A little past midnight and I am laying here in the dark, unable to sleep and tired. My iTouch keeps me company as it sings my favorite lullabies of life: grief, struggle, love, longing, passion, and the endless journeys of artists new and old. The house quiet except for familiar creeks and the ongoing chatter of summer frogs.

I miss that feeling of being settled with myself. I feel dissonant from that gentle contented buzz that assures me of where I am on this journey. So much information offered, so many new behaviors dancing around me, like an exotic and sultry temptation, leaving me distinctly untrusting of what is or what is not. I am tired of the earth rumbling beneath me, relentless. If I could just sync myself to that rumble, perhaps I have some hope of finding the tender buzz of my truth that is familiar and certain. How did that buzz get so big, so loud, so shakingly different? If this bed would just quiet down I might find sleep slipping under the blankets with me, stroking my arm and assuring me that I will eventually find my answers below the mask of deep, subconscious rest. Until then I may just imagine stars on the ceiling and work to contaminate my restlessness with the swell and fall of my breath in the dark.

You have no idea how life's influences keep me from finding myself lately...

Labels: rocks, self reflect, thoughts

We see what we want to see.
We see through the lens of beliefs we carry, accurate or not.
The risk we take to communicate what we think and feel can be a powerful deterrent from truly clarifying the truth of our vision and reality.
We hold those beliefs without knowing their accuracy, without truly testing them out or giving others the benefit of clearing our vision of inaccuracies and false beliefs.
We even do ourselves the disservice of assuming self-beliefs are all accurate, when most have developed as part of our socialization and through the influence of family, friends, communities, and culture. We put up faces to hid our truth, guarding those vulnerable spots with the skill of a warrior. We are not always what others say we are, we are not always who we think we are.

For as much as I see what I want, and see through the lenses of self-concept and beliefs that I carry, I am not always aware of what beliefs influence my reality. When I am, I am sometimes fearful of asking or sifting for clarity for fear that what I THINK or FEEL will be dismissed, thus leaving me puzzled, angry, confused, sad, or isolated. So, do I take the risk anyway? This is often my struggle.

Taking the risk, however, can result in better communication with others. It provides a shift in how we understand the world, and ourselves. Taking the risk often leads to growth and change. So the benefits often out-weigh the risks we perceive (because often those risks are again part of our own belief system about our value to others, the worth of our own voice).

All this exists in my logical mind, and yet my heart lately has been numb to opening up. What to do with what I feel and expressing that to those who most need the benefit of my honesty and personal feelings is such a struggle. To be that vulnerable lately is equivalent to open-heart surgery. I find myself looking for ways to stay numb, stay quiet, stay put away... and I isolate in my own struggle. I am so good at isolating. Work becomes a gift, taking me out of my own head to dance in the world of others. Love makes me cower, makes me fearful, makes me tired. I lose words in the face of my feelings, and shiver in the breeze of truth that erupts each time I let a feeling inch its way from my heart to my head.

Then, the big girl in me, the one that knows better, the one that can teach others to look without fear, she stands there - hands on hips, foot pounding the earth with impatience, waiting for me to open up and move on. The ground shakes from her impatience, and I find myself making faces at her - to leave me be. I think what I avoid is just to painful, and even the powerful good feelings I discover lately create more facets to what my little T of truth is saying to me.

Shhh I whisper to myself in the quiet of my space... shhh so no one else hears how loud your thoughts are... shush.

Labels: self reflect

In our first hour we learned which lane NOT to go through for tolls ($50 fine, already), that the only way to get anywhere is to cut people off, that people LOVE their horns here, American dollars work, and the climate isn't too far off from Florida coastlines (a bit cooler). We also saw a Condom World, Condom City, and Condom Castle, were mesmerized by ads for "Angry Whoppers" and were a bit thrown off by "gas prices" at 67.9 cents (a liter). Puerto Rico is beautiful, not unlike Colombia. The rain forest creeps into and onto everything. Even telephone and power lines have creeping ivy slithering over highways and bridges. The water, darker than the keys, still has spurts of crystal green between the deep blues.

Today we decided just to hang quietly on the beach, warming our bodies by the sunshine until the afternoon rains came sprinkling in. I love the way the breeze comes off the ocean and runs through the palms and fig trees. The tips of the palms wriggle like fingers - either facing down like a dozen fingers tapping at the air, or upwards like long fingers calling to the breezes- come this way... here... here. The colors, full of blues and greens, with splashes of red as the blooms of one of the tropical trees cascade down the mountains sides, almost like the start of autumn, bright and powerful. The beach here is almost empty most of the time, strewn with driftwood and fermenting fruit. It doesn't smell like ocean at all, but more pungent like fermented figs and peach. The sand, a darker color, stained by the tannins of the rain forest, is soft against the skin though gritty and coarse when you squeeze it.

