How Simple…
Posted on August 16, 2010 - Filed Under breathe, creatures, Evelyn, feelings, marriage
“How simple it is to see that we can only be happy now, and that there will never be a time
when it is not now.” ~ Gerald Jampolsky
Last Tuesday was a day full of movement for me… between wrapping up a chapter of my life, and literally starting a new one, I found myself uncertain and yet full of a different kind of energy. The week prior, on my visit to see my Dad and pick up Gizmo from being “Puppy-sat” I noticed a glimmer in reeds of grass. As a school teacher I had often watched with my kids the mysterious transitions creatures make, from cocoon to creature. It has been an underlying discussion for over a year as I have explored what I needed and made numerous painful and sometimes empowering decisions… all in an effort to emerge somehow, miraculously. And so, there hung a glimmering green chrysalis with tiny golden beads like a crown at the top, and a stretch of 3 gold dollops at the bottom. Over the next several days I coveted the treasure hanging near my Dad’s front door. And finally, on the new moon, I asked to take it home in a jar. I held it for a several moments, amazed at how it had changed from the day I originally found it… somewhat shrunken, a bit darker, the gold striking, and what felt like movement under the skin. However, I wasn’t sure and perched the treasure on my desk by the window. That night was filled with my humble prayers and thanks to the universe for continuing to keep my path clear, putting in place reminders of how amazing life is, and all the ways that I am loved and taken care of. I also took time to ask for what I needed (aside from a steady supplement to my income to ensure I can keep making mortgage payments and such) I asked that I be blessed in my life with people who are genuine and strong. I always, every new moon, affirm that I am open to the pointers, clues, messages, and gifts that are placed in my path. I pulled a blessed rune, and a soul card and quietly read the messages held behind each. Then, I took off to bed for an early morning visit to the courthouse.
Not knowing what to expect, or how I would feel, I walked out late Tuesday morning with a proclamation that I was no longer entwined in all the ways that marriage becomes a twisted rope of connections, dreams, needs, promises, and labels. I now had permission to cleanly, lovingly, let go and move forward. I enjoyed lunch with my soul-group friends and returned to my empty home. I was drawn immediately to the glass jar holding the chrysalis to find a brilliant Monarch clinging patiently to the remains of the grassy stem, wings fully extended…
and… I knew the universe was reminding me…
I am loving my new sense of self: alive, moving, vibrating… that includes emotions from every angle, and a tremendous sense of relief that we both can step in new directions, in any way that we choose. I am content in this space, able to open myself to the world unrestrained, tender, and somewhat hungry.
I wake consuming new music like raspberry dark chocolate, wishing I could swallow each song and hold it there like a warm cup of tea or a shot of delicious sweet tequila. My body holds itself with a certain strength I have not known in my entire life… I enjoy doing things by myself, or with others. I find myself spreading my wings a bit, enjoying a new found beauty and self acceptance I had not always recognized. My skin, my face… all feel the world differently, feel others differently, and I “am.” In fact, I could say I am sunning myself in the pleasure of being.
Evolution
Posted on August 3, 2010 - Filed Under art, art therapy
Connected Via Crumbs
Posted on July 31, 2010 - Filed Under California, family, feelings, food, gratitude
I’m back home. The transition was a bit hard, only because I returned to a completely empty house (actually, that isn’t true, good friends stayed here that first night, and I had Gizmo) however, the house feels big. I have doors closed to unused spaces, and my son is in California. Gizmo and I are pretty good company for each other, but I was relieved to get back to work so I didn’t have to completely bear those first days of withdrawal that follow spending time with my little sister.
