Transitional Period

We are in transition.

Things look very different than they did a month ago.
Things look very different than they did this morning.

But.

I am moving consciously, slowly, forward.

And.

I have really good collaborators.

So for now that is all.

And enough. 

Waiting

An adaptation from Mexico

She and he were meant to be.

And were kept apart for 

Unjust Reasons. He stayed

Nearby, because of a promise made,

but not far enough.

She fed his legacy

Because it was also hers. 

But not.

When that life was

Taken,

She went into a deep depression,

And was away for a while.

Eventually she came

back, though she'd gotten close to staying. 

She had learned

about Light, and matches, that if they are made with silver nitrate and a human

Consumed them,

They would combust and all would be still.

They were reunited,

Because circumstances changed, 

And they reignited, 

But did not consummate. 

Or they did.

Not important.

Because of Another promise, they were still officially hidden, 

Till finally and with great fanfare that promise was fulfilled, and

They joyfully joined

Hands.

The skins were less supple, and though they tried to be slow,

His heart gave

Out too much.

She alone again, ate

All the matches she could find,

and reached out. 

Cycle

I have been writing a lot, but not here.

It took me a long time to come to terms with the reality that things are always changing, and that a routine that works for a while might not work forever.  And that by following one's feel good one does the most good possible.

It is disappointing if one still feels the need for that grip, to let it go. This is a great lesson of jiu-jitsu.

Today was a day back, it felt like, a fall beginning. Rosh Hashanah has always felt like an appropriate time to start the book again, and we had a great celebration. I even got to do an impromptu renewal ceremony with my friends who dance. I wrote this poem:

I am sorry
                  I was afraid
                                  I will
                  I am

                Enough.


And then I wrapped it in silver paper and a pink string and lit it on fire and skipped it down Nashoba Brook.  And today I read about how when Buddhist monks finish those beautiful sandpainting mandalas they brush all the sand together and let it loose in running water, so that the blessing might be shared.  And I read a story in my book about India yesterday about how Hinduism (where mandalas probably originated) is the most likely candidate for universal religion, because it accepts everything and all gods.

I am not sure yet how this all relates.

But.

I took this picture on Labor Day, traditionally summer's last day, with my mother and my daughter and some friends, and it reminded me that for a beginning to be there must be an end. Chaos is the shadow of purity, pointing toward practice.

 

I am going as slowly as I can, paying attention.

I see you shiver...

with anti...ci...PATION.

Winter is coming. My feet are cold again in the morning. 

I have a friend, whose husband has been going through super-duper transition over the last few years, since their daughter was born. He is in a major depressive phase right now.  After having done all kinds of amazing and eyebrow-raising things in recent history, now he is incapacitated. It is hard on her and she doesn't feel she has enough space to be close to him. We talk a lot about it, because she doesn't think he actually included her in the process of transition, and now he wants a lot of attention.  Perhaps he is just resting, I say to her. Or perhaps he got addicted to the high of extreme change, and is missing that. Or perhaps he does have some major brain chemistry to work through and drugs  might be helpful.

I am learning that all of these things can be true, and equally so, at the same time.

A lot of people have been coming into my life recently. A lot of love; a lot of stories. Some of them hurt, but I am amazed at how powerful a catalyst is the pain. Last night, I was served by an older Nepalese woman who was stunningly beautiful. (The India Project is now code-named: Katmandu) And a street drunk with amazing eyes kept coming over to me and saying,"You are awesome. Awesome. (hand movement gesturing to all of me) Just awesome." And reconnection with my tribe, and integrating desire.

I am staying in the flow, because when you are actually in a wave, right? In a wave, the ups and downs feel balanced, and equally fabulous. (hush thee my baby, the night is behind us, and black are the waters that sparkled so green...)

I am moving slowly... to move consciously and not cautiously, because the slower I move the faster I get there.

I am enjoying the mosquito bites. 

And I see you.

Only one choice...

Love? Fear? I think I am zeroing in...

Grabbing Waves

So. Waves. Everywhere, right?

I think I am on an upswing, but not yet fully at the apex of the wave. My juice this morning was a potent combination of concord grape, basil, parsley and green bean, all grown in our yard. I almost had visions. This earth is powerful stuff and some of my favorite people are very present to me right now.

And isn't it interesting about waves? About how at the peak of one, you feel totally amazing, even though you KNOW you are going to crash, but then you also KNOW that another wave will follow and you'll get to peak again.

I think this is the notion behind the story I love so much, about how when everything is going very wrong something amazing is on it's way, and we just need to be distracted by all the crappy things so it can gather it's energy and be born.

I am thinking about this because our car is soon to be kaput, our TV is already kaput, and Lil chose a pair of pink cowboy boots for back to school instead of the super-awesome blue-star sneakers I'd picked out.

BUT: My friend sent me this link to a blog that now I love. It is of course called "Grabbing the Wave."


AND: Also I have been getting lots of hints about India, and am reading this great book about that subcontinent right now, and have you seen The Darjeeling Limited? Because that is a crazy flick, in which Anjelica Huston channels my mother. And I correctly identified my friend as a Plentimaw Fish this weekend, which is a reference to Haroun and the Sea of Stories, a book I believe to be Salman Rushdie's best.

I feel a gathering of the tribe. How bout you?  

Wellfleet

We went to the beach and some great thoughts visited. Here is my favorite:

When you give something meaning, it becomes meaningful. To live a life of meaning, make everything meaningful.

It works on a lot of levels. Like:

When you give something love, it feels loved. To live a life of love, love everything.

When you give something power, it becomes powerful. To live a life of power, make everything powerful. 

Also, I saw this one day at the beach. It was amazing.

Do you see what I saw? 

Thought

Bubba dear made some good points yesterday:

Cosine is just a sine wave offset. Is there only one wave? 

AND

Perception/ REaction. Because you need the catalyst or there is no movement. So is there a catalyst of an action?

Plus Lil and he got me a present yesterday, spontaneously, wrapped in gold paper.

And I got to wear my favorite new shirt.

Pretty good time, eh? 

Work

Very briefly, this is what is occupying my mind these days, and tell me where I'm wrong, because it is still unfinished and I would appreciate thoughts.

The story:

I was talking to an old friend this weekend about something completely different, and I pulled out my anatomy textbook, (Principles of Anatomy and Physiology, which I am very proud of because I bought it at the Goodwill for $2) and flipped accidentally open to a page about how neurons work. We got all excited because anatomy is badass, and I had somehow known that neurons worked the way that they do, but I had not remembered the details, one of which is "graded potentials."

Basically, what I interpret this to mean, and again, tell me where I'm wrong, is that electricity (which is the medium in which messages are coded) travels through the body in what is basically a sine wave.

