She Said…

She said she couldn’t do it. She said that she would rather die than leave her home. She said that she was so lonely she just couldn’t imagine facing another day. She said that if we took her car away she would just buy a new one. She said that, that dent in the front of her car was not her fault because she didn’t remember hitting anything. She said that she was not as old as all the old people in the dining room. She said that she was afraid she couldn’t keep up. She said she didn’t want to live like this. She said she wanted to see my father one last time. She said she hadn’t slept in nights. She said she slept like a baby. She said she still couldn’t find the bathroom. She said she learned to Wii bowl. She said she missed her own kitchen. She said the food was really good. She said the Girl Scouts who came to carol were adorable. She said she couldn’t wait for baby Eloise to come visit. She said she made a new friend. She said she thought this might turn out all right. She said thank you.

They Say, “You teach what you need”

Does it matter what we do? Really! How many authors get a book published and are asked right away if they have another book in the works? Or a new mother, barely getting the hang of breast-feeding, asked if there will be baby number 2? Can we be content to navigate the lives we lead…as ordinary as they are at times? Yes, there are extraordinary moments, there are.  We are capable of great things, but they only come out of hours, days, weeks, years of ordinary. Should the ordinary be overlooked, or devalued in hopes that extraordinary will ultimately define us? I don’t think so, because the biggest part of each one of us is ordinary. Just Ordinary!

Compare our ordinary lives to women living in the Congo. Wouldn’t every second of our ordinary become their extraordinary? Isn’t managing to run a household, grocery shop, fight with loved ones and make up; go to church or temple or synagogue  extraordinary? Isn’t is extraordinary that we can call a friend, lift their spirits, console and support? Isn’t it extraordinary that we have just enough money to pay MOST of our bills, put food in our mouths and still be generous with others?

If we can be content with the ordinary, then aren’t we living extraordinary lives? Because I think CONTENT is really the most significant of accomplishments.

 

RE-POST (“you teach what you need”…today I needed this).

My Own Private Tony Award 

July, 2011

Who among us doesn’t have a story…one we tell others and one we tell ourselves. There isn’t a person, given enough time, that can’t teach us a thing or two about overcoming adversity, fear and insurmountable challenge. It always makes me feel like a small part of something so powerful when someone confides in me what they have had to do to wake up and face yet another new and often impossible day. The experiences each of us goes through contributes to the depth and richness of our lives. It is the things we face, the heartaches we bear that do in fact make us stronger and our lives richer…eventually.  If we manage to survive what often times feels like un-survivable, we have stories to tell that prove the notion that we are each stronger than we think we are.

Then there are the secret…dirty little secret…stories we tell ourselves. The theater is dark, the stage is empty and yet we execute an entire drama inside our heads; stories of self loathing, stories of inadequacies, stories of worthlessness. I have one…over and over again I see it and hear it and it tells me that I have never been, nor will I ever be successful at anything. depending on my circumstances, levels of depression, lack of self-confidence the story can render me helpless. My story of inadequacy, as ridiculous as it may seem to others, makes perfect sense to me. I know it, I have cultivated it and shaped it for years and years…It is my story and I am sticking with it (no matter how much therapy there is).

Yet the “stories” that others live by, listen to and believe are so completely ridiculous to me. how many amazing writers among us, wake up each day and feel that today is the day they will be discovered for the fraud they know themselves to be. How many gorgeous young women spend day in and day out comparing themselves to any number of photo-shopped images and find that they are disgusting by comparison. How many young devoted mothers tell themselves every minute of every day that they are doomed to be the same kind of distant, unfeeling parent who raised them. How many men live day in and day out with feelings of inadequacy around what they can provide and how they can compete; young teens who beat themselves up on a regular basis because they are different from the norm.

What is it about the negative thoughts that claim the lion’s share of our thinking brain cells? Why does one or two or even ten disparaging remarks/thoughts carry so much more weight than the thousands of uplifting ones we are likely to hear in a life time.

