Wednesday, December 31, 2014
Tuesday, December 30, 2014
Reflections
A year of transitions. Some easy, some painful. Lots of letting go. Of being comfortable with vulnerability. Why not you say?
It takes a certain amount of courage to be vulnerable. First, you have to feel really comfortable within yourself. Second, you must enjoy being yourself most of the time. Third, don't care what others think. If you can master these, you can open yourself to a whole new way of being.
Given that it is our 'thoughts' about what has happened' once we release the thought, we can grow. The past couple of weeks have provided time to explore some thoughts. Like using my home, my ever so beloved home as a base. Going to Florida, to New Hampshire following the seasons there. Travel to visit other friends, creating more - sewing, watercolors, enjoying my own good company.
A year of transitions. My beloved dogs passed. One expected, one not. I still find myself looking for them. It has gotten easier. I actually listened to Over the Rainbow the other day without crying. Not sure if I can do that in yoga. I will let you know.
The other day, one of my children asked what I wanted in a euology.
Child: I figured out what I will say when you pass.
Me: Oh, really. Is that anytime soon?
Child: (laughing) I hope not but I want to know where you want this, where you want your ashes spread and if there is anything you want your friends to know.
Me: Just make it joyous. I never want anyone to feel bad about not having done something. Regrets are a waste of time. Just know you were loved by me. Deeply.
Child: Well, I will say you were a woman of structured whimsy. Dearly loved your friends, the community met the world to you, about your positive spirit and good wishes toward everyone.
Me: Ok. I am going to drive along the ocean. Just in case it is my last time. You never know. (laughing)
Yes, there is much to reflect on. There is also much let do do. And I can't wait to get started. Again.
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
It takes a certain amount of courage to be vulnerable. First, you have to feel really comfortable within yourself. Second, you must enjoy being yourself most of the time. Third, don't care what others think. If you can master these, you can open yourself to a whole new way of being.
Given that it is our 'thoughts' about what has happened' once we release the thought, we can grow. The past couple of weeks have provided time to explore some thoughts. Like using my home, my ever so beloved home as a base. Going to Florida, to New Hampshire following the seasons there. Travel to visit other friends, creating more - sewing, watercolors, enjoying my own good company.
A year of transitions. My beloved dogs passed. One expected, one not. I still find myself looking for them. It has gotten easier. I actually listened to Over the Rainbow the other day without crying. Not sure if I can do that in yoga. I will let you know.
The other day, one of my children asked what I wanted in a euology.
Child: I figured out what I will say when you pass.
Me: Oh, really. Is that anytime soon?
Child: (laughing) I hope not but I want to know where you want this, where you want your ashes spread and if there is anything you want your friends to know.
Me: Just make it joyous. I never want anyone to feel bad about not having done something. Regrets are a waste of time. Just know you were loved by me. Deeply.
Child: Well, I will say you were a woman of structured whimsy. Dearly loved your friends, the community met the world to you, about your positive spirit and good wishes toward everyone.
Me: Ok. I am going to drive along the ocean. Just in case it is my last time. You never know. (laughing)
Yes, there is much to reflect on. There is also much let do do. And I can't wait to get started. Again.
Sunday, December 28, 2014
Home: Where I Am
Home. Where I am.
My heart and soul are in the southern Appalachians. I simply can't get enough of these mountains.
They pull me back again and again. Perhaps they will always be my base. I am fortunate.
Maybe it is the jagged skyline. It is the quiet, the solitude, the lack of lots corporate buildings. That lack of originality where the dull are corporate style landmarks identifiable everywhere. We only have that in the fast 'food' places. Mostly.
This is my home minus about ten trees near the front of the house. Removing them greatly improved my view. The shutters are green now. It is a simple life and I adore it. I called it in.
Home. Where I am.
My heart and soul are in the southern Appalachians. I simply can't get enough of these mountains.
They pull me back again and again. Perhaps they will always be my base. I am fortunate.
Maybe it is the jagged skyline. It is the quiet, the solitude, the lack of lots corporate buildings. That lack of originality where the dull are corporate style landmarks identifiable everywhere. We only have that in the fast 'food' places. Mostly.
Home. Where I am.
Friday, December 12, 2014
On Creativity
Suddenly companies are seeking MFA's in lieu of the traditional MBA's. Now why is that?
The talent pool - the baby boomers - many of them are now retiring. Could it be for their creativity; their ability to work beyond the linear? Companies can always hire number crunchers. Conventional wisdom is just downright boring.So is flatlining.
At the same time, baby boomers are jumping into the arts both before and post retirement. Painting, weaving, pottery, woodworking. There is no gender bias toward the arts anymore. Perhaps it is because they were tired of the noose. The workplace was rigid. Men wore ties, women wore suits. Constraining both physically and humanly. There was little room for personal expression in both clothing and in one's job.
That has begun to change. More and more Fortune 100 companies are opting for casual attire, even sport shirts. Some have no collar guidelines. This is especially true in the high tech fields. They simply want your creativity. Google, Microsoft, Apple are a few.
I keep up with a lot of friends from my youth. The one thing they remember about me is my creativity. This past year, I rearranged a couple of rooms in my home. It was time for a studio. A place to look outside the window, to the gardens and the mountain range near my home. Southwestern and northwestern light come through here via two separate windows. The best of all worlds. An openness. Expansive. A new white desk serves as the platform for this. The studio also serves as a guestroom.
As I continue to find more creative outlets, I find it a curious contrast that as our government seeks more and more power and citizens continue to lose their privacy and their civil rights citizens seek a deeper means of expression now. Maybe that is why the arts attract so many people as undergraduate and graduate degrees and professions today.
For my part, I enjoy playful art. Capturing every detail doesn't matter; it matters that we capture its essence.
The talent pool - the baby boomers - many of them are now retiring. Could it be for their creativity; their ability to work beyond the linear? Companies can always hire number crunchers. Conventional wisdom is just downright boring.So is flatlining.
At the same time, baby boomers are jumping into the arts both before and post retirement. Painting, weaving, pottery, woodworking. There is no gender bias toward the arts anymore. Perhaps it is because they were tired of the noose. The workplace was rigid. Men wore ties, women wore suits. Constraining both physically and humanly. There was little room for personal expression in both clothing and in one's job.
That has begun to change. More and more Fortune 100 companies are opting for casual attire, even sport shirts. Some have no collar guidelines. This is especially true in the high tech fields. They simply want your creativity. Google, Microsoft, Apple are a few.
I keep up with a lot of friends from my youth. The one thing they remember about me is my creativity. This past year, I rearranged a couple of rooms in my home. It was time for a studio. A place to look outside the window, to the gardens and the mountain range near my home. Southwestern and northwestern light come through here via two separate windows. The best of all worlds. An openness. Expansive. A new white desk serves as the platform for this. The studio also serves as a guestroom.
As I continue to find more creative outlets, I find it a curious contrast that as our government seeks more and more power and citizens continue to lose their privacy and their civil rights citizens seek a deeper means of expression now. Maybe that is why the arts attract so many people as undergraduate and graduate degrees and professions today.
For my part, I enjoy playful art. Capturing every detail doesn't matter; it matters that we capture its essence.
Thursday, December 11, 2014
We Got It All Wrong
There is something wonderful about winter. It is an inward time. Time to reflect on the past year. The events. The twists and the turns. The beautiful and rawness of earth and all its geology. Nature. It tells the truth if we are willing to just observe.
According to Dr. Masaru Emoto from Japan, the formation of ice crystals and snowflakes is influenced by different environmental conditions, pollution, human thought and even music.
Studies undertaken by the japanese researcher have shown that aesthetically beautiful snowflakes are produced by pure water, music from classical repertories written by Beethoven and Mozart, and even positive thoughts and spoken words such as "Thank you". On the other hand, distorted and incomplete flakes developed when water molecules were exposed to heavy metal music and negative thoughts such as "You Make Me Sick, I Will Kill You".
Dr. Emoto's work is widely published worldwide but unfortunately at present has little hard scientific research to back it up. If the findings are true though then one thing is certain: with the current temperatures showing no signs of dropping in the Alps, we'll soon all be joyfully singing "Let it snow let it snow let it snow".
But my English upbringing told me to hide our emotions. They aren't polite and nobody is interested in the first place. WRONG! Good friends care about your emotions for starters. Who said emotions were polite. That is just another social construct and I don't buy it!
The truth about our emotions and the toll they take is evident in many things. One is water. Did you know that water in all of its forms tells a story?
Let's look at snowflakes, although water droplets tell a story, too. The story of the land, the story of your emotions.
The late scientist, Masaru Emoto, Ph.D. studied he hidden messages in snowflakes:
According to Dr. Masaru Emoto from Japan, the formation of ice crystals and snowflakes is influenced by different environmental conditions, pollution, human thought and even music.
Studies undertaken by the japanese researcher have shown that aesthetically beautiful snowflakes are produced by pure water, music from classical repertories written by Beethoven and Mozart, and even positive thoughts and spoken words such as "Thank you". On the other hand, distorted and incomplete flakes developed when water molecules were exposed to heavy metal music and negative thoughts such as "You Make Me Sick, I Will Kill You".
Dr. Emoto's work is widely published worldwide but unfortunately at present has little hard scientific research to back it up. If the findings are true though then one thing is certain: with the current temperatures showing no signs of dropping in the Alps, we'll soon all be joyfully singing "Let it snow let it snow let it snow".
What does your snowflake look like? Your water droplets on a given day? Yes, we got...we had...it all wrong.
Now we know.
Saturday, December 6, 2014
The Door
When one door closes, the other opens. So often in our grief, in our wanting things to be different than they are, we miss the other door that opens for us.
The door always opens. It may not open the way we want it, but it opens none-the-less.
I am reminded of an e-mail I received from one of my spiritual teachers. People respond to death in a variety of ways. I find quiet.
I am reminded of an e-mail I received from one of my spiritual teachers. People respond to death in a variety of ways. I find quiet.
Fear of Silence – Thich Nhat Hanh
While
we can connect to others more readily than ever before, Zen Master Thich Nhat
Hanh worries that we're losing our connection to body and mind. He offers a
nourishing conscious breathing practice as a remedy.
