Today was a good day. One with lows, yes, but mostly highs, reasons to be grateful, opportunities to let the light in. I started the day off on the RIGHT side of the bed, in a good mood, despite having stayed up later than normal last night. While I nursed Elsie this morning, I read from Meditations on the Mat...something stood out for me that I have never read or heard articulated this way. Seems pretty obvious when I think about it. "Spritual practice is about turning on the light - and the light is love." Whatever you might believe is the Source of the light, its where we tap into love, compassion, self-acceptance, forgiveness, all things light. When we choose to see the light, even when its surrounded by darkness, our load is much lighter, our day much brighter.
It's late and I should go to bed, but before I do, I wanted to give gratitude for all the things that contributed to me living in the light today...opening a 10 lb. bag of chocolate chips (Costco baby - I know its insane they make a bag that big and even more insane that we'll eat them up).... warm oatmeal chocolate chip cookies shared with my husband after the kids are all sleeping... watching my son ride away this afternoon, in a bicycle trailer with his cousin, driven by his uncle. Will had such a big smile on his face and I love that he feels so fearless about going.... dinner with my brother and sister in law I did not have to cook.... cooking dinner for a friend that just had a baby, paying forward what has been paid to me time and time again in dinner deliveries post partum...a surprise visit from an out of town friend.... holding new life, a 5 day old baby.... teaching yoga class without a plan and it going just fine ..... finishing my end of the year report for work...a friend calling to share in her celebration of accomplishment... my husband telling my pregnant friend she looks beautiful .... my daughter's laughter....the rain, the sunshine... Elsie taking a bottle for the first time, my Dad being the one to give it to her.... life is sweet.
The light is always on, some days we just have to open our eyes to see it.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Somebody fill my bucket
This day has been one of those days....yes, another one. It hasn't even been a week since the last one! I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, or maybe just too early. I stayed up too late last night, didn't get enough sleep, have a sick husband, an almost 3 year old who got up in the night to pee and was covered in a rash, an almost 5 month old that got up once or twice or three times to eat, I'm in such a daze I never know, and a 5 year old that got up way too early for me and was sent back to bed by her dad and she instead came out to the couch to watch TV, unbeknown to us. When caught in the act, she said "You told me to go back to bed or find something to do, I'm just doing what you told me to do." We're in trouble when this girl gets to her teenage years.
Needless to say, I did not wake up with my A game. I am not practicing what I preach today. I'm grumpy, off center, tired, and overall just probably not the most pleasant person to be around. We have a friend that talks about life being like a bucket, we either fill up others' buckets or we empty them out and we can choose to be a bucket filler or a bucket drainer. My bucket was empty and I desperately (okay, maybe that is a BIT dramatic) needed to put some drops in my bucket.
My dear husband, home sick, suggested I take off for a bit this morning to get out of my "funk" and take a little time for myself. I found this to be quite generous since I did go out with my girlfriends last night. So, I left the little 2 with him and went to get the oil changed in my bad ass mini-van. I know, how is that having a little time for myself? Good question. It wasn't.
Before I left, I called down to the Toyota dealer to see if I could make an appointment, if they had a long wait, etc. The woman on the line said I couldn't make an appointment, but she didn't think there was much of a wait. I stopped by my husband's office to pick up his laptop and then made my way to Toyota (conveniently located across from Costco). I thought I could jolt myself out of the funk with a little retail therapy if nothing else. I pull into the Toyota service bay and the man that comes to my car window used to work at another dealership we quit going to because he seemed shady. Another drop dripped out of my bucket. He said it would be a 45 minute job, more or less. I headed off to Costco for my retail therapy, I didn't buy anything, but wandered the aisles, which was nice, wrote down a couple book titles I saw that looked appealing (and will reserve at the local library) and then checked the time. 45 minutes had passed, so I headed back in hopes my car was ready. It took me 15 minutes to find the shady guy, my bucket has a bad leak at this point, I'm pacing the customer lounge, trying to pay attention to my breath. Frankly, I didn't want to soften, to relax. I kind of wanted to be edgy. I was ready for battle, sure they were going to tell me my car needed more than an oil change.