I am voting that the new mantra be… I AM ENOUGH. How about that for story…how about that replacing the countless hours of self doubt; the wasted comparisons to those who look like they have it all…because I know those people. The stories they tell themselves are the same ones you tell yourself and I tell myself. The secret dark theater thoughts where the story comes alive and is real enough and vivid enough that the Tony Awards should have a category for performances such as these. Those people, the ones who must be so very confident,  are looking at you and thinking that you’re the one who must have it all together.

Each of us deserves a break from self-imposed suffering. We do.

I know you. I read your brilliant thoughts; I am humbled by your beauty; in awe of your unlimited capacity for love, creativity and stunning accomplishments. You are more than enough. And the deal is if you don’t know and live as if you are, you confirm the shameful story I tell myself. Because I watch you, am inspired by you and follow the examples I trust you to create.

You are enough, and I hope to be just like you someday.

Night Vision

There are times, when darkness is all there is. When I hold my weary hand up in front of my face, there is nothing there…no light, no hope, no relief. I panic. I want there to be light. I want an answer, a reprieve, a savior. I hate the feeling of being immobilized and stopped. I have stuff to do, things to get accomplished, people to serve and lives to save. I cannot afford to waste my time in the dark, accomplishing nothing. And yet…there it is. It wraps around me like thick fog on a San Francisco morning. No matter how hard I strain to see through it, nothing changes….

So I have no choice but to give in, surrender to the stillness of it all. Waiting for light, knowing I cannot hurry it. Do I feel helpless? Yes! Then I start to feel acceptance; really what else is there when you cannot change what is.  I cannot force the sun to come up it does what it does of it’s own accord. I must wait. While I am waiting, can I rest? Can I rest enough to gather energy for what is ahead? Certain animals hypernate…maybe that’s what this is. Maybe allowing for this time of inactivity I am insuring my strength for what surely is to come. My willingness to sit in the dark is my offering to the light that is inevitable.

 

 

 

 

 

Love Is All That Matters

We are living in insane times. It is every where: record numbers of people living on the streets, going hungry. Our financial foundation compromised to it’s core: lost jobs, lost homes, lost dreams. AND YET…in-spite of what is hard, and painful and devastatingly real, if we are loved and truly love someone else, there is light at the end of any dark tunnel. After all, love is the one thing that at the end of each of our lives, we won’t regret, and wish there had been more of. My treasured friend, Hollye Dexter says it all…”love is all that matters”.

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 28, 2011

Lessons Learned At A Funeral

     I’ve been to more funerals in my life than I care to count. And I have sat bedside with critically ill friends at the ends of their lives. Although it has been painful, I consider this a privilege, for they have taught me valuable life lessons.

My dear friend of 25 years, Phyllis, was like a second mother to me. I loved her with all my heart, but she was a difficult woman. She was tall, strong, a force to be reckoned with, but she spent a lot of her life being offended by people. She was prickly and cantankerous. I’d had a few run-ins with her over the years, and she’d made me cry more than once, but always we came back to a place of love. The last time I saw Phyllis on her deathbed, all her hard edges had softened as she began to wither away. She looked so vulnerable, like a tiny baby bird in a nest of hospital blankets. She was peaceful, finally. Soon she would join her husband and son in the afterlife. The last thing this tough woman said to me before she died- “Love is all that matters.”

     A year later, I would watch my friend John die from a brain tumor. At the end, I sat holding his hand while Troy played John’s beloved baby grand piano. The tumor had robbed him of his ability to speak in sentences, but there was no need for words. What mattered was clearly present in that room. John looked into my eyes, took my hand and squeezed it tight. With his other hand patting his heart, he said “So much…so much…”

     This Sunday I attended yet another funeral; a sad, tragic funeral of a woman who died much too young. Andrea was Dani’s little sister. I can still see her sitting cross-legged on her bed at thirteen years old, talking about her boyfriend, as Dani and I were putting on make-up, getting ready to go out to some party or High School football game. Andrea, just a little girl in my memory, with her long wavy hair, and a whole life ahead of her.