I have the impression that many of
us are afraid of silence. We’re always taking in something—text, music, radio,
television, or thoughts—to occupy the space. If quiet and space are so
important for our happiness, why don’t we make more room for them in our lives?
One of my longtime students has a
partner who is very kind, a good listener, and not overly talkative; but at
home her partner always needs to have the radio or TV on, and he likes a
newspaper in front of him while he sits and eats his breakfast.
I know a woman whose daughter loved
to go to sitting meditation at the local Zen temple and encouraged her to give
it a try. The daughter told her, “It’s really easy, Mom. You don’t have to sit
on the floor; there are chairs available. You don’t have to do anything at all.
We just sit quietly.” Very truthfully the woman replied, “I think I’m afraid to
do that.”
We can feel lonely even when we’re
surrounded by many people. We are lonely together. There is a vacuum inside us.
We don’t feel comfortable with that vacuum, so we try to fill it up or make it
go away. Technology supplies us with many devices that allow us to “stay
connected.” These days, we are always “connected,” but we continue to feel
lonely. We check incoming e-mail and social media sites multiple times a day.
We e-mail or post one message after another. We want to share; we want to
receive. We busy ourselves all day long in an effort to connect.
What are we so afraid of? We may
feel an inner void, a sense of isolation, of sorrow, of restlessness. We may
feel desolate and unloved. We may feel that we lack something important. Some
of these feelings are very old and have been with us always, underneath all our
doing and our thinking. Having plenty of stimuli makes it easy for us to
distract ourselves from what we’re feeling. But when there is silence, all
these things present themselves clearly.
When feeling lonely or anxious, most
of us have the habit of looking for distractions, which often leads to some
form of unwholesome consumption—whether eating a snack in the absence of
hunger, mindlessly surfing the Internet, going on a drive, or reading.
Conscious breathing is a good way to nourish body and mind with mindfulness.
After a mindful breath or two, you may have less desire to fill yourself up or
distract yourself. Your body and mind come back together and both are nourished
by your mindfulness of breathing. Your breath will naturally grow more relaxed
and help the tension in your body to be released.
Coming back to conscious breathing
will give you a nourishing break. It will also make your mindfulness stronger,
so when you want to look into your anxiety or other emotions you’ll have the
calm and concentration to be able to do so.
Guided meditation has been practiced
since the time of the Buddha. You can practice the following exercise when you
sit or walk. In sitting meditation, it’s important for you to be comfortable
and for your spine to be straight and relaxed. You can sit on a cushion with
your legs crossed or on a chair with your feet flat on the floor. With the
first in-breath, say the first line of the meditation below silently to
yourself, and with the out-breath say the second line. With the following
in-and out-breaths, you can use just the key words.
Breathing in, I know I’m breathing
in.
Breathing out, I know I’m breathing
out.
(In. Out.)
Breathing in, my breath grows deep.
Breathing out, my breath grows slow.
(Deep. Slow.)
Breathing out, my breath grows slow.
(Deep. Slow.)
Breathing in, I’m aware of my body.
Breathing out, I calm my body.
(Aware of body. Calming.)
Breathing out, I calm my body.
(Aware of body. Calming.)
Breathing in, I smile.
Breathing out, I release.
(Smile. Release.)
Breathing out, I release.
(Smile. Release.)
Breathing in, I dwell in the present
moment.
Breathing out, I enjoy the present moment.
(Present moment. Enjoy.)
Breathing out, I enjoy the present moment.
(Present moment. Enjoy.)
In honour of Molly and Jessy, may the door be open.
Wednesday, December 3, 2014
Heart of My Heart II
I was more than unprepared when the older of my two dogs had three grand mal seizures all due to a brain tumor. Molly passed in my arms in early September. Her sister, Jessy James, the younger and larger of the two, had an enlarged heart and congestive heart failure.
When Molly died suddenly, Jessy was lost. She yearned for her partner, her biological sister who was one year her senior. Jessy was the dominant of the two. Molly was intense, clever and caught 99% of the balls tossed her way. Jessy insisted on being first at everything, caught nothing and was always affectionate. Molly never cared. She played the role of mother to Jessy. She always guarded the door for me.
They say experiences come into your life for a reason. Both Molly and Jessy were bundles of joy. Energetic. They traveled well and endured eighteen months living in New Hampshire recently. It is fair to say they were far better at adapting to New England winters than I. I knew it was time to bring them home in January.
Yesterday, Jessy's heart began to give out. Her lungs filled with fluid. Like Molly, three months before, Jessy died in my arms.
I was honoured and privileged to care for these little buddies. Letting them go was one of the hardest things I have ever done. I loved them enough to release them. It is hard to talk about their last days. We have a lifetime of memories. Stored for a time when it is no longer so painful to remember.
I am grateful to have been allowed to care for them for so long.
Heart of my heart.
Molly (left) Jessy (right)
When Molly died suddenly, Jessy was lost. She yearned for her partner, her biological sister who was one year her senior. Jessy was the dominant of the two. Molly was intense, clever and caught 99% of the balls tossed her way. Jessy insisted on being first at everything, caught nothing and was always affectionate. Molly never cared. She played the role of mother to Jessy. She always guarded the door for me.
They say experiences come into your life for a reason. Both Molly and Jessy were bundles of joy. Energetic. They traveled well and endured eighteen months living in New Hampshire recently. It is fair to say they were far better at adapting to New England winters than I. I knew it was time to bring them home in January.
Yesterday, Jessy's heart began to give out. Her lungs filled with fluid. Like Molly, three months before, Jessy died in my arms.
I was honoured and privileged to care for these little buddies. Letting them go was one of the hardest things I have ever done. I loved them enough to release them. It is hard to talk about their last days. We have a lifetime of memories. Stored for a time when it is no longer so painful to remember.
I am grateful to have been allowed to care for them for so long.
Heart of my heart.
Tuesday, December 2, 2014
Heart Of My Heart
The past few weeks have been numbered. You missed your sister more than words can express. I had you, just you for three months since Molly's passing. I knew there was little time.
Your head was lifted high. Gasping for breath. The photo above says it all.
How can I condense twelve years and eight months into an obituary for you? Maybe your name says it all. My little girl. Jessy James.
We were closer than close. Two women. Senior citizens. Sharing love, life, my yogurt. You couldn't get enough of me. Nor I...you. We knew our time was limited. Words will never express what you have meant to me.
Heart of my heart.
Your head was lifted high. Gasping for breath. The photo above says it all.
How can I condense twelve years and eight months into an obituary for you? Maybe your name says it all. My little girl. Jessy James.
We were closer than close. Two women. Senior citizens. Sharing love, life, my yogurt. You couldn't get enough of me. Nor I...you. We knew our time was limited. Words will never express what you have meant to me.
Heart of my heart.
The Visitor
The ruby-throated hummingbird is a frequent visitor to my feeder. They seem to love the southern Appalachians as much as I.
Every sighting is a treat - irregardless of what kind of bird visits. For several years, these tiny birds would get caught inside my garage. It's pretty tall in there - a twelve foot ceiling with stairs and a landing. They couldn't navigate their way outside the large and opened garage door. They simply panic and get stuck.
All to often, they would be found on the steps or the landing. Lifeless. The easiest thing was to keep the garage door closed. But that was a challenging with working in the yard. Living on a mountain in a dense forest means there is constant work keeping the forest out of the house. One year something magical happened.
I walked into the garage after planting an array of colorful flowers in the side garden. It was a hot afternoon outside and I wanted a drink of water. I proceeded toward the garage steps. And there it was!
A ruby-throated hummingbird was wedged between the stucco foundation and the steps. My heart sank. Something told me to look closer. The bird was still.
Somewhere in that saddened heart of mine, I noticed another heart beating. At first it was slow. As I curled my hand toward it, it began its known flutter. Fast and furious. The bird gazed toward me, more vulnerable than it wanted to be.
"I am here to help," I whispered.
"Please trust me, you will be alright."
The gaze grew deeper. Two hearts were beating. I continued to move my right hand under the bird cusping it as though my hand were made of cotton. The bird was safely in my hand. Protected. Scared.
Now the task was to free the bird. Safely. Walking up the front porch steps with this precious visitor, my hand gently opened sitting the bird on the railing. The bird didn't move at first, though it's feet were touching the wood. Carefully, I backed down the steps giving it it's space and honour. Slowly, the bird turned toward the right looking at me. Suddenly, it flew away into the the dense brush of pine, dogwood, maple and hemlock.
Realizing I left something on the porch from the morning, I went back a minute later. The hummingbird flew past me much like roadrunner. I could almost here the BEEEEEEEP. Instantly it changed directions and flew a foot from my eyes. Hovering in in front of me our eyes met.
"I love you," I said softly.
I could feel the bird thanking me for helping it.
Thank you, I thought. Thank you for trusting me enough. Know I am always hear and please, the sugar water is here - drink and know you are always in my heart.
Birds have come and gone over the years. The feeder is always full, mostly fresh. But I will never forget my little visitor. And since that day, not one bird has been found lifeless in the garage.
They know.
All to often, they would be found on the steps or the landing. Lifeless. The easiest thing was to keep the garage door closed. But that was a challenging with working in the yard. Living on a mountain in a dense forest means there is constant work keeping the forest out of the house. One year something magical happened.
I walked into the garage after planting an array of colorful flowers in the side garden. It was a hot afternoon outside and I wanted a drink of water. I proceeded toward the garage steps. And there it was!
A ruby-throated hummingbird was wedged between the stucco foundation and the steps. My heart sank. Something told me to look closer. The bird was still.
Somewhere in that saddened heart of mine, I noticed another heart beating. At first it was slow. As I curled my hand toward it, it began its known flutter. Fast and furious. The bird gazed toward me, more vulnerable than it wanted to be.
"I am here to help," I whispered.
"Please trust me, you will be alright."
The gaze grew deeper. Two hearts were beating. I continued to move my right hand under the bird cusping it as though my hand were made of cotton. The bird was safely in my hand. Protected. Scared.