Then the husband of my friend, who is another old friend and was in fact the original friend of the two, pointed out that the reason waves form on the ocean is because of pressure, and that the wave shape is everywhere, which of course I knew, because it shows up in breathwork and hip bumps and soundwaves and all that.

And previous to that another friend over the weekend directed me to consider the concept of simulation theory (which I have just a tiny piece of right now but am looking forward to absorbing more fully.)

And my darling sister-in-law recommended this book, My Stroke of Insight, which is about how a neuroanatomist stroke victim experienced and mostly recovered from her stroke, and which I have been reading for the last week or so. 

And we visited the USS Constitution on Sunday and I was BLOWN AWAY first by how good that old ship smelled and also by how incredibly flexible everything was even though it was this huge seemingly bulky wooden ship. It was all designed to be as effective as possible at doing it's job of disabling but not destroying another ship. Even the masts are mobile! The masts, peeps, the fundamental supports for the whole business.

Ok.

So what I am working on is this:

Pressure.
Shape.
Reflection.
Perception/Action.
Requirement of Up and Down/Balance.
Universality.
Energy=Electricity.
Communication.
Flexibility=Responsiveness. 

Big stuff right? I feel a little like I'm being followed around by a ghost - the thoughts are just behind my left shoulder blade (which is coincidentally where I've been experiencing a lot of tightness in my muscles), but I can't quite put it together yet. I'll keep you posted.

Anniversary

This morning, last year, I woke up empty and bleeding.  Then, because this is the depth of my crazy, I went to work and didn't tell anyone what had happened.  Then, because I am loved, people came and took good care of me, until I developed an infection and ended up in the hospital for 2 days. Then, after all the excitement, I was still empty.

Today was a nice day. We were all together, and I got to nap, and swim in Walden Pond, and eat food prepared for me with love. I couldn't quite figure out why I had such a bad headache, why I was so out of it, why I was having trouble connecting with Lil, for much longer than I would have expected.

But I think that is the way avoidance works, right? 

It is such an unpleasant mechanism, not being present, and being present is such hugely amazing medicine, it is no contest which I prefer. And yet, and yet, and yet. Avoidance is also such a gift, because it is such an excellent shock absorber, which prevents us going totally off the deep end when faced with the hardships of life.

When I realized what day it actually was, and how my physical body was manifesting that, I decided to sit down and very gently pry my metaphysical hands away from my metaphysical eyes and invite the knowledge in. I kept saying, practice this. Practice this. Because in fact, dear one, this is a very small loss. This is a loss of someone you were just beginning to know, who had not yet taken his first breath, who had not come into the world. Big losses, big  big losses, are always around, and the only real way to prepare is to sit in the discomfort and recognize that it will not destroy you, that in fact it is entirely impersonal. Isn't that interesting? How the love is highly personal but the pain has nothing really to do with you?

I am working on absorbing that. And letting go of old patterns, and old expectations, and the "right" way. But also I am full of sadness and disappointment. I am.  And cliche as it may sound, that's ok. I give myself permission for that.   And I am very glad this day will end, and as L.M. Montgomery once wrote, tomorrow will be fresh, and another chance.

New Friend

 

So. Yesterday I went to the Cape to see my family and we ended up in Provincetown, at a tattoo parlor called Mooncusser, which I loved, and I got a new friend.

Let us be clear, I have exactly two tattoos, counting this one. Not to knock those who have many more, but just to make clear that I take my tattoos seriously and am deliberate with them.

I decided on a dragonfly because I recently noticed how many of them have been flying around me and landing on me, and being visible near by, and I recently listened to a talk by Sarah Bamford Seidelman, all about noticing beasties and trying to talk to them, and so I sat down earlier this week and gave it a shot. 

At the risk of sounding super bat shit crazy, I will just say that it was remarkable.

And the message Dragonfly gave me was so reassuring I wanted to remember it always, and so when the opportunity arose, so easily, I got a new friend. 

It is also important to note that the anniversary of losing my boy is coming up this weekend, and that I have been wanting to mark that with a tattoo ever since it happened, and marking it with a creature all about impermanence, and air and water and flight, and freaky beauty, simplicity (because of how slow its wings move), deeper implications and flexibility, well that seemed pretty perfect.

I partly waited so long because I couldn't quite get there. Not everyone in my household approves, and purposefully disappointing those I am most dependent on has never been my strong suit.

One of the things Dragonfly helped me see is that being myself, exactly as I am, is pretty perfect, so when I think I am disappointing someone by being fully present as I am, they are actually disappointing me. 

THEY ARE ACTUALLY DISAPPOINTING ME. 

This is big. Tattoo big. Plus, it's so beautiful. Ron did such a good job. And he was exactly the right person to do it, because at the end he showed me one of his tattoos, which was a portrait of.... wait for it... TOM WAITS. 

The least, my friends, this is the least of the awesome that is out there.

How Butterflies Began

(a retelling)

Once upon a time, before we could speak,  we lived in a land of maybe. Everything was a little bit mixed-in and up, a little soft around the edges, a little hazy and unclear. Never night and day, but always in between. Never sweet nor sour, but always in between. Never love nor hate, but always in between.

And then one day, a terrible accident. One of ours fell, and falling was a new thing, because without up, there was no down, and no place to go for any of us. But in the fall she went quiet, and silent, and this too was new, because without speech there is no silence. And she didn't move, which was unknown, and she didn't breathe, and her heart didn't beat. And he, who was new, since never had there been a she, so never a he had been, cried.

We were all surprised, and turned to each and said, "Why? Why doesn't she breathe? Why doesn't she move? What happened?"

The wisest of us volunteered to explore the matter, and settled down to talk for a long time. But when they stood from their thinking, they were just the same as when they had sat down so long before, so we knew they had not found the secret of the change.

There were, however, some of us. Very small, hardly of any voice, hardly with heads to nod. And while the great ones had been thinking and talking, they had also set out to explore the matter, and sat down, each alone, in silence and stillness.  And when they came back, oh dear ones, they were entirely different. They were  beautiful, and flew high above us on shining wings, to show how they could dance.

We nodded to each other and said "They solved it! They went to the other place and came back improved! It can be done!"

And then we stood, looking at each other, wondering.

Shine Bright Like a Diamond

Right? Right? 

Right.

Oh hey you guys

I was totally mistaken. Being 34 is miraculous.

And thanks to all who made the actual day of transition so miraculous as well. I am loved.

Birthday Piece

It is always the off-birthdays that sneak up on me. I had no problem with 21, with 25, with 30. But 19. Oof. 27. Also oof. And apparently, 34. Oof oof oof.

My husband reminded me this morning that today is my last day in my early thirties. As of tomorrow I will officially be in mid-thirties. Mortality is a bitch, peeps. A bitch.