Now she is ashes.

     There had been hurt and misunderstanding between Dani and her sister over the years, and some of Andrea’s life decisions caused her to distance herself from those who loved her. Yet, on the last day of her life as she lied comatose in her hospital bed, Andrea opened her eyes and smiled at Dani. Nothing needed to be said. What was left at the end, above all the broken hearts and hurt feelings, was love.

     At the funeral on Sunday, Andrea’s two teenage daughters, now orphaned, stood up and spoke about their love for their mother. Her oldest, Megan, lamented about all the time they spent fighting over petty things. That time could never be regained, time which could have been spent loving each other. I heard that message loud and clear.

Since Sunday, I have witnessed a lot of anger amongst my friends and family, some of it at each other, some at me, over small things, which will one day be long forgotten.  But Sunday put things in perspective for me. I don’t intend to waste a second of my precious life, which I am so lucky to have, quibbling over small things. I want to spend the hours of my life loving my family and friends, and helping others to do the same. I won’t be swayed from this.

     People often comment on my relationship with Troy, how much in love we are after so many years. The reason our love has lasted is not because we don’t fight. We do. It doesn’t happen much anymore but in the early years, we almost didn’t make it. What saved us, time and again, is that we always come back to a place of love. Always. The love we have for each other is larger than either of our needs to be right or to be vindicated. The love outweighs our egos.

My friendship with Erin is that way. We are a couple of strong-willed broads and we’ve collided spectacularly at times, but again, what I love so much about Erin is her great heart, which prevails over everything else, as does mine. As does Dani’s.

     Life is rattling my cage pretty hard right now, testing me, challenging me to walk my talk. I ask myself, if I were lying on my deathbed, would these issues matter?

My life’s mission is to live a life of integrity, love and honesty, and to help others do the same. No matter what is thrown at me, I will stand strong in that mission, unshakable. For I know what will matter on my own deathbed is the love and kindness I shared with people.

     Phyllis said it, John said it, and an eighteen year-old girl who’s had to grow up way too fast said it best. Love is all that matters.

(truth and consequences blog by hollye dexter)

http://hollyedexter.blogspot.com/2011/09/lessons-learned-at-funeral.html

Love is all That Matters

We are living in insane times. It is every where: record numbers of people living on the streets, going hungry. Our financial foundation compromised to it’s core: lost jobs, lost homes, lost dreams. AND YET…in-spite of what is hard, and painful and devastatingly real, if we are loved and truly love someone else, there is light at the end of any dark tunnel. After all, love is the one thing that at the end of each of our lives, we won’t regret, and wish there had been more of. My treasured friend, Hollye Dexter says it all…”love is all that matters”.

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 28, 2011

Lessons Learned At A Funeral

     I’ve been to more funerals in my life than I care to count. And I have sat bedside with critically ill friends at the ends of their lives. Although it has been painful, I consider this a privilege, for they have taught me valuable life lessons.

My dear friend of 25 years, Phyllis, was like a second mother to me. I loved her with all my heart, but she was a difficult woman. She was tall, strong, a force to be reckoned with, but she spent a lot of her life being offended by people. She was prickly and cantankerous. I’d had a few run-ins with her over the years, and she’d made me cry more than once, but always we came back to a place of love. The last time I saw Phyllis on her deathbed, all her hard edges had softened as she began to wither away. She looked so vulnerable, like a tiny baby bird in a nest of hospital blankets. She was peaceful, finally. Soon she would join her husband and son in the afterlife. The last thing this tough woman said to me before she died- “Love is all that matters.”