Now the task was to free the bird. Safely. Walking up the front porch steps with this precious visitor, my hand gently opened sitting the bird on the railing. The bird didn't move at first, though it's feet were touching the wood. Carefully, I backed down the steps giving it it's space and honour. Slowly, the bird turned toward the right looking at me. Suddenly, it flew away into the the dense brush of pine, dogwood, maple and hemlock.
Realizing I left something on the porch from the morning, I went back a minute later. The hummingbird flew past me much like roadrunner. I could almost here the BEEEEEEEP. Instantly it changed directions and flew a foot from my eyes. Hovering in in front of me our eyes met.
"I love you," I said softly.
I could feel the bird thanking me for helping it.
Thank you, I thought. Thank you for trusting me enough. Know I am always hear and please, the sugar water is here - drink and know you are always in my heart.
Birds have come and gone over the years. The feeder is always full, mostly fresh. But I will never forget my little visitor. And since that day, not one bird has been found lifeless in the garage.
They know.
Sunday, November 30, 2014
How Things Are
Driving home from Florida the last couple days, my thoughts went to relationships. They are what confuses, frustrates and hurts us so. I believe this is especially true of extroverts. After all, we get our energy from outside ourselves. That means other people. 
There are work relationships. Some are easier than others. There are platonic relationships. Those are the easiest. Less expectation. Then there are the romantic (?) relationships. Therein, lies the work. But the work isn't on the relationship. The work is within.
The best relationships I have seen are the ones that take time to develop. Neither party is in a rush. They enjoy the present. They enjoy the now. They set parameters. They enjoy themselves in the process. That is key. For other people are always our mirrors. They don't..can't...shouldn't...be responsible for providing us what we feel we are lacking. That is our job.
Some folks respond in a hurtful way. We know intellectually that is all about them. Their pain. Their work. Unfortunately, our egos kick in and we think, "how dare them." Egos can be destructive. Our egos.
Many years ago, my father was walking into my brother's second wedding. My father and I had no relationship; he had a marginal one with my brother. Standing alongside his wife, he spent about fifteen minutes in the gathering hall before the wedding. People were standing about chatting. Being. As was usual, my father, a longtime civic activist and fantastic at bringing people together for a cause, stood in the corner. But this time, he was not the center of attention.
He turned to his son, my brother, the groom who was about to marry and told him he was leaving.
"Nobody talked to me."
My brother was deeply hurt. Our father had walked out before. When we were in our teens and he was divorcing our mother to marry another. While it was a good decision for all of us, the walking out part was all too familiar. Painful.
My brother was once again a teen. His eyes welled with tears.
"Everyone had to grow up. Why can't Dad?" he said.
"It was MY wedding. Mine. My day and he couldn't even be a grown-up. Just once."
For my part, I didn't care. Dad took care of everyone else but his family. I didn't know any other way with him. While I didn't like it, I allowed him to be who he was.
Thoughts. Actions. Pain. Storylines.
Why can't people just be...like I want them to!
It isn't what happens to us, it is our thoughts about what happened to us. Ode to Epicletus.
But here is the rub. We can pick and chose, for the most part, the people with whom we wish to spend our time. We can also get caught up in the storyline.
A friend wondered how I could be friends with Xavier. Fully self-involved, rarely compliments anyone; she is a caring young woman. You might question how the two distant aspects relate. They do. She wants to care for people but she doesn't want them to get too close to her. Her pain body is usually on high alert. I enjoy my time with her. I don't expect her to be like me.
Living with myself on the side of a beautiful mountain, there is little to disrupt me. It is a about going within, no sensory overload, just nature, just me. Off to my thoughts however they appear. I have a choice. To let them consume me, or to live my best life. Cliche? Sure, but the clock is ticking. It is just how things are.
The good news is that as we age, we become more introverted. Need less from others as we have found a way to access it from ourselves. It was always there. Maybe we just didn't know where to look?
Could you be the one you lost? Focusing outside yourself? Creating storylines that never conclude. They are always the same. The tale of how we got hurt. We always have a choice. Things happen. People happen. Words and thoughts happen.
It is just how things are.
There are work relationships. Some are easier than others. There are platonic relationships. Those are the easiest. Less expectation. Then there are the romantic (?) relationships. Therein, lies the work. But the work isn't on the relationship. The work is within.
The best relationships I have seen are the ones that take time to develop. Neither party is in a rush. They enjoy the present. They enjoy the now. They set parameters. They enjoy themselves in the process. That is key. For other people are always our mirrors. They don't..can't...shouldn't...be responsible for providing us what we feel we are lacking. That is our job.
Some folks respond in a hurtful way. We know intellectually that is all about them. Their pain. Their work. Unfortunately, our egos kick in and we think, "how dare them." Egos can be destructive. Our egos.
Many years ago, my father was walking into my brother's second wedding. My father and I had no relationship; he had a marginal one with my brother. Standing alongside his wife, he spent about fifteen minutes in the gathering hall before the wedding. People were standing about chatting. Being. As was usual, my father, a longtime civic activist and fantastic at bringing people together for a cause, stood in the corner. But this time, he was not the center of attention.
He turned to his son, my brother, the groom who was about to marry and told him he was leaving.
"Nobody talked to me."
My brother was deeply hurt. Our father had walked out before. When we were in our teens and he was divorcing our mother to marry another. While it was a good decision for all of us, the walking out part was all too familiar. Painful.
My brother was once again a teen. His eyes welled with tears.
"Everyone had to grow up. Why can't Dad?" he said.
"It was MY wedding. Mine. My day and he couldn't even be a grown-up. Just once."
For my part, I didn't care. Dad took care of everyone else but his family. I didn't know any other way with him. While I didn't like it, I allowed him to be who he was.
Thoughts. Actions. Pain. Storylines.
Why can't people just be...like I want them to!
It isn't what happens to us, it is our thoughts about what happened to us. Ode to Epicletus.
But here is the rub. We can pick and chose, for the most part, the people with whom we wish to spend our time. We can also get caught up in the storyline.
A friend wondered how I could be friends with Xavier. Fully self-involved, rarely compliments anyone; she is a caring young woman. You might question how the two distant aspects relate. They do. She wants to care for people but she doesn't want them to get too close to her. Her pain body is usually on high alert. I enjoy my time with her. I don't expect her to be like me.
Living with myself on the side of a beautiful mountain, there is little to disrupt me. It is a about going within, no sensory overload, just nature, just me. Off to my thoughts however they appear. I have a choice. To let them consume me, or to live my best life. Cliche? Sure, but the clock is ticking. It is just how things are.
The good news is that as we age, we become more introverted. Need less from others as we have found a way to access it from ourselves. It was always there. Maybe we just didn't know where to look?
Could you be the one you lost? Focusing outside yourself? Creating storylines that never conclude. They are always the same. The tale of how we got hurt. We always have a choice. Things happen. People happen. Words and thoughts happen.
It is just how things are.
Friday, November 21, 2014
Through The Looking Glass
Finding your safe spot. Comfort. Speaking your truth. Testing for readiness.
Recently in a bodywork session, the therapist and I spoke of those spaces. She mostly listened while I was the student of bodywork, the teacher of chakras.
"We are on the cusps," I told her.
Defining that space where we feel safe enough to say where we are. Where we are willing to risk everything to speak. It doesn't matter that THEY hear us; it DOES matter that we do.
A friend spoke about a relationship they were having. They were terrified of where the relationship might go - more importantly that it would end. In the conversation about their experience with that person, most of what they spoke of was the person's limitations. In truth, they were also afraid of self-discovery - their own. Sharing their inner worries with another. Exposing themself.
The interesting thing about all of this is that if we can't truly expose ourselves, when the time is right, how can we ever hope to have relationship...with anyone? Significant other or platonic friend. It simply doesn't work that way.
Take a risk. Take it slow. Get to know the other person. If they don't come back, they aren't meant to. Just know in getting close to someone, don't give away the store. That comes in long term friendships. Over time. They don't need to know about past relationships. That is your business and stay in it. Or, if you are ready, let it go.
You will know who your true friends are. That is what partnerships are about - intimate ones. They are there when you need them.
There are lots of relationships. Some just ride the carousel. They look and they look. They hop off for a while to play, never fully expecting a serious grown-up relationship. They aren't grown up. They aren't ready to evolve. And that is more than okay. It just might not be where you are.
Some are exploratory. That is fine if you need to explore yourself. Further.
So pay attention to what your bodymind speaks. Listen. Obsesrve your abdominal and throat chakras. They never lie. This moment is all you have. Honor youself. After all -
Recently in a bodywork session, the therapist and I spoke of those spaces. She mostly listened while I was the student of bodywork, the teacher of chakras.
"We are on the cusps," I told her.
Defining that space where we feel safe enough to say where we are. Where we are willing to risk everything to speak. It doesn't matter that THEY hear us; it DOES matter that we do.
A friend spoke about a relationship they were having. They were terrified of where the relationship might go - more importantly that it would end. In the conversation about their experience with that person, most of what they spoke of was the person's limitations. In truth, they were also afraid of self-discovery - their own. Sharing their inner worries with another. Exposing themself.
The interesting thing about all of this is that if we can't truly expose ourselves, when the time is right, how can we ever hope to have relationship...with anyone? Significant other or platonic friend. It simply doesn't work that way.
Take a risk. Take it slow. Get to know the other person. If they don't come back, they aren't meant to. Just know in getting close to someone, don't give away the store. That comes in long term friendships. Over time. They don't need to know about past relationships. That is your business and stay in it. Or, if you are ready, let it go.
You will know who your true friends are. That is what partnerships are about - intimate ones. They are there when you need them.
There are lots of relationships. Some just ride the carousel. They look and they look. They hop off for a while to play, never fully expecting a serious grown-up relationship. They aren't grown up. They aren't ready to evolve. And that is more than okay. It just might not be where you are.
Some are exploratory. That is fine if you need to explore yourself. Further.
So pay attention to what your bodymind speaks. Listen. Obsesrve your abdominal and throat chakras. They never lie. This moment is all you have. Honor youself. After all -
“I can't go back to yesterday because I was a different person then.”
― Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland
― Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland
Tuesday, November 18, 2014
My People Are You
I don't get it. True, I was born in a cosmopolitan, ethnically diverse state.I never asked where anyone from from. I was an original, a native to Maryland. I spent my first thirty-six years there. I was an anomaly for few of the Baltimore-Washington community are natives. But they get there as fast as they can.