Today is an interesting day, because I was actually born at midnight between June 29 and June 30. So I always think of June 29 as a bit of a birthday too, even though officially it is June 30. And having now gone through it myself, the time of labor is a miraculous period, right?

My one moment of nirvana was while I was in labor. I looked around and thought, holy mack, all these people have mothers. ALL THESE PEOPLE WERE BORN. SOMEONE WAS PREGNANT WITH THEM AND THEN THEY WERE BORN. What a gift. It made me realize how precious, how much love, goes into all of us. Which is a happy thought.

Focusing on happy thoughts today is a good goal, right? Because honestly, I am feeling a little bloated, a little lonely, a little disappointed. A little in need of a stiff drink. Which I know does not actually stop the pain, but man, it does dull it. Which is also a gift.

Perhaps some cake would also be a good idea. Made with love. Someone I love did send me 12 cupcakes. And I am grateful, even though I'm also dancing around them like a snake dancer 'round a rattler. Among other things, they offer a little space, a little peace.

 "All I want is a little peace! A little piece of Poland,
A little piece of France,
A little piece of Austria
And Hungary, perchance!
A little slice of Turkey
And all that that entails,
And then a bit of England, Scotland, Ireland and Wales!"

Mel Brooks is also a happy thought. Wish me luck, my friends. 

Flying/Moon

Last night was the SUPERmoon for 2013. It was amazing.

I know this because at about midnight, Lil decided she had to go to the bathroom. Outside. In the grass. Jason was trying to talk her out of this when I finally came out of the dream I'd been dreaming and realized what was going on.

Considering the circumstances, it seemed totally appropriate that my woodsprite child, buck nekked already, would want to go outside and take a piss under the fullest moon of the year. So I held her hand and out we went.  The moon really was amazing.

And then when we came back inside she wanted, as she often does these days, for me to lie down with her in her room till she fell asleep. I am fairly often happy to do so, as I get to snuggle her and smell her hair, and all of those gooey mama cliches that are so remarkably true. And while I was lying there listening to her suck her fingers I remembered my dream.

I fly a lot in my dreams, in a very Douglas Adams sort of "falling up" kind of way.  Usually it is not that exciting: a run and a leap and then a sort of gliding up high for a while. Last night felt very vivid, like a memory, and I was somewhere sandy, sort of like eastern California-evergreeny-meadowy-desert landscape and I had been swimming and flying and sort of doing my thing. And I wanted to fly back to where I was supposed to be, and there was a family coming up behind /passing me on the path, so I politely said "excuse me" and started doing the running-leaping thing that proceeds my style of dream-flying. And then I took off and was flying through the trees and the mama of the family started freaking out and calling to Jesus in Spanish, which also sort of freaked me out, because I thought what I was doing was perfectly normal, and so I grabbed onto some trees to get me higher up and leapt off and grabbed some other trees, which eventually led to a domestic building of apartments or dorms or something, and then I put my foot, which was wearing a dark espadrille, onto the building's railings and knocked on the window so some stranger could let me in and I could get out of the view of this family that was freaking out at me.  And that's when my daughter woke me up.

Now, what I think about this is:

1. Isn't it cool how things that at one point feel totally impossible and improbable (like flying) can, with frequency of use, feel totally quotidian?
2.  I felt very wordless in the dream, and I liked it.  I think I want to practice that quietude more.
3. What is the significance of the espadrille?

I wonder if we are always having dreams like this, but that we don't know how to hold onto them very well, so we don't remember most of them.   I am looking for help on this, so if you have any, send it my way. Also, I highly recommend the experience of peeing outside on a summer night, with or without the toddler.

IMPORTANT COINCIDENCES

AFTER, by the way, AFTER, I posted yesterday, I went to dance class.

Which was all about.... wait for it...

JUICINESS! AND FEELING JUICY!

AND:

then I was reading a blog that I love but do not always have a chance to read, and it mentioned how important an author was, who happens to be the author of the textbook for a class on writing and somatic movement I am taking this summer.

AND:

this morning I was waiting for a particular song to come on Pandora, and just as one of my favorite people walked in the door, it PLAYED. Like a theme song.

So if that isn't the universe reaching out, I dunno what is. WHOOHOO!

Solstice

I have been thinking about beauty this morning, because it is the official Summer Solstice and there is so much abundant free-floating natural gorgeous out there these days. My lord, New England has been showing off of late.

I am not just thinking about the beauty of a spider web shining in the sun, or fresh cherries, or clouds so full of rain they are busting. ( Cloudburst, by the way is an amazing word.) Because holy mackerel, have you seen the people out there these days? I feel like I keep getting sideswiped by long legs and ponytails and tight t-shirts. This morning at the bakery the girl behind the counter had a jewel just floating about four inches above her cleavage. She was stunning.

Earlier this week I was talking to a friend about this particular kind of beauty, which women are so good at employing. Because the jewel was objectively beautiful, as was the girl, and together it was just amazing, but also I felt a tug of manipulation, or something, because of the sexiness. And this is what I've been chewing on. Is beauty all about sex? 

This is a thought that is sometimes more comfortable than other times. It depends on how I  defining sex. If I  am defining sex as penis in vagina, then yech. Back away, no thank you.  But if I think of sex as abundance, as magic, as juicy backbone, then ok. 

Which brings me back to beauty, and how we are always worrying about being beautiful, and how to be more beautiful, and who is more beautiful than us. My friend was stressed out because someone she wanted to have sex with was being hunted by another woman, who was younger, and also a burlesque dancer. The burlesque dancer was reputed to be very comfortable nude, which makes sense given her profession. Ok, so when my friend told me about her concerns my immediate thought was that nude does not guarantee seduction, and who cares? But the unrecognized thought was that it wasn't really about nudity or whatever, it was about my friend's feelings of not being beautiful enough, of not being chosen, of there not  being enough loving to go around.

I am not sure how this is going to play out for me, but I think it has some strong correlation to why women are mean to each other. So how do we get to a point of recognizing the amazing abundance of beauty? And how one beautiful thing only adds to our own beauty? And see that in each other? Or is that horrifically naive? 

And sex. Hmmm. And sex.  While I am typing this, two dragonflies are getting it on by my foot. The solstice used to at least be in part about getting laid. The dragonflies certainly seem to be enjoying themselves. Perhaps I will put aside the larger questions, however tempting such cerebrality might be and attempt to simply soak in the longest day.

How do you measure, measure a year?

This weekend we visited with family again. And we saw a good family friend who just happens to be a psychic in Provincetown, where the ions are extra witchy.  She is lovely, her name is Carolyn Miller and her studio is in the Whaler's Wharf on Commercial St, third floor, so if you are lucky enough to be in town, go visit. She also leaves free books outside her office door, which just makes me want to hug everyone.