This side of the island is calm, the waves crawl over each other at the edges of twisting beach lines, making the sounds separate and come together over and over, gently, like being in a canyon where the echo circles around you on both sides. The duality is hypnotic.

My thoughts run along the beach, away from me long enough to allow me to sink into a sandy cradle - then return again to check if anything has changed. With that blows in fantasies about life as it might be, dreams about what I would like to do, and a gentle call, deep in the crevices of my being, that assures me everything will work itself out; the universe is holding me as it always has...

Labels: Puerto Rico, thoughts, travel

Something about the way I am seeing the world lately has altered my awareness about my body and senses. A few months back I had written about the power of touch, and that dull numbness that creeps in and consumes my ability to be conscious of the ways in which I connect with others... THAT event was a fulcrum for this new place of awareness. My senses almost lap up the world. Eating, textures, even the pressure of the seat I sit in now, at Starbucks, is mindful.

One distinct shift is that I find myself appreciating my body much more than I ever have. This comes at a time when I am no longer a tight 20 year old. Things are changing, but I notice the soft curves, the way I hold myself, the way my feet grip the ground when I stand or walk, the muscles in my forearms, the suppleness of my skin, how my skin responds to clothing, warmth, the air outside, the sun. I have been wearing skirts more frequently as an expression of femininity I haven't had in years, finding my natural beauty each morning when I wake up with mussy hair and sleepy eyes. It is as if I am just seeing myself now, in a way that is content and familiar, even warm.

Even the way I see others. My gaze is stronger, my eyes open, and parts of me spill out with a sense that I know, right now: I know me, I know you. I make eye contact with others that I don't know, and notice how their eyes respond: blankly, eagerly, with a sparkle or sadness. I am noticing my reactions to others when that connection is made.

I notice how people smell, not that daily "you've been sweating like a tomato in a brick oven" kind of smell, but rather that earthy natural smell that makes everyone unique I am noticing that even hugging a friend lends itself to a moment to draw them in and know them. No, this is hardley a "Gizmo" adventure, however, I am noticing the subtle connection of knowing another through smell, and it makes me smile.

I've become aware of the ways in which we emotionally slice away at pieces of ourselves to feel adequate or beautiful. We cover, remove, insert, paint, modify, criticize, cover, squeeze, fill, hide so many pieces of what makes us who we are. We compare who we are, scaling our beauty by that of another, and with it sour our sense of self. In how many ways have I done this? Although I haven't modified my self in drastic ways, I have considered what I WOULD do to feel more at home in my own body, not realizing that if I am not at home now, I may never be. The shame that is carried over our bodies and how they are shaped, how they look, and the ways in which our sense of beauty is peppered by the eyes and words of strangers has become more evident.

So, I carry a story in who I am, how I am shaped, how I move, the way I use my eyes and my voice. My scent, the way I walk, the way my face shifts with every moment as I read the world and respond to it. All of it a reflection of the self, my sense of who I am, and as I grow, a deeper appreciation for all that I am. In this deeper appreciation is also a growing appreciation for others, and the ways in which they share the self.

We don't criticize the flaws in a flower, or complain about the curve of a river. Do we argue how the sun sets or the way in which a bird calls? Yet, we dissect each other losing the flavor of what makes us all unique and connected.

Labels: daily life, Evelyn, self concept

Spent the day with a soul-mate friend of mine at Satellite Beach. It felt really good to open my heart and simply spill my guts all over the beach before her, knowing that she would keep vigil while I shifted the sand around all the feelings and thoughts, and truths that had been stirring inside. I knew it would be safely kept, without judgment or pressure. I could be vulnerable, quiet, confused, sad, and even look at my fear knowing she had my back. I trusted her to help me sort things out and reflect back to me where I am so I see a bit more clearly and am not fogged up by the fear. Today was a clear day for me. From it emerged gratitude and tenderness for those whose lives are so deeply part of mine. From it sprouted compassion for my own self, and a certain gentleness that I needed to know. From it came a sense of being centered in my feelings, as diverse as they have been lately, knowing all of it would be OK. She provided me some reminders, about honesty and courage, forgiveness, trust and wisdom, and shared her mantra, "Don't let fear keep you from your truth. Fear clouds everything."