I have had the pleasure of living in small towns and outside large cities since athen. I have also met a variety of fascinating people.They have no boundaries and many are from outside the United States. They come here for a dream. An openness. Jobs. Schools.
What I have experienced is this. Most small towns tend to be insular. That is, they don't cotton to 'strangers', outsiders, new people, definitely new ways of thinking and being. It takes a while for them to let you in.
In the north, there is a certain coldness when you meet new people sometimes. Once you make a friend, they are friends for life. In the south, people are generally, instantly friendly. Often the first question you are asked is, "where are you from?" Until I moved south, I was never asked the question. My family of origin would call that rather impertinent. Assumptive. I ponder it and the sensibilities associated with the person asking it.
I call it curious. Further down in the conversation I am further asked if I am local. I am now. I wasn't considered local for the first year. Tragic for them. Freeing for me.
In reading a political blog yesterday by an author I always felt to be progressive, I was a bit taken aback. Insulted. She wanted to know, "who are your people?" as though it was a pass to get in. Understanding from where she comes, I will let some of it slide. She spoke about the ethnic make-up of the state. The make-up of the North Carolina congress. And understandably, she wants it to reflect the concerns and wishes of the people who live here.
I have been lucky to be socialized in places where that doesn't matter. People don't need to place you, label you or define you. They accept you because they accept themselves. Isn't that really the issue?
My world consists of anyone who is in it. I don't care about color, ethnicity or the like. My people are everywhere because we all share the same DNA.
My people are you.
I have had the pleasure of living in small towns and outside large cities since athen. I have also met a variety of fascinating people.They have no boundaries and many are from outside the United States. They come here for a dream. An openness. Jobs. Schools.
What I have experienced is this. Most small towns tend to be insular. That is, they don't cotton to 'strangers', outsiders, new people, definitely new ways of thinking and being. It takes a while for them to let you in.
In the north, there is a certain coldness when you meet new people sometimes. Once you make a friend, they are friends for life. In the south, people are generally, instantly friendly. Often the first question you are asked is, "where are you from?" Until I moved south, I was never asked the question. My family of origin would call that rather impertinent. Assumptive. I ponder it and the sensibilities associated with the person asking it.
I call it curious. Further down in the conversation I am further asked if I am local. I am now. I wasn't considered local for the first year. Tragic for them. Freeing for me.
In reading a political blog yesterday by an author I always felt to be progressive, I was a bit taken aback. Insulted. She wanted to know, "who are your people?" as though it was a pass to get in. Understanding from where she comes, I will let some of it slide. She spoke about the ethnic make-up of the state. The make-up of the North Carolina congress. And understandably, she wants it to reflect the concerns and wishes of the people who live here.
I have been lucky to be socialized in places where that doesn't matter. People don't need to place you, label you or define you. They accept you because they accept themselves. Isn't that really the issue?
My world consists of anyone who is in it. I don't care about color, ethnicity or the like. My people are everywhere because we all share the same DNA.
My people are you.
Saturday, November 15, 2014
Run Popcorn, Run
I've been reading about Popcorn Sutton recently. He was one of my heroes. A moonshiner, hiding from the revenuers and pretty successful at the escape. I liked that he did his thing. He seemed like the real McCoy. Until.
Until I learned he played to the masses. It was said he was quite the con artist. An entertainer, a man who capitalized on being what his audience wanted to see.
Oh, the selling out of the southern Appalachians! It pains me so. But we loved Popcorn. His spirit, his determination. His secrecy. And, the recipe.
Yes, he was...WAS my hero. He blindfolded tv crews and took them to his still. Wore the bibbed overalls and requisite plaid shirt. Now let's not forget the full length DUCK DYNASTY style beard. And his 1940s hat. That's the kind of hat fitting for the well dressed man about town.
This writer believed Popcorn was the real deal. A simple man living out his fantasy. But rather than serve an eighteen month sentence for making moonshine, he married and committed suicide (so we are told). Now we are told he played to the audience.
Check out the trailer:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=inbmJy0xJgk
It's been over five years since he passed. This writer is disappointed but hopeful. Hopeful to find the real deal. Somewhere. Someone who doesn't play to the dollar. But in the end, Popcorn ran his own show.
Until I learned he played to the masses. It was said he was quite the con artist. An entertainer, a man who capitalized on being what his audience wanted to see.
Oh, the selling out of the southern Appalachians! It pains me so. But we loved Popcorn. His spirit, his determination. His secrecy. And, the recipe.
Yes, he was...WAS my hero. He blindfolded tv crews and took them to his still. Wore the bibbed overalls and requisite plaid shirt. Now let's not forget the full length DUCK DYNASTY style beard. And his 1940s hat. That's the kind of hat fitting for the well dressed man about town.
This writer believed Popcorn was the real deal. A simple man living out his fantasy. But rather than serve an eighteen month sentence for making moonshine, he married and committed suicide (so we are told). Now we are told he played to the audience.
Check out the trailer:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=inbmJy0xJgk
It's been over five years since he passed. This writer is disappointed but hopeful. Hopeful to find the real deal. Somewhere. Someone who doesn't play to the dollar. But in the end, Popcorn ran his own show.
Friday, November 14, 2014
The Gift
One of my favorite sayings is,
"No one gets out of here alive."
Chekhov wrote that "life is essentially tragic." Do you buy that? It resonates poorly with me. Always has. Kind of a half glass thing. But is it really?
Let's consider the facts. We all pass. Every living thing does. Is that tragic? Maybe. But it is the nature of living things. They pass. They are not forgotten. Energy is always encoded into other forms. That we can't see it doesn't mean it doesn't exist.
Forms changes. We know that from chemistry class. So what is the issue? Fear? Thich Nhat Hanh say it well:
Free from Fear - Thich Nhat Hanh
When we are not fully present, we are not really living
Our greatest fear is that when we die, we will become nothing. Many of us believe our entire existence is limited to a particular period, our "lifespan." We believe it begins when we are born-when, out of being nothing, we become something-and it ends when we die and become nothing again. So we are filled with a fear of annihilation.
But if we look deeply, we can have a very different understanding of our existence. We can see that birth and death are just notions; they're not real. The Buddha taught that there is no birth and no death. Our belief that these ideas about birth and death are real creates a powerful illusion that causes us a great deal of suffering. When we understand that we can't be destroyed, we're liberated from fear. It's a huge relief. We can enjoy life and appreciate it in a new way.
When I lost my mother, I suffered a lot. The day she died, I wrote in my journal, "The greatest misfortune of my life has happened." I grieved her death for more than a year. Then one night, I was sleeping in my hermitage-a hut that lay behind a temple, halfway up a hill covered with tea plants in the highlands of Vietnam. I had a dream about my mother. I saw myself sitting with her, and we were having a wonderful talk. She looked young and beautiful, with her hair flowing down around her shoulders. It was so pleasant to sit and talk to her as if she had never died.
When I woke up, I had a very strong feeling that I had never lost my mother. The sense that my mother was still with me was very clear. I understood then that the idea of having lost my mother was just that: an idea. It was obvious in that moment that my mother was still alive in me and always would be.
I opened the door and went outside. The entire hillside was bathed in moonlight. Walking slowly in that soft light through the rows of tea plants, I observed that my mother was indeed still with me. My mother was the moonlight caressing me as she had so often done, very gentle, very sweet. Every time my feet touched the earth, I knew my mother was there with me. I knew this body was not mine alone but a living continuation of my mother and father, my grandparents and great-grandparents, and of all my ancestors. These feet I saw as "my" feet were actually "our" feet. Together my mother and I were leaving footprints in the damp soil.
From that moment on, the idea that I had lost my mother no longer existed. All I had to do was look at the palm of my hand, or feel the breeze on my face or the earth under my feet, to remember that my mother is always with me, available at any time.
When you lose a loved one, you suffer. But if you know how to look deeply, you have a chance to realize that his or her nature is truly the nature of no-birth, no-death. There is manifestation, and there is the cessation of manifestation in order to have another manifestation. You have to be alert to recognize the new manifestations of one person. But with practice and effort, you can do it. Pay attention to the world around you, to the leaves and the flowers, to the birds and the rain. If you can stop and look deeply, you will recognize your beloved manifesting again and again in many forms. You will release your fear and pain, and again embrace the joy of life.
The Present Is Free from Fear - When we are not fully present, we are not really living. We're not really there, either for our loved ones or for ourselves. If we're not there, then where are we? We are running, running, running, even during our sleep. We run because we're trying to escape from our fear.
We cannot enjoy life if we spend our time and energy worrying about what happened yesterday and what will happen tomorrow. If we're afraid all the time, we miss out on the wonderful fact that we're alive and can be happy right now. In everyday life, we tend to believe that happiness is only possible in the future. We're always looking for the "right" conditions that we don't yet have to make us happy. We ignore what is happening right in front of us. We look for something that will make us feel more solid, safer, more secure. But we're afraid all the time of what the future will bring-afraid we'll lose our jobs, our possessions, the people around us whom we love. So we wait and hope for that magical moment-always sometime in the future-when everything will be as we want it to be. We forget that life is available only in the present moment. The Buddha said, "It is possible to live happily in the present moment. It is the only moment we have.
From the forthcoming book Fear: Essential Wisdom for Getting Through the Storm by Thich Nhat Hanh Copyright © 2012 by Unified Buddhist Church. To be published on November 13, 2012, by HarperOne, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers. Reprinted by permission.
Thich Nhat Hanh is a Vietnamese Buddhist monk, teacher, author, and peace activist. He lives at Plum Village, a meditation center in the Dordogne region of southern France.
"No one gets out of here alive."
Chekhov wrote that "life is essentially tragic." Do you buy that? It resonates poorly with me. Always has. Kind of a half glass thing. But is it really?
Let's consider the facts. We all pass. Every living thing does. Is that tragic? Maybe. But it is the nature of living things. They pass. They are not forgotten. Energy is always encoded into other forms. That we can't see it doesn't mean it doesn't exist.