Once I find Slim Shady, he tells me my car is just waiting to be washing. It's still another 30 minutes plus before someone comes into the lounge from the service department asking for a Ms. Westerman. (That is the name of the previous owners of the bad-ass minivan and I've really not a clue why they are asking for her.) I guess that it's me they want and finally get out of there, 1 hour and 45 minutes after I arrived. I'm grumpy at best, bitchy at worst by now.
On my drive home, I'm contemplating why I can't shake this, what is at the root of my agitation. I can't say that I ever really figured it out. What I can say, is that what got me out of it was an email from a woman that was not extraordinary, just kind, work related, and thoughtful. It had nothing to do with me. I was tempted to email her back and say she was filling my bucket, but I guessed she would not know what I was talking about, so I instead just thanked her.
I was able to teach my old Wednesday night yoga class tonight. Felt like I had my groove back, my bucket was full by the time I left and I am struck by the extremes we can flow through in one day, highs and lows, lows and highs. The beauty of it is knowing that we have to have one to have the other. I wouldn't know what it felt like to have a full bucket if it was never empty. I end the day, knowing tomorrow could bring more of the same, and just being grateful for the day, the good, the bad, and everything in between.
Needless to say, I did not wake up with my A game. I am not practicing what I preach today. I'm grumpy, off center, tired, and overall just probably not the most pleasant person to be around. We have a friend that talks about life being like a bucket, we either fill up others' buckets or we empty them out and we can choose to be a bucket filler or a bucket drainer. My bucket was empty and I desperately (okay, maybe that is a BIT dramatic) needed to put some drops in my bucket.
My dear husband, home sick, suggested I take off for a bit this morning to get out of my "funk" and take a little time for myself. I found this to be quite generous since I did go out with my girlfriends last night. So, I left the little 2 with him and went to get the oil changed in my bad ass mini-van. I know, how is that having a little time for myself? Good question. It wasn't.
Before I left, I called down to the Toyota dealer to see if I could make an appointment, if they had a long wait, etc. The woman on the line said I couldn't make an appointment, but she didn't think there was much of a wait. I stopped by my husband's office to pick up his laptop and then made my way to Toyota (conveniently located across from Costco). I thought I could jolt myself out of the funk with a little retail therapy if nothing else. I pull into the Toyota service bay and the man that comes to my car window used to work at another dealership we quit going to because he seemed shady. Another drop dripped out of my bucket. He said it would be a 45 minute job, more or less. I headed off to Costco for my retail therapy, I didn't buy anything, but wandered the aisles, which was nice, wrote down a couple book titles I saw that looked appealing (and will reserve at the local library) and then checked the time. 45 minutes had passed, so I headed back in hopes my car was ready. It took me 15 minutes to find the shady guy, my bucket has a bad leak at this point, I'm pacing the customer lounge, trying to pay attention to my breath. Frankly, I didn't want to soften, to relax. I kind of wanted to be edgy. I was ready for battle, sure they were going to tell me my car needed more than an oil change.
Once I find Slim Shady, he tells me my car is just waiting to be washing. It's still another 30 minutes plus before someone comes into the lounge from the service department asking for a Ms. Westerman. (That is the name of the previous owners of the bad-ass minivan and I've really not a clue why they are asking for her.) I guess that it's me they want and finally get out of there, 1 hour and 45 minutes after I arrived. I'm grumpy at best, bitchy at worst by now.
On my drive home, I'm contemplating why I can't shake this, what is at the root of my agitation. I can't say that I ever really figured it out. What I can say, is that what got me out of it was an email from a woman that was not extraordinary, just kind, work related, and thoughtful. It had nothing to do with me. I was tempted to email her back and say she was filling my bucket, but I guessed she would not know what I was talking about, so I instead just thanked her.