I took this picture early one morning, after we had all shared a bite of toast and coffee before venturing to the Stanford House to see the acupuncturist and then a day trip to Orr Springs. The light was pushing through a veil of fog off the ocean, and the kid was still in the splendor of teenage sleep (in the closet, no less). Earlier, Michael had woken me to go cuddle up with Monica so that he could carry on his wee-hour rituals of meditation and research. His strong coffee percolating and whining in the kitchen for when we finally stirred, showered, and dressed. Breakfast that morning was light – plates of crispy multi-grain toast, smothered in butter and organic wild-berry jam. In the rush to get to Jessica Rose by 9am, our plates were quickly gathered to the counter to be washed later… and in passing I noticed the residual evidence of our consanguinity in the form of crumbs on those plates, lined up in partnership, waiting together. Time stopped, and I took in a deep breath… for a moment, as the light warmed the scene, I felt a deep sense of being home, being in a place of love and acceptance like no other I know. Never have I felt it like when I am with Monica and Michael, not even in my own home have I known this feeling… a feeling of being completely myself, laughing in the energy that is my truest being among two others who truly see me. There, as the early morning light cast shadows and illuminations, I could feel the connected energy still dancing among those three plates, I could feel the ease with which we play and talk and breathe with each other. I could feel the ride in Elmo [a rickety, web-dusted, seat belt-less, really old truck], laughing and safe. I could feel the games of felicitous Wahoo, taking pleasure in each others presence, and the tumbling witty accusations over luck and losers. I could feel the whispers of sisterly love melded with Michael’s warmth and I felt us three, together… on those plates of crumbs.
It has taken me quite a few days to return to this picture. I wasn’t sure if I could even express what that moment was like, other than it triggering not only a profound sense of being home, but also tears and longing. I miss them both so much once I leave, and I long to live closer. I also miss how easy it is to be myself with Monica and Michael, and I long for relationships that offer that same open space to be myself: unguarded, honest, trusting, laughing, crying, imaginative, creative… woman… all of it. I get to explore so much of myself with them, because I trust that what comes from those explorations comes from a place of love, a place that desires to see me at my best, strong and blossoming. I don’t have to take care of anyone, I don’t have to fix anything existentially, there are no demands of me that aren’t already forthcoming on their own, I don’t have to worry about the language I use because our dictionaries are complementary. We are, three plates, together, dusted with the evidence of our experiences together.
And it Was On Fire
Posted on July 3, 2010 - Filed Under art, ceremony, feelings, journaling, life
I want to cut it all off…
Posted on June 30, 2010 - Filed Under Evelyn, fear, feelings, healing
I have lost another round of hair… and I am feeling completely defeated. I never imagined I would feel this kind of distress over my hair… Where did I get the idea that my hair makes me a woman? I notice every person with thinning hair and wonder what THEY are feeling about it. Are they as distressed and defeated as I am feeling?
I have all kinds of little inner critics and judges making a hot mess of my mind fairly regularly over the issue. I hear them tell me I shouldn’t worry over it, because it makes it worse. I hear them tell me that people who have Chemo lose their hair, so I should be grateful. I hear them whisper that everyone knows, everyone sees, EVERYONE looks at me in utterly maddening HORROR. I flipping HATE hair commercials, with faceless women throwing their hair around like it’s strands of confetti, while sensually running their fingers through it all with moans of pleasure. And as my tub fills up with fine strands of brown, I grieve every last one… every little hair I wish I could pick up and coax right back where it belongs.
Everyone has an opinion about what it is… too much stress, too little vegetables, not enough sleep, not enough vitamins, all of it considered and I try so hard to relieve. I fret over the chlorine in the water, I want to wear hats all the time, and I am distressed when I stand too far in front of the overhead projector for fear it will illuminate what I don’t have. If anyone looks higher than my eyeballs I get immediate anxiety, and none of it can be any healthier for what I have left. Every product I try makes my scalp raw, and my skin hurt… I’ve gone organic, I keep an eye out for sulfates… and yes, I have even tried Rogaine (which caused such an itchy reaction I lost hair over it!)
