeks.
As I have watched my children grow from infants to young adults, one of my observations has been, that they would go through phases or blocks of time when learning something completely new was a difficult struggle, and then one day, it happened, it all came together, and the learning was just there! Another struggle will occurr, but no matter, success was achieved once, it will be again.
I feel as if I have finally come to that point, it has taken so many years, stutters and starts, faltering steps to get to my here. But I am here, now.
I have a new faith in my here, in my tomorrow, a new faith in the decisions I must make. A faith in myself. For the past several years I have had an ache, a yearning, a knowing that I needed to be more. Finally, even though I know I have a very long way to go, the ache is lessened, I have an inkling of peace within. A feeling, a feeling that I will do what is right.
My past had no faith in me, my here does, and that is what matters really.
The past does affect us, all of those happenings that make up who we are. Some have a very hard time letting the past go. Some seem unable or not want to. But whatever brought us to today's starting point, did bring us here, now.
It is what we do with our now that is important, what we plan for our tomorrow that is important.
We must learn from the past, not dwell there.
So much learning in recent months, weeks.
As I have watched my children grow from infants to young adults, one of my observations has been, that they would go through phases or blocks of time when learning something completely new was a difficult struggle, and then one day, it happened, it all came together, and the learning was just there! Another struggle will occurr, but no matter, success was achieved once, it will be again.
I feel as if I have finally come to that point, it has taken so many years, stutters and starts, faltering steps to get to my here. But I am here, now.
I have a new faith in my here, in my tomorrow, a new faith in the decisions I must make. A faith in myself. For the past several years I have had an ache, a yearning, a knowing that I needed to be more. Finally, even though I know I have a very long way to go, the ache is lessened, I have an inkling of peace within. A feeling, a feeling that I will do what is right.
My past had no faith in me, my here does, and that is what matters really.
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