I was able to teach my old Wednesday night yoga class tonight. Felt like I had my groove back, my bucket was full by the time I left and I am struck by the extremes we can flow through in one day, highs and lows, lows and highs. The beauty of it is knowing that we have to have one to have the other. I wouldn't know what it felt like to have a full bucket if it was never empty. I end the day, knowing tomorrow could bring more of the same, and just being grateful for the day, the good, the bad, and everything in between.
Monday, May 24, 2010
One Thing at A Time
I always know I am living my life well when there are lots of "coincidences" in my life. It's not that they happen more when I am living well, I just notice them more. I am more present, paying attention to what is happening in the moment, and so I can recognize them more easily. For the record, I don't necessarily think they are coincidences, I think they are just the universe reminding us of the right path, of the connectedness of us all.
So, today, I read or heard 3 versions of this..."One thing at a time, one day at a time, just take things moment by moment...that is all I can do." One was in a blog I read, written by the mother of a heroin addict. She was quoting Al Anon writings. One was from my retired neighbor out working in her driveway on a treasure she is refurbishing. (I know one thing she does well, doing one at a time...talking.) And the last one was from a student in my yoga class today. At the beginning of class, she came to me and asked me how I deal with issues in my life and after our short discussion that is what she said.
Well, it's not all you can do, because most of us don't take things one at a time, we do 2 things at once and think 12 thoughts at the same time (especially mothers of small children). We read stories to our children while mentally making our grocery list, we daydream while listening to someone else tell a story, we cook dinner while we sing to the baby on our hip, we make love to our husbands while we listen for small footsteps, we fold the laundry or breastfeed while helping our daughter practice her reading, we drive while listening to little voices making big talk in the back seat ...we, or should I say, I, multi-task all the time. I'm not saying its a good thing, or even a necessity, in a way, it is just a reality of my life right now. At least some of it. BUT, not all of it.
As I read my son, Red Red Red, tonight while we snuggled in his bed, my mind was elsewhere. I was somewhat fascinated by my own ability to read at the same time I think a myriad of thoughts. Each time my mind would wander away from the story, away from being fully present where I was at, I would notice and reign it back in. I'd say it happened more than 5 times while I read this short story. Thankfully, my son, in his sleepy-ish state, doesn't know what I am doing. I am somehow able to keep with the flow of the story and not miss a beat. Our minds are complex and amazing..think what power they might have if we focused all that energy in one direction!
The hopeful part of this for me is my awareness. I know that I will have to continue multi-tasking. Perhaps if I moved to an ashram, I might be able to simply do one thing at a time, but that is not going to happen. For now, one day at a time, I will work to do one thing at a time, when I can, and recognize when I'm not and should be. I think it is a valuable gift I can give my kids, myself, my husband. Really, its all about just being present in what you are doing, regardless of what it is, moment by moment.
So, today, I read or heard 3 versions of this..."One thing at a time, one day at a time, just take things moment by moment...that is all I can do." One was in a blog I read, written by the mother of a heroin addict. She was quoting Al Anon writings. One was from my retired neighbor out working in her driveway on a treasure she is refurbishing. (I know one thing she does well, doing one at a time...talking.) And the last one was from a student in my yoga class today. At the beginning of class, she came to me and asked me how I deal with issues in my life and after our short discussion that is what she said.
Well, it's not all you can do, because most of us don't take things one at a time, we do 2 things at once and think 12 thoughts at the same time (especially mothers of small children). We read stories to our children while mentally making our grocery list, we daydream while listening to someone else tell a story, we cook dinner while we sing to the baby on our hip, we make love to our husbands while we listen for small footsteps, we fold the laundry or breastfeed while helping our daughter practice her reading, we drive while listening to little voices making big talk in the back seat ...we, or should I say, I, multi-task all the time. I'm not saying its a good thing, or even a necessity, in a way, it is just a reality of my life right now. At least some of it. BUT, not all of it.