So, I expect feelings to keep moving around. That is OK.

I expect there will be days in which the world looks too big to live in, and others in which it looks too small.

I expect that I will see, feel, and hear many things that will strike me, move me, sadden me, or bring me joy, as I untangle my life in all the ways it needs to be untangled, and that shouldn't keep me from finding the courage to move into my own potential and spirit.

This is about my journey, my growth, my deepest potential and desire to fully experience who I am. Ultimately, I am the closest thing to really knowing my "self" and I am all there is when my final breath is taken. I am not willing to sleep away the good life I have, but move through it consciously. I returned with a handful of shells, the warmth of the sun on my back, sand between my toes, a level of clarity, and the gentle hug and kiss of a good friend planted firmly on my being.

Labels: thoughts

I am a creature of all kinds of internal committees that have opinions about who I am, how I am handling things, and most significant to my self concept: the impact I have on the world. This keeps me from breathing sometimes, lately, most times.

My mind has been all over the place for weeks now. Some days it is calm, settled, manageable. On others it is like race cars on the Daytona Speedway, zipping by at ridiculous speeds. Sometimes my thoughts run by so fast I feel myself waiver from the wind it draws past me. As I watch those thoughts tear around the track of my mind I can hear the roar of the engines and almost smell the hot burn of neurons making way for some clarity. Some thoughts blow out a tire, and hesitate, pulling back from the screaming parade of other ruminations, giving up their fight in the race. Others, skirting the edges of my psyche, lose pieces of themselves as they hit edges or other notions. Then there are those, so daring to push the boundaries, that they lose control, pieces flying in all directions amidst smoke and flame and my own stunned soul. And still, there are other thoughts that keep pace, steady on, careful, tenacious, attentive...

I live each day, conscious of the impact I have on others, and that is a tremendous task I have set for myself. I seem to have missed the simple truth that I DON'T (and essentially can't) control how I impact others... (I can pinch you, but whether that is pleasure or pain is dependent on how you perceive what I have done. I can love you, and that also depends on how you feel about yourself.) Thus, the races continue on my mind as I contemplate how I step, to whom I speak, the words I use, the way I say it, ... and all I can REALLY do is exist consciously in all that I am, leaving footprints of that journey and nothing else, and what the world sees is up to them...

"Vroom ...Vroom"

And then, the simple call of a bird, or the pull of wind on the reeds is like throwing a snowball over a writhing heap of ants. Everything stops and gets quiet. In that moment I just "am."

I am not the committee, I am not what I have done, or what I have not done. I am not the voices of society, or the voices of family. I am not my Masters, or my job, or my home. I am not the books I keep, the money I earn, the jewelry I wear, or my political affiliation. I am not all the roles I have learned to play, or the people I am expected to be. I am not what others define me to be. I am not wife, mother, sister, daughter, friend...

I am my laughter, my tears. I am, in essence, the being who listens, who smiles, who loves and yearns. I am my passion, my fear, my anger, my sadness. I am the contentment of sand between my toes, or rain upon my lashes. I am the breath I take in as I get to know the world, and the breath I release when someone is familiar. I am the response to touch, I am the kiss I plant on another. I am, just as I am - in that I find reprieve from the races.

Labels: self concept, thoughts

I struggle to speak what I feel. For once, I am afraid to write, to say, to even acknowledge the vast amount of stuff I am feeling. I stick with what is safe and known, quietly burying it all, and I hate that I am doing that, but I fear more the lack of compassion I will get for speaking my truth. I fear that life will unravel and I will fall into the desires of all around me and get lost again. I feel like I am being such a traitor to myself. Last night, a burst of emotion took over and I so much wanted to get completely lost in it, just to let it all go... instead, as assurances were made by my loving husband, I found myself swallowing it all down, my eyes leaking with the pressure, my sinuses seething in rebellion for the silence I created. In it was even a tiny murmur of self loathing, something I hadn't felt in a very long time. Part of me wondered if I had just been able to let it all go, without any influence or words around me, if I might never have come back, of if I would have found a tender peace in having had my cry in all it's depth as I was feeling it.