Anyhoo. All the women got their aura pictures taken. Have you ever done this? I am a big fan. Because it is part of this hidden language thing I love so much. It is the mysterious universe talking to us through colors, which is of course of course ALWAYS happening, through trees, and skies, and birds and all that. 

I had my first one done a year ago, when I was newly pregnant, and just starting to really shift my whole worldview.

It was deeply disappointing. I had gone in expecting all kinds of deep cool colors and bright spots of angelic helpers, and what I got was pure red, with some gold around the heart. I went home and picked a huge fight with Jason and then had to go on a long walk to figure out I did not WANT to have an aura the color of power, the densest color, the most rooted to the physical, the color of ego. I remember walking in the Cape woods thinking, "I am so calm! I am the serene one; I believe in fairies,  I take good care of other people, what the f*&$?"

AH, it was such a gift. I am a person of power. I am enormously physical in ways I had totally blocked. I love myself so much.  And I am most definitely someone who when thwarted must think carefully about how to react, and even most 'specially about what thwarted even means.

So I was really excited to see what this year's might reveal. And now that Lil is old enough to keep her hands on the plates and understand what's going on, to see what her's might have to say.  Here they are:

 

Mine is the one higher up on the bulletin board, and Lil's is lower down. (I have to say, it is an amazingly beautiful picture of my girl.)

It also amazes me that there are such similarities in our pictures, which were not shared by the rest of the family. We both have bright bright purple in our recent past (mine is brighter than hers) and are moving toward green (hers is brighter than mine).  We both have a guide on our left sides, and we both have clear spots near our throats/lungs. Mine is particularly pronounced, which is related to healing, which I love, because I have been thinking so much about using my voice, and healing my asthma, and remembering to breathe deeply so as to access the big "treasure chest" in my solar plexus. 

The golden orange all around me is a very happy color. It also relates to reproductive organs and emotions, which makes a lot of sense since that has been a focus of late. It is also the color of creative vitality, and an outgoing social nature. It also can indicate that I am currently experiencing stress related to appetites and addictions. Heh. THINGS TO THINK ABOUT. 

The purple means that I believe deeply in magic, and have become more attuned to my needs and wants, and the yellow-green that I am moving towards is about change, and my heart, and using my heart to communicate. 

Lil's is all about learning to express herself, and studying, and about how sensitive and intuitive she is, and how important peace and harmony are to her. I love that about her. I know that about her, of course, but it so helps to be reminded that she is such a love-centered little girl, who is trying to find her way. Also I am reassured because she does seem to have a lot of angelic creatures loving on her (up high, in the ether above her head, where they are happiest).

I believe more and more that all roads lead to Rome.  That is doesn't matter what methods you use, what beliefs help center you, what walks you walk and talks you talk. 

What is most important is to be true, to be a benefit, to experience everything as fully as possible and to love. For me, however, it is nice to have a little concrete evidence to hold in one's hand, to have a koan or a mantra or a picture,  and to have insightful human beings help translate the message.

James Richardson, ooowee.

This I saw in the NY Times Magazine this Sunday, because my parents were here and my mom does the crossword, so we got the rest of the paper. I was so glad we did, because James Richardson, ooooooweeee.

One of the Evenings

After so many years, we know them.
This is one of the older Evenings - its patience,
settling in, its warmth that wants nothing in return.
Once on a balcony among trees, once by a slipping river,
so many Augusts sitting out through sunset-
first a dimness in the undergrowth like smoke,
and then like someone you hadn't noticed
has been in the room a long time...

It has seen everything that can be done in the dark.
It has seen two rifles swing around
to train on each other, it has seen lovers meet and revolve,
it has seen wounds grayscale in low light.
It has come equally for those who prayed for it
and those who turned on lamp after lamp
until they could not see. It deals evenhandedly
with the one skimming downstairs rapidly as typing,
the one washing plates too loudly,
the one who thinks there's something more important,
since it doesn't believe in protagonists,
since it knows anyone could be anyone else.

It has heard what they said aloud to the moon to the stars
and what they could not say,
walking alone and together. It has gotten over
I cannot live through this, it has gotten over This did not have to happen
and This experience one day I will be glad for.
It has gotten over How even for a moment
could I have forgotten? though it never forgets,
leaves nothing behind, does not believe in stories,
since nothing is over, only beginning somewhere else.

It could be anywhere but it is here
with the kids who play softball endlessly not keeping score,
though it's getting late, way too late,
holding their drives in the air like invisible moons a little longer,
giving way before them so they feel like they're running faster.
It likes trees, I think, it likes summer. It seems comfortable with us,
though it is here to help us be less ourselves.
It thinks of its darkening as listening harder and harder.

James Richardson

Summertime

It is finally that lush lush hot humid green outside I wanted so badly back in winter. Isn't it amazing how quickly we take it for granted, once we're given what we wish for?

This morning I mowed my lawn. All by myself. I have never mowed a lawn before. But I am a big fan of this lady right here, and Max Daniels sent out a newsletter talking about failure. And how one way to deal with the fear of failure is to practice failing. And you know how much I love PRACTICING A SOMETHING. And so I decided I would practice failing at mowing the lawn, since it is one of those eternal fights between me and my partner, and it needed it. It was so interesting, because at first I couldn't figure out how to adjust the handle, and I found myself totally doing what my daughter does, which is say, "I can't do it. I'm just going to have to mow the lawn with the handle in this position. That stinks. But I can't do it, so I guess that's the way it is."  I told myself exactly what I tell her, "Keep trying. I bet you can figure it out. And if you need help, help is available." And it worked! I figured it out! Oh my goodness I learn so much from being a parent. (Also, side note: I called my husband to tell him I had mowed the lawn like I said I was going to last night, and he was very critical and said he would do it again when he came home if it needed it. Why? Sigh.)

So I didn't exactly fail at mowing. I definitely need more practice, but holy mack, that lawn got mowed. So did I fail at failing? Does it still count? Hmmm. Max says aim for 50 fails. That is a lot of failure for a good little doobie-girl to handle.

Today is my Papa's 70th birthday. Good lord. Happy birthday to him. 70 years is many many years, and I am glad we are all going to celebrate together tonight and then again tomorrow (just for added bonus).

It also inaugurates the annual season of family events, in which just about every weekend we have plans of one kind or another. Which is enormously stressful to me. I want so much for everything to be relaxed and groovy, for us all to be happy and full of hugs and love, and somehow I end up participating in old dramas and absorbing a whole lot of unpleasant anxiety, intermixed with some bright shots of joy. Which is all to say that there is a lot of opportunity to fail in the next few months. Many people to disappoint, and many situations in which to try something different.