As I read my son, Red Red Red, tonight while we snuggled in his bed, my mind was elsewhere. I was somewhat fascinated by my own ability to read at the same time I think a myriad of thoughts. Each time my mind would wander away from the story, away from being fully present where I was at, I would notice and reign it back in. I'd say it happened more than 5 times while I read this short story. Thankfully, my son, in his sleepy-ish state, doesn't know what I am doing. I am somehow able to keep with the flow of the story and not miss a beat. Our minds are complex and amazing..think what power they might have if we focused all that energy in one direction!
The hopeful part of this for me is my awareness. I know that I will have to continue multi-tasking. Perhaps if I moved to an ashram, I might be able to simply do one thing at a time, but that is not going to happen. For now, one day at a time, I will work to do one thing at a time, when I can, and recognize when I'm not and should be. I think it is a valuable gift I can give my kids, myself, my husband. Really, its all about just being present in what you are doing, regardless of what it is, moment by moment.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
It's Always Better When We're Together
It's 8:15 p.m., Saturday night. My husband is in Seattle at a bachelor party involving a shooting range, strippers and Lord knows what else. He went with his brother and I imagine that they are having big fun, not so much because of the scenery, just because they are together. Fun follows them. They can be a bit of a dynamic duo, Batman and Robin style.
I feel like I just took a big exhale, all 3 kids are in bed and asleep, the house is quiet, the dog is eating what I should be sweeping off the dining room floor, the remnants of a dinner we spent in good company.
My sister-in-law came over with her daughter tonight, to have dinner together, to hang out while our husbands get into trouble. Her 15 month old is used to the crazy mix of my children, folds right into it, and doesn't seem to bat an eye at all the chaos, despite being an only child. I'm sure her house must be quieter than ours. In the short couple of hours my niece was here, she split her chin open on the front steps (no stitches required), rode a skateboard for a brief moment and landed on her head (this is why you don't leave a 5 year old in charge of smaller children - no concussion), played hard and left with a smile.
At some point in the evening, I found myself singing, "Welcome to the jungle...we got fun and games...", Guns and Roses style. Things get a little crazy. I catch myself every now and then looking at my life from the outside, wondering what someone else (tonight, that someone being my sister-in-law) must think when they watch the whirlwind that spins round my house in an evening. My kids have a lot of energy, are loud, rambunctious, silly, yell at each other when they are mad, but are good kids, really. The level of energy in the house amps up and I find myself right there in the mix of it. I'm so excited to have adult conversation, to have someone to share in the madness, that I get all wound up, too. It's not as if with 4 children under the age of 6, there is ever a quiet, uninterrupted moment. Someone always needs something. Tonight when I looked in, I just felt satisfied, content.
The beauty of it is, somehow, amidst the tornado of movement and little voices, we find a way to connect, to get dinner on the table, everyone fed and to share stories about where we are, what we are struggling with, what we are dreaming about or are inspired by at the moment and where we are at in our relationships. It's really an amazing thing. I guess we have been doing this since Ruby was born, 5+ years ago, and we've added one child at a time to the mix, and so we have adapted and by now, its just part of the norm.
I'm thankful that I have her in my life. That regardless of what might be going on around her, around me, we find a way to sink in, dive deep and embrace what is. I never walk away frustrated, wishing something was different. I just feel grateful that we married into each other's lives. In the words of Jack Johnson....It's always better when we're together.
I feel like I just took a big exhale, all 3 kids are in bed and asleep, the house is quiet, the dog is eating what I should be sweeping off the dining room floor, the remnants of a dinner we spent in good company.
My sister-in-law came over with her daughter tonight, to have dinner together, to hang out while our husbands get into trouble. Her 15 month old is used to the crazy mix of my children, folds right into it, and doesn't seem to bat an eye at all the chaos, despite being an only child. I'm sure her house must be quieter than ours. In the short couple of hours my niece was here, she split her chin open on the front steps (no stitches required), rode a skateboard for a brief moment and landed on her head (this is why you don't leave a 5 year old in charge of smaller children - no concussion), played hard and left with a smile.