     A year later, I would watch my friend John die from a brain tumor. At the end, I sat holding his hand while Troy played John’s beloved baby grand piano. The tumor had robbed him of his ability to speak in sentences, but there was no need for words. What mattered was clearly present in that room. John looked into my eyes, took my hand and squeezed it tight. With his other hand patting his heart, he said “So much…so much…”

     This Sunday I attended yet another funeral; a sad, tragic funeral of a woman who died much too young. Andrea was Dani’s little sister. I can still see her sitting cross-legged on her bed at thirteen years old, talking about her boyfriend, as Dani and I were putting on make-up, getting ready to go out to some party or High School football game. Andrea, just a little girl in my memory, with her long wavy hair, and a whole life ahead of her.

Now she is ashes.

     There had been hurt and misunderstanding between Dani and her sister over the years, and some of Andrea’s life decisions caused her to distance herself from those who loved her. Yet, on the last day of her life as she lied comatose in her hospital bed, Andrea opened her eyes and smiled at Dani. Nothing needed to be said. What was left at the end, above all the broken hearts and hurt feelings, was love.

     At the funeral on Sunday, Andrea’s two teenage daughters, now orphaned, stood up and spoke about their love for their mother. Her oldest, Megan, lamented about all the time they spent fighting over petty things. That time could never be regained, time which could have been spent loving each other. I heard that message loud and clear.

Since Sunday, I have witnessed a lot of anger amongst my friends and family, some of it at each other, some at me, over small things, which will one day be long forgotten.  But Sunday put things in perspective for me. I don’t intend to waste a second of my precious life, which I am so lucky to have, quibbling over small things. I want to spend the hours of my life loving my family and friends, and helping others to do the same. I won’t be swayed from this.

     People often comment on my relationship with Troy, how much in love we are after so many years. The reason our love has lasted is not because we don’t fight. We do. It doesn’t happen much anymore but in the early years, we almost didn’t make it. What saved us, time and again, is that we always come back to a place of love. Always. The love we have for each other is larger than either of our needs to be right or to be vindicated. The love outweighs our egos.

My friendship with Erin is that way. We are a couple of strong-willed broads and we’ve collided spectacularly at times, but again, what I love so much about Erin is her great heart, which prevails over everything else, as does mine. As does Dani’s.

     Life is rattling my cage pretty hard right now, testing me, challenging me to walk my talk. I ask myself, if I were lying on my deathbed, would these issues matter?

My life’s mission is to live a life of integrity, love and honesty, and to help others do the same. No matter what is thrown at me, I will stand strong in that mission, unshakable. For I know what will matter on my own deathbed is the love and kindness I shared with people.

     Phyllis said it, John said it, and an eighteen year-old girl who’s had to grow up way too fast said it best. Love is all that matters.

(truth and consequences blog by hollye dexter)

http://hollyedexter.blogspot.com/2011/09/lessons-learned-at-funeral.html

A Pile of Stones

Molly’s daughter, Haley, writes for a blog calledDeeper Story. Today she’s written on judgement, both the way we judge others, and the smoke screen it casts as we judge ourselves. Here’s a bit of what she’s written…

A pile of stones at my feet. The accused are lined up before me.

I feel the pores of the rock against my palm. It is heavy in my hand. Weighty.

“Let him who is without sin among you be the first to cast a stone.”

I grip the rock tighter, running through a mental checklist of the sins of the accused.

“Let him who is without sin among you be the first to cast a stone.”

“They need to learn,” I think, words ripping through my brain as the sweat from my palms seeps into the crevices of the rock. “How else will they know they can never measure up?”

You can read the rest of this post over at Deeper Story.

 

 

Tempest

Your breath flows through me

breaking every bone,

ending every sentence…

I’m falling up now, as through water.

Head, then shoulders

collar bones filled with sand;

Tiny stones splitting my skin.

and I’m sinking

sinking, sinking upward.

What a perfect manner in which to stow away an epic;

deep into a dusty corner on your lowest shelf,

along with all your classics.

The sea echoes in my chest

slow, undulating waves wash away the land.

Somewhere in the lazy, hazy days of summer

my ‘self’ slipped from me.