Forms changes. We know that from chemistry class. So what is the issue? Fear? Thich Nhat Hanh say it well:
Free from Fear - Thich Nhat Hanh
When we are not fully present, we are not really living
Our greatest fear is that when we die, we will become nothing. Many of us believe our entire existence is limited to a particular period, our "lifespan." We believe it begins when we are born-when, out of being nothing, we become something-and it ends when we die and become nothing again. So we are filled with a fear of annihilation.
But if we look deeply, we can have a very different understanding of our existence. We can see that birth and death are just notions; they're not real. The Buddha taught that there is no birth and no death. Our belief that these ideas about birth and death are real creates a powerful illusion that causes us a great deal of suffering. When we understand that we can't be destroyed, we're liberated from fear. It's a huge relief. We can enjoy life and appreciate it in a new way.
When I lost my mother, I suffered a lot. The day she died, I wrote in my journal, "The greatest misfortune of my life has happened." I grieved her death for more than a year. Then one night, I was sleeping in my hermitage-a hut that lay behind a temple, halfway up a hill covered with tea plants in the highlands of Vietnam. I had a dream about my mother. I saw myself sitting with her, and we were having a wonderful talk. She looked young and beautiful, with her hair flowing down around her shoulders. It was so pleasant to sit and talk to her as if she had never died.
When I woke up, I had a very strong feeling that I had never lost my mother. The sense that my mother was still with me was very clear. I understood then that the idea of having lost my mother was just that: an idea. It was obvious in that moment that my mother was still alive in me and always would be.
I opened the door and went outside. The entire hillside was bathed in moonlight. Walking slowly in that soft light through the rows of tea plants, I observed that my mother was indeed still with me. My mother was the moonlight caressing me as she had so often done, very gentle, very sweet. Every time my feet touched the earth, I knew my mother was there with me. I knew this body was not mine alone but a living continuation of my mother and father, my grandparents and great-grandparents, and of all my ancestors. These feet I saw as "my" feet were actually "our" feet. Together my mother and I were leaving footprints in the damp soil.
From that moment on, the idea that I had lost my mother no longer existed. All I had to do was look at the palm of my hand, or feel the breeze on my face or the earth under my feet, to remember that my mother is always with me, available at any time.
When you lose a loved one, you suffer. But if you know how to look deeply, you have a chance to realize that his or her nature is truly the nature of no-birth, no-death. There is manifestation, and there is the cessation of manifestation in order to have another manifestation. You have to be alert to recognize the new manifestations of one person. But with practice and effort, you can do it. Pay attention to the world around you, to the leaves and the flowers, to the birds and the rain. If you can stop and look deeply, you will recognize your beloved manifesting again and again in many forms. You will release your fear and pain, and again embrace the joy of life.
The Present Is Free from Fear - When we are not fully present, we are not really living. We're not really there, either for our loved ones or for ourselves. If we're not there, then where are we? We are running, running, running, even during our sleep. We run because we're trying to escape from our fear.
We cannot enjoy life if we spend our time and energy worrying about what happened yesterday and what will happen tomorrow. If we're afraid all the time, we miss out on the wonderful fact that we're alive and can be happy right now. In everyday life, we tend to believe that happiness is only possible in the future. We're always looking for the "right" conditions that we don't yet have to make us happy. We ignore what is happening right in front of us. We look for something that will make us feel more solid, safer, more secure. But we're afraid all the time of what the future will bring-afraid we'll lose our jobs, our possessions, the people around us whom we love. So we wait and hope for that magical moment-always sometime in the future-when everything will be as we want it to be. We forget that life is available only in the present moment. The Buddha said, "It is possible to live happily in the present moment. It is the only moment we have.
From the forthcoming book Fear: Essential Wisdom for Getting Through the Storm by Thich Nhat Hanh Copyright © 2012 by Unified Buddhist Church. To be published on November 13, 2012, by HarperOne, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers. Reprinted by permission.
Thich Nhat Hanh is a Vietnamese Buddhist monk, teacher, author, and peace activist. He lives at Plum Village, a meditation center in the Dordogne region of southern France.
And that is the present. The gift.
Wednesday, November 12, 2014
But What?
Many years ago, I was asked why I write.
"I write so I can breathe."
Being a Scorpio isn't easy. A friend once commented:
"You have so much passion."
Life is just exciting. Well, most of the time. It hasn't been too exciting recently. But that will change. 
E.O. has a new book out. http://www.nytimes.com/2014/11/11/science/in-a-window-on-eternity-edward-o-wilson-finds-a-paradise-but-says-more-are-needed.html?ref=science
I can't remember a time when I haven't read, E.O. His optimism fascinates me. I wonder how he does it. Most of my life, I have been an optimist. Well, cautiously optimistic. I always see possibilities. In things, in people. But lately, I have been frustrated. Maybe it is the ranting on social media. Mine included. I am on there less and less. Included the computer. It does allow me an interesting forum in which to write.
An environmentalist friend mentioned at lunch today, that he is rarely on the device. He loathes texting. In fact, he refuses to answer it anymore.
"They can call me," he says.
I must agree on that. It is mostly a hit and run. But I reminded him that once upon a time, people wrote letters. More detailed, I suspect. So texting is simply a short, extremely short version of it.
Back to the passion. Or the lack of it lately. I am ready for the next phase. But what?
What.
"I write so I can breathe."
Being a Scorpio isn't easy. A friend once commented:
"You have so much passion."
E.O. has a new book out. http://www.nytimes.com/2014/11/11/science/in-a-window-on-eternity-edward-o-wilson-finds-a-paradise-but-says-more-are-needed.html?ref=science
I can't remember a time when I haven't read, E.O. His optimism fascinates me. I wonder how he does it. Most of my life, I have been an optimist. Well, cautiously optimistic. I always see possibilities. In things, in people. But lately, I have been frustrated. Maybe it is the ranting on social media. Mine included. I am on there less and less. Included the computer. It does allow me an interesting forum in which to write.
An environmentalist friend mentioned at lunch today, that he is rarely on the device. He loathes texting. In fact, he refuses to answer it anymore.
"They can call me," he says.
I must agree on that. It is mostly a hit and run. But I reminded him that once upon a time, people wrote letters. More detailed, I suspect. So texting is simply a short, extremely short version of it.
Back to the passion. Or the lack of it lately. I am ready for the next phase. But what?
What.
Tuesday, November 11, 2014
Home
My grandfather was in WWI. My Dad was in the army. My mother was in the Women's Auxiliary Corps. My uncle served in the South Pacific in WII. And my stepfather was in the Marines at Pearl Harbor. Forty years later, my mother took him back. He didn't want to go. Too many bad memories. But he was glad he went. It closed so much for him.
I have issues with the military. It is all about war. Wasted money, wasted lives. We are always in one war or another. The innocent believe their country is at risk. News has historically been withheld from most of us. People go because they love what our country stands for.
The latter isn't true too much anymore. It pains me to say that. We have a lifetime, a history of being lied to. I grieve deeply for the families whose lives are forever changed because those in power are too plain greedy. It is never enough for that kind of mentality.
Even the police are wearing military uniforms these days. SWAT teams. Storm troopers. And I struggle thanking people for their service. I want them safe. Unharmed. Un-served. Home.
Home.
I have issues with the military. It is all about war. Wasted money, wasted lives. We are always in one war or another. The innocent believe their country is at risk. News has historically been withheld from most of us. People go because they love what our country stands for.
The latter isn't true too much anymore. It pains me to say that. We have a lifetime, a history of being lied to. I grieve deeply for the families whose lives are forever changed because those in power are too plain greedy. It is never enough for that kind of mentality.
Even the police are wearing military uniforms these days. SWAT teams. Storm troopers. And I struggle thanking people for their service. I want them safe. Unharmed. Un-served. Home.
Home.
Sunday, November 9, 2014
What?!
Purple. Definitely not blue, definitely not red. Purple!
At a recent get together with a bunch of friends, several of us began talking.
"Yep, the kids are on Medicaid," the young farmer said.
"Medicaid?" inquired my environmentally active friend.
"Both kids," the father said.
"They paid for everything. Pay up until they are five. We don't make enough to have insurance."
He went on to say since his social worker wife quit to have the baby, their income has really dropped.
It may be irrelevant to mention the young mother's father is a well known lawyer, the young mother's mother is a nurse.
Medicaid.
I have a real issue with this. Why is it so many feel entitled to have babies and have the taxpayers foot the bill? If you can't afford children, wait until you can. It isn't my responsibility. It used to be yours.
But this doesn't end here. It is ubiquitous. People feel entitled to munch off the public coffers.
Enough I say. Enough!
At a recent get together with a bunch of friends, several of us began talking.
"Yep, the kids are on Medicaid," the young farmer said.
"Medicaid?" inquired my environmentally active friend.
"Both kids," the father said.
"They paid for everything. Pay up until they are five. We don't make enough to have insurance."
He went on to say since his social worker wife quit to have the baby, their income has really dropped.
It may be irrelevant to mention the young mother's father is a well known lawyer, the young mother's mother is a nurse.
Medicaid.
I have a real issue with this. Why is it so many feel entitled to have babies and have the taxpayers foot the bill? If you can't afford children, wait until you can. It isn't my responsibility. It used to be yours.
But this doesn't end here. It is ubiquitous. People feel entitled to munch off the public coffers.
Enough I say. Enough!
Wednesday, November 5, 2014
Where I Live
Recently someone wrote on Facebook about the election results in my county.
"We've been F****ed," they said.
Well, I refuse to be a F***ee! Nope. No way. There is always light beyond the clouds. Always and that is where I shall live.
I am a Scorpio. As such, I feel things deeper, have advanced intuition and can read people quite easily. It has always been that way, but now it is becoming more so.
Generosity matters. Cheapness is one of the things that really turn me off. Like going into a restaurant and having the coffee shortened, or the soup shortened. You get the picture. Petty, yes - on both ends. But cheapness goes to the heart. It says no one matters. What is really going on is that THEY not you, not me, don't matter. They never have enough.
Lifelong I have always been appreciative. Appreciative of friends and family. I am lucky to have life this good. Today, post election, I remember so many things I love.