I like the re-framing of failure as a project. I'm going to periodically check in about how well I'm doing. Meanwhile I'm going to take a little quiet time before the family all arrive, now that my yard looks SO GREAT.

Feelings, nothing more than feelings...

I am mad at my husband. All the usual caveats of love and adoration aside, the truth is I am mad and have been for some time. There is scar tissue built up along this wound. 

How did this happen? I feel extremely dowdy, very housecoat and curlers about  this assertion of frustration. My husband is a most excellent man. He is generous and sweet-natured. He is logical and thorough and works hard. He comes home when he says he is going to and he makes pancakes on weekend mornings. 

Can you believe I am even mad about the  pancakes? I don't particularly like pancakes. Especially pancakes with chocolate in them, because I don't particularly like to eat breakfast and that is just sugar overload. But when my husband makes pancakes it is a big deal, and he feels proud and like he is taking good care of us, so probably twice a month we all have pancakes. Every time, for nigh on eleven years, because it was probably 10 months into dating that I got up the courage to tell him I didn't like chocolate in my pancakes, he puts one or two chocolate chips into my otherwise plain pancakes. This feels aggressive, and I am angry about it. 

Ok. So obviously I have chosen a story to make you sympathetic to my anger. I'm sure my husband could tell some stories on me, because I think he's secretly pretty put out with me as well. 

It seems like there are a lot of us in this situation of being angry at our spouses. 

Which seems so bizarre, because we all CHOSE each other. And spent at least some period of time thinking that a life with this person would be pretty groovy. And then at some point we get mad and that anger gets hooked pretty good on this other person who we adore. 

What happens then? Ugly. I do not like it.  I know many many people have found that leaving, and trying again later, is a good solution. I will tell the truth: I think seriously about it. I do believe, however, that humans do basically what they want, and I do not want leaving to be my solution right now. 

How do we get here, I want to know, and how do we get back? 

Fruits of thy labor

This morning, a beautiful thought arrived, for which I am most grateful.

The story is this: I have been feeling allergicky (which hasn't happened in some years, because recently I have been either pregnant or nursing in the spring). And as per tradition, with the allergies came asthma. If you are a sufferer of asthma, you know it is really about terror. It is entirely terrifying to not be able to breathe, which just aggravates the problem into a horrible cycle sometime arrested only by visits to emergency rooms and breathing in lots of medicine. Blech.

Long about 2008, with some help, I figured out that the best thing I can do in the course of an asthma attack is get really quiet and focus on my breathing, constantly reminding myself that in THIS instant I have enough air, that my heart is beating, that I am safe.  I am not recommending this practice as a cure-all, but for me it is very effective.   Still, asthma is no fun, and it is scary, and it makes me angry.

SO. What have I been doing with these feelings of frustration and fear?

Trying desperately to find a source. Is it my husband, who wants me to euthanize my cat and never cleans the house? Is it my daughter, who screams for help no matter how patiently I explain that screaming is not how we get things done? Is it my work, which is creatively a little dormant? Is it my period, because maybe I really should be pregnant again? Is it my cat, who pees in all my shoes?

It is all these things, and the BIGGEST BADDEST of them all is the long long long long list of things I have not done, and SHOULD be doing, because I am never working hard enough and never doing it properly.

Case in point, the garden.

Yesterday, despite my 'llergies, I dutifully went out with Lil and squeezed as much joy as possible out of working in our lovely little garden.  I was charmed by the strawberries, but frustrated by Lillie's seed-planting techniques, and annoyed that no matter how diligently I remove them, WEEDS are everywhere. Harumph and grrrr.

This morning, though, with such grace, a thought arrived. This thought (thank you for your patience) is this:

 My purpose is to be a benefit to the world. And along with that, I remember dear dear dear Pema Chodron saying, comes a lowering of standards. And, I remember dear dear dear Anne Lamott saying, a gentle lifting off of the hook.

My friends, I am breathing so much easier.

So I went out to look at the garden again. Forgive the cliche, but dang if it isn't entirely miraculous! It smells good, and the spinach is growing beautifully, and even the weird purple weeds I didn't have the energy to pull yesterday look exactly right.  See?

This is why I train. This is why I am so in love with practicing. Because my head last night was not a nice place to be. It was sticky and dark and full of meanness. But because I have been practicing, because I have been recalibrating, because I have been reworking ineffective patterns, and just generally opening this shite up, this morning, when I needed it, the truth kicked in. What a HUGEness is that.

I am so pleased.

Shenpa

Happy Mother's Day!

This has become an important day for me. My daughter completely changed my life, and I have learned so much and become such a clearer person because of her.

One of the most important things I've learned  about is, dum-dum-dum: the ripple. It is an idea which I think is very related to the idea of attachment, and which the STUPENDOUS Pema Chodron calls "shenpa." (Here is her amazing article on shenpa.)

The variation on that theme that has been playing most vividly for me centers around a rippling out of ugly. Because isn't that amazing? How one person is unkind to another, even subconsciously, and then the other person feels badly and turns around and is unkind, subconsciously, to other people, who feel badly, etc. etc. And it just keeps growing. And there are SO MANY kind things we could do for each other, SO MANY small small things that would be so much better than the ugly. But we aren't always able to stop that feeling; instead we just really want to get rid of it.

As a parent, I am constantly working to stop that ripple of ugly. My daughter is so young; she has so little protection, and she is so sensitive. So she picks up on everything - on all the joy, but also all the meanness around her. And then she ripples it right out at me. And probably I was the source of the ugly at her, because I said no, for no really good reason, to that apple, or that dancing shoe, or the bringing of that toy to the store. But regardless, as the more experienced human, it is my job to try and stop the ripple, and also to show her that the ripple can stop and that this is how.

Which is really hard.

But I am practicing. And I think Pema Chodron's teaching about getting quiet, about coming back to your breath and considering the love in the world that is so abundant, is an excellent thing to work with.

And I adore that putting the world on pause for a second or two is also a most vital way to take care of myself.

So despite my occasional disdain for so-called "Hallmark" holidays, I am on board with this one, because I love a day for focusing on all the amazing gifts of motherhood, and my child, and also myself.  Happy happy day to us all!

Dreaming of the Dolphin's Song

Ooooweee. I am thinking a lot about how much is available when we pay attention to it.

I love that Regina Spektor song about sitting on the beach with someone on a gray day. It begins with my favorite lyric:  "Come and open up your folding chair next to me...."  The song is in fact, apparently, called Folding Chair.  But you see how it is about welcoming, and inviting, and also sharing.

Because we feel so lonely, but really, and I know this feels impossible WHEN you are lonely, but that loneliness is a self-imposed state. SO MANY PEOPLE are out there and wanting to love on you. Which is not at all to say that it does not feel nigh on impossible to get out there and make contact. But it is true. There is no reason to be lonely.