It was replaced with the callouses on your hands

with your humming in the shower,

your furrowed brow reading the morning news;

your favorite ice cream, your fears, your sleep talking

you, you, you.

and gone, myself, whom I’ve traded to have you

http://katevanraden.wordpress.com/

A Piece on Peace

My husband and I have only lately taken to playing games…our choices are still fairly limited as are our patience to learn anything new. We don’t play RISK (taken too many after 60 years and looking for something simpler). Not Monopoly (too much risk, loss and competition). Not Bridge (to complicated). Not Hearts, or Crazy Eights, or Strip Poker…to easy, too crazy, too embarrassing.

We do play Backgammon almost every morning while we have our coffee. Great game. You can talk while you play…you can cheat if you have to…you can swear like a drunken sailor and it makes the game more fun. We play best two out of three. Sometimes we only have to play two because I can kick his ass twice in a row,  or he rolls nothing but doubles and kicks mine.

We were given a new game the other day. Seemed fairly easy and straight forward…no rule book or instructions. The game has 30 cards. Each card is printed with one word that states a personal belief or value…i.e. integrity, compassion, family, relationships, stability, etc. etc. etc. The object of the game is to start with a stack of these cards and discard one, two, three…well all of them, except the last ONE. The one you do not discard is the one THING that you value above all else.

It was easy for me to toss aside Financial Security, Fame, Affiliation, Service, Creativity. But choose between Family, Relationships, Friends…not so easy. We played 3 hands. Each time, my last card, the final answer was Relationships. I figured I could toss the Family and Friends cards and cover them all with Relationships.

3 hands, each time my husband chose Peace. “Really”, I said. “You chose Peace over Family, Friends, Relationships?”  He said, “Without Peace, you got nothing. I can’t think of anything better to hold on to.”

My husband is a man of few words. But sometimes the ones that come out of his mouth when I am least expecting them, speak volumes.

Peace…I wish for you and yours Peace to hold on to.

The Awesome Job of Being a Father

“He made the terrible discovery that men make about their fathers sooner or later… that the man before him was not an aging father but a boy, a boy much like himself, a boy who grew up and had a child of his own and, as best he could, out of a sense of duty and, perhaps love, adopted a role called Being a Father so that his child would have something mythical and infinitely important: a Protector, who would keep a lid on all the chaotic and catastrophic possibilities of life.”

by Tom Wolf.

 

The calls started early this morning. My beloved husband has 4 children…two of them with me…two of them I fell in love with as I did him, 32 years ago. We are a family. Not unlike every other family, we are not perfect. That being said, I know that each one of our children love and adore their father. He is a man of limitless support. He is a man who quietly but deliberately clears the way for each of them to the best of his ability. He has enough love to envelope those young ones who have wondered into our lives, not biologically his, but love them he does.

My husband doesn’t gush, yet he tells each one of them, every time he prepares to end a phone conversation, that he loves them. He inquires about the condition of their tires; their jobs, their relationships. He offers encouragement and advice, mostly about following their dreams, overcoming fear and using their voices to ask for what they need. He once treated our teenage daughter to a pedicure and ended up coming home with bright pink polish on each of his own toes. He has taught them to fly fish, raft, climb mountains, generally love the out-of-doors.

My children see in him what they believe in and what they want to be. They see a man able to laugh and play like a boy who will never stop seeing the world thru eyes of wonder. They see a man who never has to contemplate what truly matters. And they see a parent who will always love them unconditionally.

My husband does an awesome job of Being a Father.

 

 

 

June is National LGTB Pride Month

It takes a tremendous amount of courage to protect the rights of ALL People…

 

THE WHITE HOUSE

Office of the Press Secretary

___________________________________________________________
For Immediate Release                                     June 1, 2009

LESBIAN, GAY, BISEXUAL, AND TRANSGENDER PRIDE MONTH, 2009
- – - – - – -
BY THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
A PROCLAMATION

Forty years ago, patrons and supporters of the Stonewall Inn in New York City resisted police harassment that had become all too common for members of the lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender (LGBT) community. Out of this resistance, the LGBT rights movement in America was born. During LGBT Pride Month, we commemorate the events of June 1969 and commit to achieving equal justice under law for LGBT Americans.