At some point in the evening, I found myself singing, "Welcome to the jungle...we got fun and games...", Guns and Roses style. Things get a little crazy. I catch myself every now and then looking at my life from the outside, wondering what someone else (tonight, that someone being my sister-in-law) must think when they watch the whirlwind that spins round my house in an evening. My kids have a lot of energy, are loud, rambunctious, silly, yell at each other when they are mad, but are good kids, really. The level of energy in the house amps up and I find myself right there in the mix of it. I'm so excited to have adult conversation, to have someone to share in the madness, that I get all wound up, too. It's not as if with 4 children under the age of 6, there is ever a quiet, uninterrupted moment. Someone always needs something. Tonight when I looked in, I just felt satisfied, content.
The beauty of it is, somehow, amidst the tornado of movement and little voices, we find a way to connect, to get dinner on the table, everyone fed and to share stories about where we are, what we are struggling with, what we are dreaming about or are inspired by at the moment and where we are at in our relationships. It's really an amazing thing. I guess we have been doing this since Ruby was born, 5+ years ago, and we've added one child at a time to the mix, and so we have adapted and by now, its just part of the norm.
I'm thankful that I have her in my life. That regardless of what might be going on around her, around me, we find a way to sink in, dive deep and embrace what is. I never walk away frustrated, wishing something was different. I just feel grateful that we married into each other's lives. In the words of Jack Johnson....It's always better when we're together.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Spiritual Gangster
As part of my youth suicide prevention work, I went down to Sunnyside the other night to present at a program called Family Links. It's a program for kids who have entered into the criminal justice system, are “low risk”, first time offenders and requires them to participate, with their parents, in a two week program that works with them on a variety of areas. I was invited to present on adolescent stress and depression and to talk about the link between stress, depression, and suicide.
Seated around the table are 3 young men, and their parents, 2 with their moms, 1 with his dad. Shortly after I arrived, the probation officer that runs the group gave them a break and I sat at the table with a couple of the kids and next to the dad, Vicente. Vicente looked to be in his early 30s, shaved head, strong build, Mexican, tough looking, maybe a former gang member, and he didn't look particularly thrilled to be sitting at the table. Vicente tried to strike up a conversation with me, asked me what I did, if I drove up from Yakima, and then proceeded to ask me questions about my job. As he talked with me, he did not fit the stereotype I had given him.
When I present, I try to engage my audience, invite discussion, sharing of personal experience and stories that we can all learn from, and I do my best to be authentic, to share at least a little bit of myself, my own life, in hopes that they will see me as someone they can relate to, talk with, not just someone there to talk at them. Vicente was very talkative, shared about his own struggle with depression, about becoming a dad at the age of 15 and then again at 17, about getting divorced, about the stress of raising 2 boys in that community, the opportunities for things to “go wrong”. His first born son is now 17 and was the reason he was there. I don't know what he did to end up at Family Links, his name is Adrian, looked like a clean cut kid, was respectful, but seemed sad, heavy hearted in some way.
I never really know what I am going to encounter when I present to parents. Sometimes they are open, sometimes they are very guarded. At the end of it, I always ask them if they feel better equipped than they did before I came, sometimes they mutter something under their breath, sometimes, they tell me a story that reminds me that this work absolutely makes a difference. No one really offered much, but I could see tears in the eyes of one of the mothers as she left and Vicente looked me in the eye and said thank you, that it was a lot of good information. None of the kids commented.
I stuck around as people filtered out and chatted with the probation officer, Paula. In our small talk, I discovered she knows of my sister through her work. Paula asked me what our “background” is, our ethnicity. I told her we have Native American roots and the rest is a bit of a mix. She smiled and said “So, the Native American, that is where your spirituality comes from?” I wasn't sure what her question was and I said, “I'm not sure what you are asking me.” She kind of laughed and said she wasn't either. “But, you are spiritual, aren't you?” I said, that yes, I would call myself a spiritual person and maybe it comes from my Native American roots. And then I thought to myself, aren't we all spiritual, really?