If I cut it all off, maybe I wouldn’t be so aware of all the patches of barren skin shining through thin fields of baby fine brown. I think my ongoing thoughts about cutting it all off when it gets like this is so symbolic of all the things I want to cut out of my life, all the cut offs I want to create… all the ways in which I want to disassociate with the things and people that illuminate what is falling apart. If I cut it off, I don’t have to see all the ways in which it is barren and patchy and painful.
I am grateful for dry hair, freshly washed, for the ways it looks fuller and hides my bare skin. I am grateful for hats, and days I get to stay home. And if you are thinking I should add to the list of things I am grateful for… like being able to see, and not being in a wheel chair, and all that other stuff people toss out there to “make me feel better”… keep it to yourself – because it doesn’t help me feel better… It brings up my guilt… the kind of guilt that exists because I am fussing over something as ridiculous as my hair, and then locks me in cavernous rooms of filing cabinets filled with things “I have no right to be feeling.” Yeah, I want to say F-U to that voice right there!
Self Belief…
Posted on June 14, 2010 - Filed Under art
Self Belief...
The Key To Being
Posted on June 14, 2010 - Filed Under art
The Key of Being...
And She Stared Into the Dream…
Posted on June 5, 2010 - Filed Under art
And she stared into the dream...
How He Found Me, How I Lost Myself
Posted on June 3, 2010 - Filed Under anger, autobiography, crossroads, fear, feelings
Journeys
I sit, rain slamming and tapping over the noise of a busy cafe. I smother butter all over a piece of whole grain bread and chomp with lurid agitation at the poppy-seed dressing doused on a perfect salad, despite my smiling request for dressing on the side. I wriggle in my seat, because it is cold, and so damp that the cold requests a sweater that I don’t have. Something inside me pops and I am sitting across from myself in my mind, wondering why I always hold back and live so carefully. I am aware of how all this careful living is causing the clock to rip through time and throw me into 40, fearful and yet so blatantly independent. And under that I see a hidden scowl on my brow, rolling around under a few wet curls, deciding whether or not to make a permanent appearance. I acknowledge, gently, to myself, just how angry I am.
Frankly, the procrastination I have had about filing papers for divorce has been elusive… it refuses to tell me the truth about why it exists. Every time I open the folder labeled “2010 Divorce” my stomach lurches and I am stunned by an angry swarm of anxiety. I bat it away frantically and retreat into more pleasant things, like staring at the ceiling, or reading, or working, or clipping away at the edges of my fingernails with a shiny silver clipper… “let’s just snip a little deeper and get rid of that rough edge there…”
Truth is, I love him dearly and deeply. We connected immediately back in High School, when he was shy, and I was naive. I was swooned by the romantic white handkerchief he carried in his pocket, and the tiny map of the NYC transit system he produced whenever we took to adventuring during college. He romanticized me with little Calvin & Hobbes scenes, laying on our bellies, laughing. He was generous, handsome, and wonderfully playful. His eyes blew my mind, a color of blue that was almost angelic. I could overlook everything in that state of blissful affection, because he was this unmarred, funny, adventurous, and affectionate boy who thought every breath I took was a song. As was my world view at the time, I was the most screwed up person on the planet, and no one else could have possibly been as ridiculously messy, or as needy, as I was. And there he was, loving me just as messy as I was. I couldn’t have been loved better than that… but then my world got darker and more confused as I battled a sense of worldly vigilance, jarred by childhood beliefs and fear… and I stepped away and disappeared, as did he.