LGBT Americans have made, and continue to make, great and lasting contributions that continue to strengthen the fabric of American society. There are many well-respected LGBT leaders in all professional fields, including the arts and business communities. LGBT Americans also mobilized the Nation to respond to the domestic HIV/AIDS epidemic and have played a vital role in broadening this country’s response to the HIV pandemic.

Due in no small part to the determination and dedication of the LGBT rights movement, more LGBT Americans are living their lives openly today than ever before. I am proud to be the first President to appoint openly LGBT candidates to Senate-confirmed positions in the first 100 days of an Administration. These individuals embody the best qualities we seek in public servants, and across my Administration — in both the White House and the Federal agencies — openly LGBT employees are doing their jobs with distinction and professionalism.

The LGBT rights movement has achieved great progress, but there is more work to be done. LGBT youth should feel safe to learn without the fear of harassment, and LGBT families and seniors should be allowed to live their lives with dignity and respect.

My Administration has partnered with the LGBT community to advance a wide range of initiatives. At the international level, I have joined efforts at the United Nations to decriminalize homosexuality around the world. Here at home, I continue to support measures to bring the full spectrum of equal rights to LGBT Americans. These measures include enhancing hate crimes laws, supporting civil unions and Federal rights for LGBT couples, outlawing discrimination in the workplace, ensuring adoption rights, and ending the existing “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy in a way that strengthens our Armed Forces and our national security. We must also commit ourselves to fighting the HIV/AIDS epidemic by both reducing the number of HIV infections and providing care and support services to people living with HIV/AIDS across the United States.

These issues affect not only the LGBT community, but also our entire Nation. As long as the promise of equality for all remains unfulfilled, all Americans are affected. If we can work together to advance the principles upon which our Nation was founded, every American will benefit. During LGBT Pride Month, I call upon the LGBT community, the Congress, and the American people to work together to promote equal rights for all, regardless of sexual orientation or gender identity.

NOW, THEREFORE, I, BARACK OBAMA, President of the United States of America, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the Constitution and laws of the United States, do hereby proclaim June 2009 as Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender Pride Month. I call upon the people of the United States to turn back discrimination and prejudice everywhere it exists.

IN WITNESS WHEREOF, I have hereunto set my hand this first day of June, in the year of our Lord two thousand nine, and of the Independence of the United States of America the two hundred and thirty-third.

BARACK OBAMA

Peace Corp Volunteers Speak Out About Rape and Assault

WASHINGTON — Jessica Smochek told members of Congress on Wednesday that, after being brutally gang-raped in Bangladesh in 2004, a Peace Corps medical officer refused to give her a proper physical examination. Instead, the medic confiscated the former English teacher’s cellphone so that she could not alert her fellow volunteers and instructed her to tell anyone who asked about her sudden departure from the program that she was returning to the U.S. to get her wisdom teeth out. When Smochek arrived in Washington, D.C., a Peace Corps official asked her to write down everything she had done to provoke the attack.

“Shortly after I left, the country director — who never attempted to contact me after I was raped — called a meeting of several women in my former volunteer group and told them, without my permission, what had happened to me,” she said. “Then, he told them that rape was a woman’s fault and that I had caused what happened to me by being out alone after 5:00 PM. As for the other women in the group, who had been very vocal about being constantly stalked and afraid, he threatened them with administrative separation.”

Smochek was one of a growing number of former Peace Corps volunteers who are speaking out about the sexual assaults they endured while serving abroad. Their stories have sparked Congressional hearings, as well as pledges for institutional reform.