I met two friends for the first of "Artist dates" as we try to regroup from the Artist's Way Workshop we finished back in early April. There I sat gathering up pieces from the last few weeks of my life, and my friend Catherine could read into my face more than I thought I was showing. It is hard to hold in the deep sadness I feel, and I enjoyed the distractions of artful chatter. But, Catherine knows without me really talking, that my eyes are like that of an animal cornered, looking for a place to run. My sister knows, as she posts a blog to remind me: "Each condition I flee from pursues me, Each condition I welcome transforms me..." Even she reminds me that I can't keep hidden from her what I feel, though doing so would surely make it easier to isolate and retract. I cower at the edge, afraid to jump, or offer it all to the universe to carry me. For as much Joy as I feel every day, there is an equal amount of sadness and struggle. These feelings so vast and spread before me it almost appears there is no end...

Labels: thoughts

Words, they leak from me. They trickle from my pores as if I am steeped in a vast universe of language moving and shifting like a body of water. I struggle sometimes to gather them up, to find them and put them together, hold them just a moment before they slip from my mind and evaporate. Language, the constant description of human experience, so vast and changing, so fragile and encompassing, gathers at the tip of my skull and fills my mind like a warm stream of water. Sometimes, there are no words at all, and in the stillness of that moment, I exist, one connected to another, one linked and encapsulated part of existence, the breath of another, the splinter in the finger of a larger existence, or the drop of sweat leaking down the brow of humanity. I exist and at this moment, enjoy the splendor and moving flux of being.

Labels: thoughts

Life is curious, how it can start a day full of pleasure and satisfaction, and quickly twist to offer a different piece of reality and the awareness of how life is so short and fragile. We spent the morning near Del Mar and took to climbing down a cliff (barefoot - OH how I love my toes!) to the ocean waves. The beach was fairly empty, and I collected rocks and let the water caress my feet, permitted the soft sand to suck me into levels of cool cradling groundedness. The water itself sent my entire body into a nice vibration, as it always does... and the salty air filled my lungs with each deep breath I took. I consumed the air like I had been thirsty for an eternity.

California is an amazing place in that it houses such a crazy variety of plants, and colors abound in clumps or spread over vast areas. This orchestra of color is heaven to my eyes, popping out, calling to me to pay attention. I almost forgot to use my camera I was so mesmerized with the flowers. My cheeks are still rosy from the visit to the beach, the smile still fixed on my face.
Later that afternoon I arrived at my mother's place to hear that a Hummingbird (my favorite of all creatures - besides Gizmo) had slammed into a window and had been laying in the garden for some time. I had asked if anyone had given the little bird any sugar water. Hummingbirds are unique in that their metabolism is so high they don't survive long if not feeding (at least 5 times their weight) and enter into a state called tupor when resting at night (heart rate slows from 1200+ to 50 roughly). They do pause to digest but are often "hours away from starvation" so feeding is critical. This little guy had spent some time already, unable to fly so we scurried to get some nectar produced. I sat for some time, feeding him from a dropper, hoping to help him get his energy up enough to get going again. With so many onlookers, I didn't know how to collect my energy and move that into that tiny little creature. I worked to offer some healing energy, but I am just not aware of myself in that way... wishing I knew how to make things better. Little Jennea (5 year old neice) kept an excited and concerned vigil with me as I tried to nourish "Hummy."
At some point, we found a rescue and hopped into the car to take him... but as we got going I could see that he just wasn't doing well. I know so much activity is very stressful to birds, and to something that small, it was so hard not to expect a high level of stress. I could sense his stress. I sat in complete awe of that tiny thing, its wings hardly looking capable of flying, that attentive brown eye watching me, little lashes that sparkled each time he blinked. His feathers kept changing color from warm yellows, to green, and deep fuchsia around his head each time he moved. The little tongue like a fine thread that split at the tip. I've never been so close to a hummingbird as this, and every ounce of my being wanted him to live. Sadly, not more than 2 miles down the road I announced from the back seat that he just couldn't hold on and had died. He slowly went limp in my palm until his little eyes lost the dance of life.

Loss is so hard, even if just a moment in the life of another creature. We see the beauty of a being, and in this experience, I am reminded of how short and fragile life really is. When we returned, Little Jennea asked to hold him for some time... sitting in the garden with his limp little body in her hands, imploring him to move. We had a small funeral for Hummy, as he was Jennea's favorite bird (she stated.) We buried him in the flower garden with a nice rock, handmade stick cross and flowers.

I felt so sad, yet so awed by the experience. Life is short; all we have is to live it with as much fulfillment as we can gather before the next wave comes and moves the sand out from under our feet.

Labels: adventure, birds, sad

Labels: flowers