In no particular order, here are some of them:
1. My grandson running up to me jumping in my arms
2. Butterflies
3. A call from a friend
4. The morning sun
5. Going to bed
6. Fresh sheets
7. Cooking smells
8. My dog greeting me
9. Kindness
10. Organic grocery stores
11. Birds at the feeder
12. Memories of my children growing up
13. Observing growth in family and friends
14. Sunsets
15. Coming home
16. Painting a watercolor
17. Meals out
18. Cuddling under a quilt
19. Good service
20. A head of hair
"We've been F****ed," they said.
Well, I refuse to be a F***ee! Nope. No way. There is always light beyond the clouds. Always and that is where I shall live.
I am a Scorpio. As such, I feel things deeper, have advanced intuition and can read people quite easily. It has always been that way, but now it is becoming more so.
Generosity matters. Cheapness is one of the things that really turn me off. Like going into a restaurant and having the coffee shortened, or the soup shortened. You get the picture. Petty, yes - on both ends. But cheapness goes to the heart. It says no one matters. What is really going on is that THEY not you, not me, don't matter. They never have enough.
Lifelong I have always been appreciative. Appreciative of friends and family. I am lucky to have life this good. Today, post election, I remember so many things I love.
In no particular order, here are some of them:
1. My grandson running up to me jumping in my arms
2. Butterflies
3. A call from a friend
4. The morning sun
5. Going to bed
6. Fresh sheets
7. Cooking smells
8. My dog greeting me
9. Kindness
10. Organic grocery stores
11. Birds at the feeder
12. Memories of my children growing up
13. Observing growth in family and friends
14. Sunsets
15. Coming home
16. Painting a watercolor
17. Meals out
18. Cuddling under a quilt
19. Good service
20. A head of hair
Tuesday, September 30, 2014
Pain
I have been in pain for some time. Today, I had to complete a pain survey. After the survey, the doc interviewed me. I burst open explaining how I felt - nearly in tears.
"How's your pain level now?" he asked.
"Much easier," I responded.
Amazing what talk therapy will do.
This past weekend I was visiting one of my children in another state. Almost immediately my former spouse and his family arrived. More immediately, I was once again relegated to the edge of the sofa I bought them. For several hours, not one word was said to involve me in the conversation. Now mind you, I would jump in if there was something I could respond to. I don't need non-stop conversation. She did. But this isn't about her painbody.
My children are now fully grown. I don't talk babies anymore. And clearly, I was not wanted in the conversation. I wondered about their sensitivity level. What it means to be a good host. What I meant to them. By seven o'clock that night I was on my way back to my expensive hotel room.
The following day I took a taxi to visit said child in his home again. The visit began nice enough until the ex and his entourage arrived. Then the ex's new wife usurped every ounce of air in their tiny townhouse. At that point, I asked my child to drive me to the hotel. I was done. I left the following mid morning to my home in the mountains. I spent a lot of time and money to visit them and my grandchildren. It was my grandchildren's birthday weekend.
I am back home now. Back in a space where I feel safe. Safer. My walls are nice to me. Nicer than...
In thinking about this past weekend - this smacks of more abandonment. Mine. My child's even. He is his dad's son and limited emotionally. I see this the older he gets. Clearly, I have little purpose in his hi-brow and upscale lifestyle.
I have cried my eyes out too many times over this. I think about where I go during these times. I think about the anger. The fear so deep in my being. I think about abandonment and worry I will abandon him before he abandons me any further. I ask so little of my children. With this child, courtesy would be nice. Thoughtfulness, too.
My thoughts travel back sixty years. That four year old child sitting in the grass by her Baltimore home. She cried because her parents were at a funeral. She cried because she thought it was theirs. But the tears weren't just for that episode. It was all the years they couldn't be emotionally available - that she was abandoned by her father, brother and eventually her mother.
Someone close to her, who didn't really know her all that well said it all.
"Armour. You have armour on."
I guess I do. Why wouldn't I?
How do you know this? Because you wear it, too.
May we all find our way home. To ourselves. May we all let others be where they are.
"How's your pain level now?" he asked.
"Much easier," I responded.
Amazing what talk therapy will do.
This past weekend I was visiting one of my children in another state. Almost immediately my former spouse and his family arrived. More immediately, I was once again relegated to the edge of the sofa I bought them. For several hours, not one word was said to involve me in the conversation. Now mind you, I would jump in if there was something I could respond to. I don't need non-stop conversation. She did. But this isn't about her painbody.
My children are now fully grown. I don't talk babies anymore. And clearly, I was not wanted in the conversation. I wondered about their sensitivity level. What it means to be a good host. What I meant to them. By seven o'clock that night I was on my way back to my expensive hotel room.
The following day I took a taxi to visit said child in his home again. The visit began nice enough until the ex and his entourage arrived. Then the ex's new wife usurped every ounce of air in their tiny townhouse. At that point, I asked my child to drive me to the hotel. I was done. I left the following mid morning to my home in the mountains. I spent a lot of time and money to visit them and my grandchildren. It was my grandchildren's birthday weekend.
I am back home now. Back in a space where I feel safe. Safer. My walls are nice to me. Nicer than...
In thinking about this past weekend - this smacks of more abandonment. Mine. My child's even. He is his dad's son and limited emotionally. I see this the older he gets. Clearly, I have little purpose in his hi-brow and upscale lifestyle.
I have cried my eyes out too many times over this. I think about where I go during these times. I think about the anger. The fear so deep in my being. I think about abandonment and worry I will abandon him before he abandons me any further. I ask so little of my children. With this child, courtesy would be nice. Thoughtfulness, too.
My thoughts travel back sixty years. That four year old child sitting in the grass by her Baltimore home. She cried because her parents were at a funeral. She cried because she thought it was theirs. But the tears weren't just for that episode. It was all the years they couldn't be emotionally available - that she was abandoned by her father, brother and eventually her mother.
Someone close to her, who didn't really know her all that well said it all.
"Armour. You have armour on."
I guess I do. Why wouldn't I?
How do you know this? Because you wear it, too.
May we all find our way home. To ourselves. May we all let others be where they are.
Tuesday, September 23, 2014
Shame On Your House!
From early on, J and M were a done deal. M's husband worked feverishly to get her in as president of their homeowner's association. On the night of the election, no one realized the fact that J's husband a detective in their small town, would contribute to what was about to happen. J and M live next door to one another in the valley of the hollow which houses nearly sixty homes.
Two men were also elected to the homeowner's association. No one knew for the first few years that the men were consistently excluded from the monthly board meetings. Neither of them, former executives, would question or object to the exclusion or inform the residents.
After some six years on the board, a group of homeowner's learned about this behavior and organized to oust the two women. Immediately, a new board was formed. The new president R and her team were totally transparent. But they were in a quandary. The former president and vice president refused to hand over any notes. They also learned, and subsequently disclosed to the community, that the association funds were placed in the personal bank account of the president and her husband. There was never one single bank statement or paid receipt shared with the residents. Not one. Moreover, throughout the original president's tenure, she was never available by phone or by knocking on her front door. She never returned one single phone call. Her husband controlled every communication between her and the neighbors.
President R discovered immediately that M was not paying her dues. There is no record that she ever did or any record who paid dues in the past. In the past two years, the board has had to plead with M to pay the required dues which is due in January of each year.
Both M and J repeatedly violate the by-laws. Both J and M's families ride ATV's throughout the community damaging logging roads walked by residents. Not only is the noise consistently overbearing, their offspring who also ride the ATVs do not wear helmets. M's husband has a history of violence and has terrorized his neighbors. His dogs bark throughout the night as well. It is believed they are abused, too.
Last week, the new board invited the Sheriff for a meeting. The Sheriff insisted the homeowner's follow the rules including minors wearing helmets, that they be licensed drivers and a sundry of other things. Even through the roads are private, driver's must follow state driving laws.
The first day of fall this year, the board placed a lien on M's home. That day, M paid the back dues resulting in the lien on her house being removed. It is curious to note at this juncture, that M would have no way of knowing about the lien because the mail had not gone out informing them of a lien.
Once again, it is important to note that M and J are friends. J's husband is a detective in the Sheriff's Department in this county. This writer is shocked that someone in the Sheriff's Department would run their mouth, especially to a neighbor. What goes on in the Sheriff's Department is on public record. His job is to serve and protect, not run his mouth!
For shame on all your houses!
Two men were also elected to the homeowner's association. No one knew for the first few years that the men were consistently excluded from the monthly board meetings. Neither of them, former executives, would question or object to the exclusion or inform the residents.
After some six years on the board, a group of homeowner's learned about this behavior and organized to oust the two women. Immediately, a new board was formed. The new president R and her team were totally transparent. But they were in a quandary. The former president and vice president refused to hand over any notes. They also learned, and subsequently disclosed to the community, that the association funds were placed in the personal bank account of the president and her husband. There was never one single bank statement or paid receipt shared with the residents. Not one. Moreover, throughout the original president's tenure, she was never available by phone or by knocking on her front door. She never returned one single phone call. Her husband controlled every communication between her and the neighbors.
President R discovered immediately that M was not paying her dues. There is no record that she ever did or any record who paid dues in the past. In the past two years, the board has had to plead with M to pay the required dues which is due in January of each year.
Both M and J repeatedly violate the by-laws. Both J and M's families ride ATV's throughout the community damaging logging roads walked by residents. Not only is the noise consistently overbearing, their offspring who also ride the ATVs do not wear helmets. M's husband has a history of violence and has terrorized his neighbors. His dogs bark throughout the night as well. It is believed they are abused, too.
Last week, the new board invited the Sheriff for a meeting. The Sheriff insisted the homeowner's follow the rules including minors wearing helmets, that they be licensed drivers and a sundry of other things. Even through the roads are private, driver's must follow state driving laws.
The first day of fall this year, the board placed a lien on M's home. That day, M paid the back dues resulting in the lien on her house being removed. It is curious to note at this juncture, that M would have no way of knowing about the lien because the mail had not gone out informing them of a lien.
Once again, it is important to note that M and J are friends. J's husband is a detective in the Sheriff's Department in this county. This writer is shocked that someone in the Sheriff's Department would run their mouth, especially to a neighbor. What goes on in the Sheriff's Department is on public record. His job is to serve and protect, not run his mouth!