Since it was founded in 1961, the Peace Corps has sent 200,000 volunteers to 139 countries. Between 2000 and 2009, an average of 22 women each year report being victims of rape or attempted rape, the agency told HuffPost Wednesday. There have been more than 1,000 sexual assaults and 221 rapes or attempted rapes in that time. Since sexual crimes often go unreported, experts note the numbers may be significantly higher.

At a meeting of the House Foreign Affairs Committee on Wednesday, lawmakers heard from three former Peace Corps volunteers about their experiences as victims of violence and sexual assault while serving overseas, as well as from Lois Puzey, whose daughter, Kate Puzey, was murdered while serving in Benin in 2009. The hearing, led by Rep. Ileana Ros-Lehtinen (R-Fla.), highlighted not only the perils volunteers faced while abroad, but the agency’s lack of support for victims of abuse.

“The social support that a victim receives in the hour after the assault occurs is the key factor in assuring whether the victim will have long-term mental health problems,” said Karestan Koenen, a Peace Corps rape victim who now teaches psychology at Columbia and Harvard. “We ourselves question our behavior. Blaming the victim just adds to the questioning of your own blame and it can stop you from seeking help that you need because you are afraid that other people will respond the same way.”

Peace Corps Director Aaron S. Williams apologized on Wednesday for the agency’s failure to respond compassionately or offer assistance to the Peace Corps’ victims of sexual assault and violence. Williams signaled that he is ready and willing to work with Congress to craft legislation aimed at institutional reform.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/05/11/peace-corps-volunteers-rape-violence_n_860718.html?ref=fb

GOOD WILL

“Freaking Out” comes in waves. Big, nasty, sweep you out to sea, waves. For the most part I am calm and collected as I choose to toss yet another memory place holder on to the Goodwill pile. I hold it, smell it, sometimes shed a tear or two. But the promise of less stuff, a new beginning, a sense of surrender to the matters that truly matter now keeps me focused.

Every now and then I must admit I lose control. My seasoned composure doesn’t even make the donation pile. It flies all around the room, bouncing off every wall and coming back to smack me upside the head. What the fuck am I doing? I hate change…Change in my life has often represented really bad stuff…someone dies, or tries to. Families fall apart, people leave and don’t come back…footings fail, roofs cave in, foul and destructive human beings run for public office and WIN.

When the wave subsides, I catch my breath and return to the business at hand. Slipping from one major chapter into another isn’t easy. Leaving behind ghosts of a family growing up under one roof, grandparents who were independent and had life force enough to spare; trees planted that have now come to be giants in all seasons; roots of all kinds that made me feel like I belonged here…all pieces of the previous chapter.

AND YET…standing at cross roads a choice eventually has to be made. I am confident that forward is the only option. Holding still never really gets you where you want to go. Indeed, it is less work, by far. Less dangerous, less challenging, less emotional…less, less, less.

I want more.

I want to have the time to do more for others. I want to be present for a granddaughter in the making. I want to create good will in a new community. I want to live with less and experience more.

Soldiering On

Once upon a time, not long ago, a trial of unmeasurable proportion descended upon my people. A spirit of darkness over came and defeated one of the clans most treasured. Unfathomable despair ensued. So great was the pain that it lay waste each loved one as they stood guard hoping to fight the encroaching evil.

Soon, each suffered…each felt despair that could not be overcome. As one who championed those that mattered most, i too fell into deep despair.  For I could not battle this darkness and claim victory.

From my hiding place of shame I could catch glimpses of the ones who suffered. There seemed to be moments when the darkness that had claimed them subsided. The moments were few, but each day there seemed to be more. Were my most treasured finding the strength to resist total annihilation? Was there unfamiliar magic secretly and mysteriously waging battle? Were there strategies being employed that i did not understand?

Days, months, years passed as the spirit of darkness seemed to be losing its’ destructive grip of hopelessness. Light entered through cracks and crevices. Those who mattered most slowly gathered strength and as they did, their determination to claim their own victory grew. Without fanfare  the darkness was driven out with light; bright and radiant.