I shared this story with my husband tonight. He said, that no, he doesn't think we are all spiritual. I was still contemplating what it was that she saw in me that made her say that. He described a “gang banger” (I need to work on not using so many quotation marks, bad habit) and asked me if I saw someone like that how would I describe them. I responded, “Like a gangster.” He said, “Well, that is how it is with you, you just embody it, its how you present yourself.”
So, it made me wonder what does it mean to be spiritual?
Here is wikipedia's definition:
spir·i·tu·al adj
1. Of, relating to, consisting of, or having the nature of spirit; not tangible or material.
2. Of, concerned with, or affecting the soul.
3. Of, from, or relating to God; deific.
4. Of or belonging to a church or religion; sacred.
5. Relating to or having the nature of spirits or a spirit; supernatural.
I identify most with 2. Concerned with the soul, particularly my own – that's me, a spiritual gangster.
Seated around the table are 3 young men, and their parents, 2 with their moms, 1 with his dad. Shortly after I arrived, the probation officer that runs the group gave them a break and I sat at the table with a couple of the kids and next to the dad, Vicente. Vicente looked to be in his early 30s, shaved head, strong build, Mexican, tough looking, maybe a former gang member, and he didn't look particularly thrilled to be sitting at the table. Vicente tried to strike up a conversation with me, asked me what I did, if I drove up from Yakima, and then proceeded to ask me questions about my job. As he talked with me, he did not fit the stereotype I had given him.
When I present, I try to engage my audience, invite discussion, sharing of personal experience and stories that we can all learn from, and I do my best to be authentic, to share at least a little bit of myself, my own life, in hopes that they will see me as someone they can relate to, talk with, not just someone there to talk at them. Vicente was very talkative, shared about his own struggle with depression, about becoming a dad at the age of 15 and then again at 17, about getting divorced, about the stress of raising 2 boys in that community, the opportunities for things to “go wrong”. His first born son is now 17 and was the reason he was there. I don't know what he did to end up at Family Links, his name is Adrian, looked like a clean cut kid, was respectful, but seemed sad, heavy hearted in some way.
I never really know what I am going to encounter when I present to parents. Sometimes they are open, sometimes they are very guarded. At the end of it, I always ask them if they feel better equipped than they did before I came, sometimes they mutter something under their breath, sometimes, they tell me a story that reminds me that this work absolutely makes a difference. No one really offered much, but I could see tears in the eyes of one of the mothers as she left and Vicente looked me in the eye and said thank you, that it was a lot of good information. None of the kids commented.
I stuck around as people filtered out and chatted with the probation officer, Paula. In our small talk, I discovered she knows of my sister through her work. Paula asked me what our “background” is, our ethnicity. I told her we have Native American roots and the rest is a bit of a mix. She smiled and said “So, the Native American, that is where your spirituality comes from?” I wasn't sure what her question was and I said, “I'm not sure what you are asking me.” She kind of laughed and said she wasn't either. “But, you are spiritual, aren't you?” I said, that yes, I would call myself a spiritual person and maybe it comes from my Native American roots. And then I thought to myself, aren't we all spiritual, really?
I shared this story with my husband tonight. He said, that no, he doesn't think we are all spiritual. I was still contemplating what it was that she saw in me that made her say that. He described a “gang banger” (I need to work on not using so many quotation marks, bad habit) and asked me if I saw someone like that how would I describe them. I responded, “Like a gangster.” He said, “Well, that is how it is with you, you just embody it, its how you present yourself.”
So, it made me wonder what does it mean to be spiritual?