For shame on all your houses!
Monday, September 22, 2014
All The Leaves
Fall is a special time of year. As we clean out the gardens that have nourished us all year, we also clean out things in our lives that are equally spent. Sometimes it is ways of thinking that no longer serve us, sometimes it is organizations, sometimes people. Whatever it is in your world, it is a good thing. 
For one, it lightens the load. Paths cross to teach us things. When we can no longer learn from them, we are forced to release them. Second, it forces us to look at what is. Often what is isn't as bad as we think. It is our thought processes that make it 'feel' bad. Lately, I have been in my thoughts more than any time in my life. Some is seasonal, but I like to think most is because I have crossed a path enough. It is time to try something new. Step out of the comfort zone. Change things up.
Often, we don't feel that things are changing. Often it feels like the same old thing. Only when we release how we think can we begin to see the changes happening right before us. There is a shift taking place. I feel it enormously and perhaps you do as well. Please take a peek and see if any of these signs resonate with you:
\\http://earthenergyreader.wordpress.com/2012/04/30/the-most-comprehensive-list-of-ascension-symptoms/
Perhaps what has affected me most this past month is pure lethargy. No energy. And I don't feel well. While this is happening, I also see my frustration with a lot of things. But it isn't so much the things that frustrate me as much as it is my orientation, my thoughts about these things.
As life would have it, today I have run into a lot of people I admire. One such person popped into a restaurant I rarely frequent, just as I was finishing lunch. He sat down and we talked for about an hour. Nothing major, just life. Simplicity. Common sense. He is close friends with the owner and they were going hiking later together - his grandchildren and her young children. Two generations from different cultures. The fellow was a few years older than I and I shared a lot of my thoughts with him. He had similar feelings about the malaise coming over our town.
Yes, things have their cycle. It is time to allow things to fall into place as they may. Time to go within. Now.
I like people that draw others toward them. As we slip into fall, it is important to pull people in, too. Pull them close. Open more. Give them a chance. And fall back into your self.
For one, it lightens the load. Paths cross to teach us things. When we can no longer learn from them, we are forced to release them. Second, it forces us to look at what is. Often what is isn't as bad as we think. It is our thought processes that make it 'feel' bad. Lately, I have been in my thoughts more than any time in my life. Some is seasonal, but I like to think most is because I have crossed a path enough. It is time to try something new. Step out of the comfort zone. Change things up.
Often, we don't feel that things are changing. Often it feels like the same old thing. Only when we release how we think can we begin to see the changes happening right before us. There is a shift taking place. I feel it enormously and perhaps you do as well. Please take a peek and see if any of these signs resonate with you:
\\http://earthenergyreader.wordpress.com/2012/04/30/the-most-comprehensive-list-of-ascension-symptoms/
Perhaps what has affected me most this past month is pure lethargy. No energy. And I don't feel well. While this is happening, I also see my frustration with a lot of things. But it isn't so much the things that frustrate me as much as it is my orientation, my thoughts about these things.
As life would have it, today I have run into a lot of people I admire. One such person popped into a restaurant I rarely frequent, just as I was finishing lunch. He sat down and we talked for about an hour. Nothing major, just life. Simplicity. Common sense. He is close friends with the owner and they were going hiking later together - his grandchildren and her young children. Two generations from different cultures. The fellow was a few years older than I and I shared a lot of my thoughts with him. He had similar feelings about the malaise coming over our town.
Yes, things have their cycle. It is time to allow things to fall into place as they may. Time to go within. Now.
I like people that draw others toward them. As we slip into fall, it is important to pull people in, too. Pull them close. Open more. Give them a chance. And fall back into your self.
Friday, September 19, 2014
Coffee
I was nearly forty-five when I began to drink coffee. It took a while to acquire the taste. Lots of milk, much like the way I and the English drink tea was the trick. I first started having coffee at work. It probably has to do with managing a few million dollars for a non-profit. A dry job at best. Coffee made the job more palatable.
Over the years, I would grab coffee on my way to work, drinking most of it in the car. I paper cupped it back then, too. I did carry a water bottle, to my credit.
Then one day, I discovered a coffee shop in town. A newly renovated one. I was invited to sit with a few friends and we would visit for fifteen minutes before I left for the twenty-five minute drive to work. Even the gym I used had a coffee shop. My weekend routine began with my early morning work-outs and stop for coffee and a chocolate chip bagel afterward. It was my treat for a successful work-out and a nice way to start the weekend.
I even talked the owners into trying chocolate chip bagels. They insisted they would not sell. But were they surprised! They couldn't keep enough on the shelf. Often, by the time I got into the bagel shop, they were out of my favorite bagel.
When I moved south, I looked around for a coffee shop. There was none here. A year later a bakery opened advertising natural food. Not organic...natural. Their coffee was good and their bakery and cafe was wonderful. It was the talk of the town. Everyone frequented the place.They ran the cafe for almost ten years.
Suddenly, the owners made a business decision which meant they would relocate their bakery to a larger city, more central to their business. Former employees gave it a try, but their inventory and staffing wasn't adequate to sustain the business. In time, customers went elsewhere.
Enter another company in the same space who made it known that profit was more important than customers. The baked items are sugary and prices way too high for a small town. The other coffee shop in town isn't great. Bathrooms are consistently dirty as is the place. Few of my friends will even walk through the front door. The place does not keep consistent hours, either.
So what is a gal to do? It is well nigh time for a change.
Over the years, I would grab coffee on my way to work, drinking most of it in the car. I paper cupped it back then, too. I did carry a water bottle, to my credit.
Then one day, I discovered a coffee shop in town. A newly renovated one. I was invited to sit with a few friends and we would visit for fifteen minutes before I left for the twenty-five minute drive to work. Even the gym I used had a coffee shop. My weekend routine began with my early morning work-outs and stop for coffee and a chocolate chip bagel afterward. It was my treat for a successful work-out and a nice way to start the weekend.
I even talked the owners into trying chocolate chip bagels. They insisted they would not sell. But were they surprised! They couldn't keep enough on the shelf. Often, by the time I got into the bagel shop, they were out of my favorite bagel.
When I moved south, I looked around for a coffee shop. There was none here. A year later a bakery opened advertising natural food. Not organic...natural. Their coffee was good and their bakery and cafe was wonderful. It was the talk of the town. Everyone frequented the place.They ran the cafe for almost ten years.
Suddenly, the owners made a business decision which meant they would relocate their bakery to a larger city, more central to their business. Former employees gave it a try, but their inventory and staffing wasn't adequate to sustain the business. In time, customers went elsewhere.
Enter another company in the same space who made it known that profit was more important than customers. The baked items are sugary and prices way too high for a small town. The other coffee shop in town isn't great. Bathrooms are consistently dirty as is the place. Few of my friends will even walk through the front door. The place does not keep consistent hours, either.
So what is a gal to do? It is well nigh time for a change.
Saturday, September 13, 2014
Finding Enough
This year's vacation throughout New England was one of the best I have known. First of all, I got to meander. I love to meander. Stop at a bookstore. A coffee shop. A gift store. I like to sample local lore and crafts.
One of the best things was the time I spent in my beloved Vermont. I vacationed there as a child with my family. I brought my own family there numerous times. It was always my first choice of a place to live. Sadly, the long and cold New England winters will keep me away from being a resident.
Then I spent time with my family in New Hampshire and Maine. These are two states with breathtaking shore views! If you haven't traveled there, it is a must!
Coming home is always filled with anticipation. And exhaustion, especially if it is a road trip. 2,400 miles in two weeks meant I was in my compact car a lot. It is a cozy car, great mileage and reasonably comfy.
Three days after I returned home, one of my dogs had the first of what would be three grand mal seizures. Now I am good in a crisis. I have been in a few near death ones. The death of others, not mine. Fortunately.
There is nothing like a crisis where you are rendered totally helpless. All you have is your own skill and loving heart and compassion. During my vacation I thought about this. The times in my life where I felt supported, the people who supported me and my own good common sense going through whatever I was going through. Self-reliability. That is the ticket.
Making the decision to put my dog down was easy. Saying goodbye was not. She was suffering and I would never let her suffer. Again. Thrice is enough. But I learned something during these few weeks. At the same time my dog had her grand mal, I came down with a horrendous urinary tract infection. On a weekend of all things. Fortunately it was only a few days of misery before I got the medication. Then my dog was seizuring. Then again. I took her to the vet and later that day she seizured the last time.
I cried more over Molly's passing than I have in many years. In those Niagara Falls tears, I let go of so many things that apparently had been hanging on. Then I got a horrible virus. No doubt due to a compromised immune system. I had already been on Elderberry and probiotics and lots of vitamins. The letting go had to happen.
So I cut my long fingerheads off, cut off my hair and decided to continue my reclusing. My home is cozy enough. A few trips into town is all I need. Really. I like my space. Quiet.
The finding enough part comes from within. From having no place to turn with sorrow. Your friends are there, if you are lucky. Mine sure were. But your wise body-mind tells you, forces you...to go deeper. To take a look at why...where...you suffer. Crying is therapeutic. It cleanses the self. It helps you to examine your belief systems about the universe. About government. About truth. Accountability. About yourself. To let go. Ultimately.
Finding enough? I am.
One of the best things was the time I spent in my beloved Vermont. I vacationed there as a child with my family. I brought my own family there numerous times. It was always my first choice of a place to live. Sadly, the long and cold New England winters will keep me away from being a resident.
Then I spent time with my family in New Hampshire and Maine. These are two states with breathtaking shore views! If you haven't traveled there, it is a must!
Coming home is always filled with anticipation. And exhaustion, especially if it is a road trip. 2,400 miles in two weeks meant I was in my compact car a lot. It is a cozy car, great mileage and reasonably comfy.
Three days after I returned home, one of my dogs had the first of what would be three grand mal seizures. Now I am good in a crisis. I have been in a few near death ones. The death of others, not mine. Fortunately.
There is nothing like a crisis where you are rendered totally helpless. All you have is your own skill and loving heart and compassion. During my vacation I thought about this. The times in my life where I felt supported, the people who supported me and my own good common sense going through whatever I was going through. Self-reliability. That is the ticket.