According to the 18th verse of the Tao, we as guardians of those most sacred are to “let go” and  trust that they will do what is best for them.

We are to understand that guardian means; protecting each one’s natural ability  to discover their own lighted path out of the darkness.

Willing to Hurt by Molly Davis

It seems that lately, I just can’t stop crying.  Pain is everywhere.  Sadness abounds, and grief is abundant. It just seems to be a very, very, very real part of life.  In fact there are days, weeks, months where it seems to be the central character in my story.  It isn’t that I have a sad life, or even that I have experienced an abundance of personal tragedy.  But there is, no doubt about it, a very deep well filled with heartache.

The funny thing is, I don’t think that this is a bad thing.  Not that I love to cry until I can’t see or breathe, nor do I look forward to the days that pain and sorrow fill my heart till I think I might actually die.  But I have come to believe that pain has a purpose.  It can, if I let it, become the doorway to compassion and kindness, love and tenderness.  As I sit with the hurt, and just let it wash over me, I am able to understand that this is part of what makes each of us human, and, that it is part of the richness of life. It makes it possible for me to see, understand and connect to the hurt in those around me.  And hopefully it helps me to sit with them in the midst of their pain.

There have been times when I have done everything I could to avoid the hurt.  I have tried to buy my way out of it, redecorate it, medicate it, sleep it way, sweat it out, and just plain pretend that it wasn’t there.  But it is.  The truth is, I live with a hole in my heart. I think we all do.  It comes from past regrets, choices that we would give anything to take back, unexpected loss, wounds inflicted by others, and the shadowy glimpses of what is no longer possible.  Some days the other part of my heart, that part that is whole, and strong beats louder.  And other days,the sound gets sucked into that hole, and I follow it right down into the depths.  I’ve quit trying to hide from it, because it is all part of the heart that is mine.  Trying to have one without the other is like trying to separate the waves from the ocean.

I am absolutely not a poet.  Never have been, and most likely never will be.  But years ago, sitting in my college dorm room, lonely, homesick and heartbroken, the one and only poem I have ever written came spilling out.  It seems that even back then, at some level far, far below my consciousness, I understood that pain was important.  Here is what I wrote;

Pain and love go hand in hand

One often leading the other

But the led need not struggle against the leader

For they both travel to the same place

They go to the clear, bittersweet pool of human experience

Where each may drink freely from one cup

Having once looked into such waters

one will never again settle for the cloudy, shallow pools of comfort,

which do not reflect, but simply swallow the reflection

When you seek love

look also for pain

and welcome it

that you too may drink deeply.

 

What a Friend We Have In…

What a Friend We Have In……….

This morning I had a revelation, a vision, an insight, an aha!  Lately I have become aware, I guess you could say acutely aware, of the amount of time I spend spinning stories about myself, to myself.  Stories about how I don’t like the me I see in the mirror.  She isn’t as cute as she once was.  Not as trim and fit as in times gone by – like oh, say, high school.  She doesn’t seem to measure up to the image of what an almost 60 something broad should be.  She should be smarter, more accomplished, funnier, happier, stronger, richer.  More articulate, more at peace, wiser, sexier, more flexible, more fashionable, more…. well…everything.  Today, as I wrote about her, I began to see that in the telling of these stories I was actually loathing and despising a precious friend.  That friend has been with me since I showed up on the scene.  She as been with me every step of the way.  When I was lonely, she was there by my side.  When I was in pain, she didn’t leave because it was too hard to watch.  When I fucked up, she hung in there with me.  She has walked a million miles in my shoes, and understands what life looks like through my eyes. I think it is time that I started treating her like the cherished, loyal, committed, loving friend that she is.  It is time to get to know her, love her, honor her, play with her, and rely on her.  I have a cherished tribe of people who I love and that love me back.  But, no matter who else is by my side at the end of this trip, the one who has always been there, through thick and thin, will be the only one left when the curtain goes down.  What a friend!

Does she sound like anyone you know?