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