So that is my long thought for today.

And I am wishing to circle back to my asking for things, because recently one of the things I asked for earlier in the fall actually happened, which might make it financially feasible to do something I have really wanted to do for a long time, namely redo our kitchen.

Which has renewed my hope.

Which is a really big thing. Because it is also really easy to feel like I am not deserving, and of course because I am not deserving I get NOTHING I really want.  But ask, my friends, ask, and you may well receive.

So I am practicing giving myself things I want, because I am hoping to convince the little elf in my head who can feel so dejected and unloved that there is a lot of love out there, and a lot, A LOT, just waiting.

I am also spending a lot of time talking in a weird southern accent-hybrid. Whoever this person is, I like them a lot. They are very bold, and laugh, and much more outgoing. So I hope they hang around. They seem to get along really well with the raunchy old lady who has also been visiting.

In the spirit of these spirits, I tell you: thanks y'all for all the goodness and good times this week and let us order up another round of THAT for next week. And if you doubt this is also available to you, I highly suggest you watch this and git your groove ON.

Notice Must Be Paid

I noticed this, while hiding from my daughter to drink coffee this morning. I opened the bathroom window to better see the almost-blooming lilacs, and I noticed the angle, and the light, and the weirdly appealing blind string.  And because I was hiding with my phone, I took a picture. Here it is:

Tastiness

Let us consider our senses. And tasting in particular.

I have found these last few moments (days? weeks?) that I am a hollow-bellied beast when it comes to treats. And not "treats" like dried fruit and fresh salad, although they of course have their place. I am talking about potato-chip-hot-fudge-covered-deep-fried-snickers kind of treats. And alcohol. And smoking. And deep breaths of strongly smelling perfume.

Which is confusing, because I have been meditating. A LOT.  And I have discovered ASMR, originally from This American Life (the show on Tribes), and then I've become best fantasy friends with this woman, who has made Dutch my official favorite accent. (SIDE NOTE: Jason totally cracked me up by quoting Lord of the Flies at me when I told him about the wonders of ASMR.  "Sucks to your asmar.." he said. Which struck me as particularly funny because the original quote was about Piggy's asthma, right? Which I also used to suffer from. CIRCLES....)

So I thought meditating and focusing on my breath and all that goodness was supposed to result in me being all light and vegetarian and viceless.

Boy was I wrong.

Apparently meditating and focusing on my breath and dancing a lot results, for me, right now at least,  in a lot of nasty-talk-smart-aleckness-eating-of-ice-cream-putting-my-foot-in-my-mouth and ENJOYING it. (SIDE NOTE: Speaking of feet in mouths, the other morning Lil and I were stretching, which I love that we can do together again, and as she bent over her knees in butterfly position - we were knee-to-knee - she put my big toe in her mouth. It was a shockingly strange experience. I said, "What was that about, baby?" and she said, "It looked good." I laughed and laughed and she looked at me like I was off my nut, because of course, why not put someone else's toe in your mouth?)

And I keep thinking, OK. Let's just let this happen. As they say, does a seed make effort to sprout? Let's try a little effortlessness. Let's try a little open focus.

The weather 'round here is cooperating beautifully. This morning I said to the sky, after bowing to the dogwood, "Sky, you are really showing off today!"  And it was.

So that's what I'm thinking about here. Not willing myself to be happy. Indulging in the raunchy old lady who has come to visit.  And considering the joys of other people's feet....

Let us think instead about...

This:

And this:

And this:

 

Because right now the terror, the heartbreak, the shear sadness of Marathon Monday is big. I keep thinking of that story, about how when everything is going wrong something beautiful is being born, quietly and secretly. And I am thinking about how so much love and care and kindness was generated. But also I am being quiet and keeping my eyes open for things to think about instead.

Like this: 

Sunshine

Every little bit counts.

Radio Silence

I have been drowning a bit of late. All the noise felt overwhelming, and all I wanted was to be able to sleep in peace. So I have been, as they say, a bit depressed.

And I was supposed to go on my first retreat. For a week. Here. Which I was very excited and nervous about and had spent a lot of time figuring out exactly how to take care of Lil while I was gone, and the logistics, and all that. To be honest, I was hoping for some serious transformation, and to return home not depressed, and refueled.

I drove out there this past Friday and they were not expecting me. NOTE: Being a good doobie, I had absolutely done everything I was supposed to and had a printed out confirmation letter in hand inviting me to come for this particular week and everything.

Still, the reality was they were not expecting me. They were in fact closed, as the majority of the sangha had gone down to DC. They had meant to call me but I'd been left off the list. They were very sorry.

So I cried a little by myself in the woods behind the big beautiful meditation hall (which is, by the way, on the dude side of the road).  And some very nice nuns and monks came after me and invited me to stay and explained it would just be free form retreat for a few days, till everyone came back on Tuesday. Or maybe Wednesday, they weren't entirely sure.

They were very kind. But again, not expecting me. I stayed for a night, and felt so lonely and not expected that I ended up driving home again, where my poor husband's whole face swelled up about half an hour after I got home. I jumped right back into the fray of caring for my family.

Even the less-than-24 hours I spent there was helpful. It reminded me that I have a community that loves and wants me here, at home. And to slow down and to appreciate again. And that sitting meditation is extremely powerful medicine. I drove away thinking that was enough.

But I realized, once home, that  I was very disappointed.

I know, theoretically, that big transformation is now what we get. I know little daily moments of routine and beauty and small steps are what we get.

I know that control over the past, and the truth, and other people is not what we get. I know recognizing that I am safe, and comfortable, and alive in this moment is what we get.

I know humans are impermanent and complicated. I know mother earth and father sun and the roses and the daffodils and the mountains and the rolling hills are lovingly abundant.

I know there is no solution, no fixing of problems. I know there is nothing wrong with me.

I know.

But it has been so hard. It has been so dark for so long. It is hard to remember warmth, and light, and spring.

I found this quote by George Wilson a few weeks ago in an article in the the Atlantic. He is talking about having his foot amputated without anesthesia, but it pretty much sums up my feelings about pain:

"Of the agony it occasioned I will say nothing. Suffering so great as I underwent cannot be expressed in words, and fortunately cannot be recalled. The particular pangs are now forgotten, but the blank whirlwind of emotion, the horror of great darkness, and the sense of desertion by God and man, bordering close upon despair, which swept through my mind and overwhelmed my heart, I can never forget, however, gladly I would do so."

We all feel this way sometimes, right? We all suffer so deeply. Which is why stories with happy endings endure. We need to know that suffering is not always the end of the experience. In fact, the happy ending is not the end either. There is no end. There is only change. Always changing.