Making the decision to put my dog down was easy. Saying goodbye was not. She was suffering and I would never let her suffer. Again. Thrice is enough. But I learned something during these few weeks. At the same time my dog had her grand mal, I came down with a horrendous urinary tract infection. On a weekend of all things. Fortunately it was only a few days of misery before I got the medication. Then my dog was seizuring. Then again. I took her to the vet and later that day she seizured the last time.
I cried more over Molly's passing than I have in many years. In those Niagara Falls tears, I let go of so many things that apparently had been hanging on. Then I got a horrible virus. No doubt due to a compromised immune system. I had already been on Elderberry and probiotics and lots of vitamins. The letting go had to happen.
So I cut my long fingerheads off, cut off my hair and decided to continue my reclusing. My home is cozy enough. A few trips into town is all I need. Really. I like my space. Quiet.
The finding enough part comes from within. From having no place to turn with sorrow. Your friends are there, if you are lucky. Mine sure were. But your wise body-mind tells you, forces you...to go deeper. To take a look at why...where...you suffer. Crying is therapeutic. It cleanses the self. It helps you to examine your belief systems about the universe. About government. About truth. Accountability. About yourself. To let go. Ultimately.
Finding enough? I am.
Sunday, September 7, 2014
On Loss
Over the years, I've known some losses. Loss of my dad, who walked out on us. Loss of my brother who moved away young in life. Loss of my mom who cut everyone off. That is my family of origin. I don't talk about it much. The pain runs deep.
I married a man who was not able to have a relationship. With anyone. It took me 28 years married, 2 years with him before marriage, to love myself enough to expect..want... more. More in a relationship. Perhaps that is the worst kind of pain. Wanting something that you just can't have. Then having to do something about it.
But that is also good news. It is about ultimately wanting something from yourself. Something that you can provide. It really isn't that hard. You just have to be still. Present. It doesn't come from running away.
I am in pain now. My dog passed a few days ago. She is the one looking up.
This photo was taken just before Molly passed, the last photo of my dogs together.
Molly had three grand mal seizures the days before. She knows. She is smelling an animal in the woods. It is a familiar pose. Her younger sister, Jessy is investigating something on the ground.
Molly is gone now. Watching her sister, who is in very poor health, looking all around for her, breaks my heart. Jessy always wants to go into the garage now. She walks around the car and wants to go into it. At first, I wasn't sure what this was about. So I took her into town. Never one to walk on a leash, she walked side to side. After a time, she began to look around. While I didn't see her tail wag, she did begin to perk up a bit. When it was time to go home, she found our car easily enough and sat down. She loves riding in the back. Loves looking outside.
this photo was taken yesterday
Loss is the great teacher. A sad teacher but a necessary one. It forces you to deal with the myriad of things in your life, things in your world that you refuse to deal with. We push these things aside, deny them hide them. We tell ourselves we have to move on. But we don't. Not really. These things are always present. Stored for that time when it is no longer so painful to remember. Stored for a time when you can no longer control it. Your collective pain body is about to burst. You burst for so many reasons.
I don't want to store any more pain. Ever. It only makes the losses were difficult. Like you, I have known my share of losses. But they won't be stored for a time when it is safe to remember. It is safe to have all of these feelings.
Now.
I married a man who was not able to have a relationship. With anyone. It took me 28 years married, 2 years with him before marriage, to love myself enough to expect..want... more. More in a relationship. Perhaps that is the worst kind of pain. Wanting something that you just can't have. Then having to do something about it.
But that is also good news. It is about ultimately wanting something from yourself. Something that you can provide. It really isn't that hard. You just have to be still. Present. It doesn't come from running away.
I am in pain now. My dog passed a few days ago. She is the one looking up.
Molly had three grand mal seizures the days before. She knows. She is smelling an animal in the woods. It is a familiar pose. Her younger sister, Jessy is investigating something on the ground.
Molly is gone now. Watching her sister, who is in very poor health, looking all around for her, breaks my heart. Jessy always wants to go into the garage now. She walks around the car and wants to go into it. At first, I wasn't sure what this was about. So I took her into town. Never one to walk on a leash, she walked side to side. After a time, she began to look around. While I didn't see her tail wag, she did begin to perk up a bit. When it was time to go home, she found our car easily enough and sat down. She loves riding in the back. Loves looking outside.
Loss is the great teacher. A sad teacher but a necessary one. It forces you to deal with the myriad of things in your life, things in your world that you refuse to deal with. We push these things aside, deny them hide them. We tell ourselves we have to move on. But we don't. Not really. These things are always present. Stored for that time when it is no longer so painful to remember. Stored for a time when you can no longer control it. Your collective pain body is about to burst. You burst for so many reasons.
I don't want to store any more pain. Ever. It only makes the losses were difficult. Like you, I have known my share of losses. But they won't be stored for a time when it is safe to remember. It is safe to have all of these feelings.
Now.
Friday, September 5, 2014
Thoughts
Jessy was quiet last night. This morning it was hard to arouse her. She finally stood up and came to the door. Alone. There was a sadness on her face I had not seen. Until now.
She coughed last night and it has continued intermittently this morning. Walking is becoming more difficult for her. Her life and Molly's were contained. They never ran free, were always secured either in the gated back yard, anchored in the car or on a leash. They did run free in the woods where I live with me close by. Always.
The wood floors near the garage door reflect Jessy's competitive ways. Deep ruts, almost looking like a bowling alley. They are noticeable. Part of our history together. But that is what a home is. It reveals the natures of the people who live in it. Their passions, likes, dislikes, interests. For now, I just want to love the last of my dogs. Fully. The stools reveal puppy teeth marks from Molly's first few months. I adore them and wouldn't...won't change them.
Jessy has been coughing this morning. Her breathing becomes more labored and her oversized heart pounds. Until she falls asleep and then it is barely noticeable. Sometimes I think she is like a bear beginning hibernation. But I know better.
I'll see how she does this morning. I may even call the veterinarian if the breathing challenges continue. She is under a lot of stress having witnessed her sister's seizures. Molly's passing yesterday. She is sad. Lonely. Lost.
I've been thinking a lot about being lost recently. Being in unfamiliar territory. Last night, I dreamed about a burglar. People breaking into my home. There were several burglaries in my dream and I came face-to-face with all of the burglars. None of them were violent. They just wanted things. They even talked about them. Why they had to look outside of themselves for what they could access within.
We all want things. We fail to appreciate, have gratitude for all we receive. It isn't in things, though we do enjoy them, but it is more about the people in our lives who offer us so many learning experiences. They make us examine how we are. Come clean with ourselves about what is really going on.
Lately, I have thought about whether I feel safe now. My dogs were always a warning system. A thermostat. A reminder. But the dogs were not in the dream. Though sadness about losing them was heavy on my sleeping body.
Calls from three New Hampshire friends last night made me reflect. Maybe that is why memories of my eighteen months in the apartment in New Hampshire were so vivid. Delicious. They were wonderful memories, highlighting the best of our experience. Friendships.
As I awakened this morning, I thought about all the ways we feel and don't feel safe. What we fear and the journeys necessary to move beyond the fear. Holding my dying dog was none of that. It was an extraordinary moment to love and honor her. To ease her passing. I am in gratitude for all of that.
I continue to be amazed at the comments left for me in e-mails, friends calling on the phone, text messages and Facebook comments both as public and private messages. Endearing ones.
We are lucky to be in a community of lifetime friends from all over North America. Maybe it is the stage we are in where we have the time, take the time to connect more with our hearts. The heartfelt comments and friendship are so appreciated.
Thank you all for being there for me.
She coughed last night and it has continued intermittently this morning. Walking is becoming more difficult for her. Her life and Molly's were contained. They never ran free, were always secured either in the gated back yard, anchored in the car or on a leash. They did run free in the woods where I live with me close by. Always.
The wood floors near the garage door reflect Jessy's competitive ways. Deep ruts, almost looking like a bowling alley. They are noticeable. Part of our history together. But that is what a home is. It reveals the natures of the people who live in it. Their passions, likes, dislikes, interests. For now, I just want to love the last of my dogs. Fully. The stools reveal puppy teeth marks from Molly's first few months. I adore them and wouldn't...won't change them.
Jessy has been coughing this morning. Her breathing becomes more labored and her oversized heart pounds. Until she falls asleep and then it is barely noticeable. Sometimes I think she is like a bear beginning hibernation. But I know better.
I'll see how she does this morning. I may even call the veterinarian if the breathing challenges continue. She is under a lot of stress having witnessed her sister's seizures. Molly's passing yesterday. She is sad. Lonely. Lost.
I've been thinking a lot about being lost recently. Being in unfamiliar territory. Last night, I dreamed about a burglar. People breaking into my home. There were several burglaries in my dream and I came face-to-face with all of the burglars. None of them were violent. They just wanted things. They even talked about them. Why they had to look outside of themselves for what they could access within.
We all want things. We fail to appreciate, have gratitude for all we receive. It isn't in things, though we do enjoy them, but it is more about the people in our lives who offer us so many learning experiences. They make us examine how we are. Come clean with ourselves about what is really going on.
Lately, I have thought about whether I feel safe now. My dogs were always a warning system. A thermostat. A reminder. But the dogs were not in the dream. Though sadness about losing them was heavy on my sleeping body.
Calls from three New Hampshire friends last night made me reflect. Maybe that is why memories of my eighteen months in the apartment in New Hampshire were so vivid. Delicious. They were wonderful memories, highlighting the best of our experience. Friendships.
As I awakened this morning, I thought about all the ways we feel and don't feel safe. What we fear and the journeys necessary to move beyond the fear. Holding my dying dog was none of that. It was an extraordinary moment to love and honor her. To ease her passing. I am in gratitude for all of that.
I continue to be amazed at the comments left for me in e-mails, friends calling on the phone, text messages and Facebook comments both as public and private messages. Endearing ones.
We are lucky to be in a community of lifetime friends from all over North America. Maybe it is the stage we are in where we have the time, take the time to connect more with our hearts. The heartfelt comments and friendship are so appreciated.
Thank you all for being there for me.
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