By the time we reconnected I was an independent single mom, house and car in tow, career packaged and running. I knew, from that unearthly connection we had, that we would reconnect someday, whether friend, lover, or supporter, but I expected the timeline to be further out… into my 40’s. Instead, we were 10 years younger, and with unconditional acceptance we married and I packed my life into an 18-foot U-Haul and planted myself in Florida. At that place in my life I had good control of my world. I knew what I was doing, my teaching career had 8 years of experience crowning my resume, and my soon to be 4 year old son danced and giggled my life into a state of ongoing content. And life carried itself out with all the lessons one has in marriage, in family, in being connected. No regrets, because it was an awesome ride… and, in all of that something else spoke to me. A piece of me, who controlled my world with vigilant awareness, allowed that vigilance to leak into a passive, conflict-free, reticent stance that ultimately became my own unraveling. I quieted myself, when I should have pushed harder. I stood fearful of conflict because conflict in my world had always been violent and ugly. So, I began to throw up my hands and accept how our lives were organized, and slowly found that dark disassociation moving back into my being as I carried the world (believing if I let go of anything, the world would dissolve). The more I didn’t listen to myself, the darker and more worn my life began to feel… and I became lost… and the relationship felt oppressive with all its needs and dependence.
The last year and a half has been full of rediscovery, and some conflict, and new modes of self expression. It has also tasted a weathered sort of self-censorship. As my world quietly unravels, I let the rest of the world believe my existence is ” fine & dandy.” I find myself frustrated at being in public limbo because I don’t talk about what is going on other than a few “necessary disclosures” or in the environment of a few close relationships. Something about my self-censorship leaves me feeling angry… out of integrity with my real life right now… while fearful of the change that happens by opening up and admitting where I am at. My silence is the same fearful quiet that I hold on to, so that I know what the world looks like at all times, because “talking” CHANGES things. Anything different and it seems frightful, despite that wise voice that tells me it is all good, it is all just choices, just trust the process, don’t resist… Regardless, I GRIND my heals into the ground, and grasp at the very fibers of existence, to be left alone with the world that is familiar.
So, I was asked, “How are those papers coming along?” and I am again thrust into the swarm of angry anxiety that my life is changing. I asked for this change… took a bold step and even begged for this change… and now I don’t want to move through it. I have to come up with new stories that feed my lectures, and new ways to see the world that don’t include him… and what if I don’t have any? What if everyone gets mad? Why do people want all the reasons for what I am doing in my life right now? Making choices about this process takes me out of my bubble to face things…. and makes me MOVE ON… but move on to what?
It seems my ideas of “what” are all mixed in with the fear, and the anxiety, and the dreams, and the opportunities, and the potential… so much that it is one bubbling, churning, wind-blown, slicing-rain kinda thing that feels like uncontrollable weather, and I am not sure if I have the right sized umbrella to keep my head from getting wet, or the right galoshes to keep my feet dry. But then again, when has life ever been lived without getting a little messy, and maybe I should skip the umbrella and just roll around in the mud a bit, then I won’t have to worry about getting dirty!
And so, I can’t keep pretending that life is the same right now when it’s not. I am not happy smiling at people when they tell me to pass on a message to someone I don’t see everyday. I don’t know what to do with the pleasant view people have of us that doesn’t match what we are right now… and the disappointed looks that follow if I actually shift up reality and share the truth of where we are. On top of that, it makes no sense to others that we aren’t fighting, or ugly, or that either of us “did something” to make this all happen, or even that we workout at the gym 2 days a week, and sometimes go boogie-boarding at the beach. I still love getting hugs, encompassing hugs, because he is still safe and familiar. Why can’t we live differently, in order for us to find ourselves – in order for ME to find myself, to heal, to learn, to live up to my potential in ways I wasn’t. Is it all that crazy? It is harder to live pretending it isn’t raining.
I am not willing to let that scowl take up residence on my forehead. I am working hard to navigate towards being brave. I know I have yet to feel all the grief behind my discouraged heart when it comes to loving so much and yet not loving the relationships the way it has been. I am clearly scared, and cautious, and uncertain. But I am also brave, and tenacious about evolving, and even a little excited about what exists outside of this… and THIS won’t be the last storm to get through, and THIS does not define me.
And So She Packed her Potential...
Problems provide opportunities to participate in life – Becoming A Master Student
Believe
Posted on June 1, 2010 - Filed Under art
Always Believe
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