So this too shall pass, I keep reminding myself. This too shall pass. All will be revealed and soon I will have another story to tell. Another fairy tale. A story up to me where it ends.

But for now, dear universe, forgive me if it's still a little quiet around here. 

 

Existential Loneliness

There is a cure. Martha Beck explains it beautifully on her blog, but basically it entails spending a lot of time NOT alone, even when that feels like placing your palm in a hot frying pan, and exposing yourself as much as possible to situations in which the basically positive nature of the universe can reveal itself to you.

So.
I got a massage.
And:
A haircut.
And:
My brows waxed.
And:
Accepted several gifts from my mother in law, including a trowel door knocker and several brand new sports bras.
And:
I let myself and Lil be leisurely this morning on our way to school, which was very pleasant and allowed me to breeze into dance class in a much better frame of mind.

I cried in dance class, because I love Maria so, and I had this great realization. I realized that it is a choice to inhabit one's life. It is a choice to be here now. I have the decision making ability on that. What?!?

Teachers are so amazing. I am so grateful they are all around us all the time.

How do you define awesome?

I asked for awesome this week.

Here is what has happened so far (bear in mind it's only Wednesday):

1. Went in for routine prenatal and discovered no heartbeat. Then spent all night cramped up and bleeding.

2. Broke off a tooth while self-soothing with Chinese food.

3. Drove to NH with Lil Bub only to discover my favorite yarn shop there has closed.

Now.

That list is obviously in reverse awesome order, but I would argue that none of it qualifies as awesome.

Still.

It is only Wednesday. And perhaps i did not use the right tool in my request, and awesome was the wrong choice of words, since by traditional and not Bill and Ted definitions, awesome can be a little terrifying.

SO. I wish to clarify:

Please send only traditionally defined as "excellent" experiences my way the rest of the week.

Thank you.

Bright Birds and Snow

It seems this winter that every Sunday is a day of snow.  I know spring is around the corner; I know it must come - it never doesn't, right? But it feels these days like the snow is forever.

Yesterday I did feel a lightening, because in the morning when I awoke I heard the birds outside. We are so lucky to have so many songbirds living and visiting in our yard, despite the cats. Lillie loves them, and we are slowly slowly learning their names as a family.  Cardinals are easy, but I have also been pleased to greet as friends  the sparrows that love our quince bush, the nuthatches, and the  little chickadees. We've even seen some robins about, which are one of our favorites, for obvious Nana-related reasons. The Mass Audubon site is stupendous, and I highly recommend it.

This week I wish for:
1. STABILITY: I wish to feel grounded, to feel safe, to feel all those false things about being in control that aren't real. I wish to believe in them this week. I think.

 Maybe really I want to transcend them. I want to recognize that there is always complete safety, as well as total free fall. This man, Neils Bohr, was no joke. His concept of opposites being complementary is affecting me like Occam's Razor once did. TWO TOTALLY DIFFERENT THINGS, THINGS WE THINK OF AS MUTUALLY EXCLUSIVE, CAN BE TRUE AT THE SAME TIME. I put it in caps because I am still practicing assimilating this. I am still recalibrating around this idea, and capital letters are so reassuring.

2. JOY: I would like a little awesome sauce. Something awesome to come down the pike. Or maybe just the ability to notice something awesome.

As for last week, perspective was granted. My sister lost her job, and she was on the verge of hysterical meltdown, and I was able (Phbbbt, phbbbt, phbbbt, knock on wood with gratitude) to NOT absorb the hysteria, but the keep on enjoying life and remembering how fabulous everything actually is, and even to help her remember.  And I had a very scary meeting with a scary person, and I was able to ask for help, and help was granted (thank you thank you Katie-dear) and the meeting was much less scary than expected. AND even though I get nervous, I was able to trust my body to be ok, and I trained jiu-jitsu, the excellence of which I have trouble articulating. So, goodness.

In light of the snow and my developing affection for birds, I leave you with a little e.e. cummings:

                                                    this is the garden: colours come and go,

        frail azures fluttering from night's outer wing

strong silent green serenely lingering,

     absolute lights like baths of golden snow.

He was good, wasn't he? 

Green. Ahh. Green.

                                        

Sunday Again

The snowstorm did come. And it was impressive. And it was surprisingly nice to have a day of nothing/nada/nieste (or as the joke goes, nietzche).  I got to sleep in, such as that is possible in a toddler-house, and we all shoveled as a family, and drank hot chocolate, and took long naps in blankets all cozy and together, so it was good. But also there was not much space, so I did not write an entry.

And it is snowing again this morning, a week later.

I like the quiet.

Which there will not be much more of today, since it is Lillie's birthday party this afternoon. Some of her friends are sick, which means it will be a very small party, but I think a good one nonetheless - dragon-themed and full of purple and gold balloons.  Jason and Lil are making cupcakes as we speak.

As for me, this week I want only one thing:
1. PERSPECTIVE:  I want to keep perspective. It is so tempting to get caught up in drama, in how awful things are, in how full of CRISIS and TRAGEDY the world is. Which is true. But also when the storm comes there is beauty, and there is quiet, and there is always a scale on which usually our very scary monster turns out to be quite manageable.

And as for the list two weeks ago:
Comfort came and went. I think this is a long term goal. A thing I must continue to practice practice practice both giving and receiving. Flexibility I felt. I felt nice and flexible and fluid. I think the increase in exercise helped with that, so NOTE that please.  Abundance of food worked out well, but in a relaxation of boundaries. I have been limiting a lot what I ate. I have been eating a lot of shoulds, and not so much of the wants, and so I decided to pay attention to the abundance around me and if I wanted lemon macaroons then so be it. Lemon macaroons in abundance! NOTE that too.

I just found Cheri Huber's practice blog and I am loving it. She is talking so much about ego and being clear and uncovering and I am so grateful for the thinking I wanted to acknowledge my appreciation for that.

Consider the Lillies..

There is a snowstorm on the way. This feels... ahergh. I am hopeful it will feel magical, as big snows inevitably do, when and if it hits, but meanwhile it is just messing with my plans.

Mary Oliver helps. Because she is so brilliant, and so right. The light is everything....

The Ponds
by Mary Oliver

Every year
the lilies
are so perfect
I can hardly believe

their lapped light crowding
the black,
mid-summer ponds.
Nobody could count all of them --

the muskrats swimming
among the pads and the grasses
can reach out
their muscular arms and touch

only so many, they are that
rife and wild.
But what in this world
is perfect?

I bend closer and see
how this one is clearly lopsided --
and that one wears an orange blight --
and this one is a glossy cheek

half nibbled away --
and that one is a slumped purse
full of its own
unstoppable decay.

Still, what I want in my life
is to be willing
to be dazzled --
to cast aside the weight of facts

and maybe even
to float a little
above this difficult world.
I want to believe I am looking

into the white fire of a great mystery.
I want to believe that the imperfections are nothing --
that the light is everything -- that it is more than the sum
of each flawed blossom rising and fading. And I do.

Satur...hmmmm.

So it is Sunday. And not Saturday, which was the day I had decided I should post my wishes for the week to come.

But part of what I am working on is this idea of "shouldness" and how frustrating (ah, you see? FRUSTRATING again) it is when one makes a plan, even just for oneself, and then it is foiled. And if the overall idea is to not feel frustrated, then maybe one path to that is to NOT DO THINGS THAT LEAD TO A FEELING OF FRUSTRATION. And if one thing that is frustrating for me is foiled plans, maybe one way to avoid that is to NOT make plans. Hmmm.  And perhaps also if I do make a plan, and then it doesn't happen, maybe another path is to LET MYSELF OFF THE HOOK for anything I did that contributed to the plan's failure. Baby steps, people, baby steps.

Which is all tied in to what I want for this week:
1. COMFORT: particularly of a physical nature. I want to feel comfortable in my body - like all the parts are running smoothly and in cooperation.
2. FLEXIBILITY:  as in not feeling so grippy about when and how and where things are happening (SEE ABOVE). If things are happening, that is ok, that is enough, that is plenty. And things are always happening, so that's a comfort. (HA. See that? I love words.)
3. ABUNDANCE OF FOOD: I have been having some trouble with this lately. With feeling like it is ok for me to eat when I'm hungry, and that there is food for me to eat that is going to feel good and fueling. So I am going to go to the grocery store, and I am going to buy lots of food, and then I am going to stash it all over the place, so it is always handy and delicious.

And what happened with last week's list?

It was very helpful to think about meeting fears, instead of girding my loins against them. I think it did contribute to the speed at which my horrific temper tantrum on Tuesday night passed over.  Before and during the temper tantrum, however, I definitely started punching LONG before punching was justified. And it was because I am scared.

Warmth. AH, in this I was most definitely blessed. TWO whole days of pretend spring. It was amazing. I am grateful. Thank you.

Not feeling guilty about eating other people's food? This did not manifest so much. Opportunities were limited, which is ok, and just means I should continue to keep my eyes open. And anyway I think this week's want is a more accurate description of what I was feeling last week....

HAPPY SUNDAY, EVERYONE! The little queen bids you Good Week....

It is still winter here. It feels as if my extremities will never be warm again. BUT.. there is this, one of my favorite poems about one of my favorite things:

Ode to My Socks - Pablo Neruda

Mara Mori brought me
a pair of socks
which she knitted herself
with her sheepherder's hands,
two socks as soft as rabbits.
I slipped my feet into them
as if they were two cases
knitted with threads of twilight and goatskin,
Violent socks,
my feet were two fish made of wool,
two long sharks
sea blue, shot through
by one golden thread,
two immense blackbirds,
two cannons,
my feet were honored in this way
by these heavenly socks.
They were so handsome for the first time
my feet seemed to me unacceptable
like two decrepit firemen,
firemen unworthy of that woven fire,
of those glowing socks.

Nevertheless, I resisted the sharp temptation
to save them somewhere as schoolboys
keep fireflies,
as learned men collect
sacred texts,
I resisted the mad impulse to put them
in a golden cage and each day give them
birdseed and pieces of pink melon.
Like explorers in the jungle
who hand over the very rare green deer
to the spit and eat it with remorse,
I stretched out my feet and pulled on
the magnificent socks and then my shoes.

The moral of my ode is this:
beauty is twice beauty
and what is good is doubly good
when it is a matter of two socks
made of wool in winter.

Belly Rubs for Everyone!

It is Saturday. By some calendars, it is the end of the week, and by others, it is the beginning, and then again by others, it is just another day.  To me, these days, it is the day when I think about what I would like to happen in the week ahead.

And I recently read this post, by the most awesome Havi Brooks. And this is the big thing I would like to do this week: I would like to MEET every one/every feeling/every thing, instead of FACING them. Because I agree that there is a big difference. And I LOVE this idea of belly rubs for my fears/friends/everyone, because it feels so cozy and loving and also reminds me of how we are all vulnerable and have soft bellies.

SO. This week:
- Meeting things instead of facing them. (Particularly remembering that belly rubs are remarkably effective.)
- Warmth (it is horrifically cold this week here in New England. Perhaps in the form of baths....)
-  Not feeling guilty about eating other people's food. (This is both a literal goal and a metaphor of sorts.)

And thank you. Remembering thank you. Lillie is really good at thank you. But that's sort of a constant goal, right?

Welcome Back to Where I've Never Been

It has been a long time, my friends. And this one is sort of under a certain kind of radar, if you get my drift. BUT. There are things that need discussing, and this seems a good forum in which to do so. And if it is a proverbial message in a bottle, it is nevertheless a reaching out, which is important.

I have been thinking today about frustration. And what purpose it might serve. This morning I was listening to a comedy podcast and they were making silliness of the song John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt, and I, being the mother of a toddler who LOVES songs like John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt, could sympathize with the jokes about how annoying that song is. Particularly when repeated, at high-volume. That is an experience one might describe as frustrating.

(It turns out, of course, that the song actually has an interesting history, at least according to the comics, that revolves around immigration in the early twentieth century and how no one could tell anyone's name apart from any other recent immigrant from the same country. Which makes intuitive sense and I like as an explanation regardless of it's veracity.)

Then there is also the frustration of unfulfilled needs, which is the one I am more concerned with today. Because, my friends, I am in possession of some information the potential response to which makes me really... mmmm, nervous? Apprehensive? Uncomfortable? Angsty?

I do not want to tell! And yet. It is FRUSTRATING to not be able to. It is definitely a deep sense of dissatisfaction in not being honest. Not feeling able to be authentically myself. And why, you may ask, why do I feel unable to be myself, to tell, to be clear? Because I do not want to hear anything in response except EXACTLY what I want to hear. I do not want to listen to anyone else's views on the subject, I do not want to corrupted by other narratives of my experience, AND  I want only to hear how fabulous I am.

(Interestingly enough I am aware that the best way to hear about how fabulous you are is to be exactly yourself and then pay no attention to the people who do not tell you you are fabulous.... but somehow this is easier said than done. And how does one manage being part of a family in that instance?)

I am thinking about it. Why is it so scary to open up? Why does that feel so challenging? I have been reading a lot on the subject in recent months, but so far I do not feel clear on WHY. I have a lot of tools to OVERCOME, and to PROCESS, and to DOCUMENT the discomfort, but WHY there is that discomfort I do not yet know. What do you think? And why should it feel so truly frustrating to not share?