Here is wikipedia's definition:
spir·i·tu·al adj
1. Of, relating to, consisting of, or having the nature of spirit; not tangible or material.
2. Of, concerned with, or affecting the soul.
3. Of, from, or relating to God; deific.
4. Of or belonging to a church or religion; sacred.
5. Relating to or having the nature of spirits or a spirit; supernatural.
I identify most with 2. Concerned with the soul, particularly my own – that's me, a spiritual gangster.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
gems of the sky
At times in my life when I have been in emotional pain, felt extreme longing and emptiness or just alone, I write poetry (at least that is what I call it). I don't seem to be able to tap into my poetic self when I am happy, not suffering, bubbling over with joy. I kind of don't get it, but I kind of do. It's been a long time since I've been in touch with the poet...here is one I wrote while looking out the window of an airplane flying from Yakima to Seattle on September 3rd, 2003.
hazy skies,
orange ball of fire rolling down the screen of forever
hills barren and brown
i cannot see for miles.
where have the trees gone, the land so void of life
reaching like fingers toward the sea, clawing for life
my breath catches in my chest
i wonder where i am, what lies beneath,
beyond my view from up high.
the outlines of mountains beyond the hazy skies
where air is clean and i might breathe again
what made man want to fly? we are always dreaming, seeking up
did my people come this far, did they dream of flying
when they walked barefoot across the land?
or did they fly in their dreams to the places
we wish we could go?
the mountain top calls me, like a welcoming seat,
a place to rest, to find quiet, silence.
what can you hear from on top of the world?
i imagine the silence, deafening
a warm feeling rushes down my legs as we descend
my feet knowing soon they will have to return to the ground?
what did we do before this?
where were my thoughts? was my mind silent or just full of something else?
I wish you could answer all my questions, let your legs dangle in the space of my mind
for an evening, kicking the thoughts up as they come,
inviting more, like opening up a shell to find what treasure it might hold
a pearl of wisdom
a diamond of emotion
a ruby of passion
a sapphire of pain
the water reflects the light from the moon
islands everywhere
could the water stop the fiery ball from shining?
we land, quite aware we cannot fly in our dreams.
hazy skies,
orange ball of fire rolling down the screen of forever
hills barren and brown
i cannot see for miles.
where have the trees gone, the land so void of life
reaching like fingers toward the sea, clawing for life
my breath catches in my chest
i wonder where i am, what lies beneath,
beyond my view from up high.
the outlines of mountains beyond the hazy skies
where air is clean and i might breathe again
what made man want to fly? we are always dreaming, seeking up
did my people come this far, did they dream of flying
when they walked barefoot across the land?
or did they fly in their dreams to the places
we wish we could go?
the mountain top calls me, like a welcoming seat,
a place to rest, to find quiet, silence.
what can you hear from on top of the world?
i imagine the silence, deafening
a warm feeling rushes down my legs as we descend
my feet knowing soon they will have to return to the ground?
what did we do before this?
where were my thoughts? was my mind silent or just full of something else?
I wish you could answer all my questions, let your legs dangle in the space of my mind
for an evening, kicking the thoughts up as they come,
inviting more, like opening up a shell to find what treasure it might hold
a pearl of wisdom
a diamond of emotion
a ruby of passion
a sapphire of pain
the water reflects the light from the moon
islands everywhere
could the water stop the fiery ball from shining?
we land, quite aware we cannot fly in our dreams.
What is Truth?
I have always been one to delve inward, as far back as I can remember I was curious about myself. I wanted to know or understand why I did what I did. Sometimes, that was trying to figure out why I was lying. I have an early memory of telling a big tale as a child about the rat, Snowball, that resided in my kindergarten classroom. For weeks, I carried on at dinner time about this rat, pregnant with babies, then having the babies, how cute they were, elaborate details, no less. When it came time for conferences, my mother shared with my teacher just how much I loved Snowball and how neat it had been for me to watch this process of her having babies. A bit stunned, Mrs. Brown, my teacher, says "Snowball hasn't had babies. Snowball is a boy." My mom was embarrassed, I'm sure and my sister enjoyed tormenting me through my elementary years anytime I told a story, asking "Is this a 'Snowball' story?" I lied a lot as a kid, I don't know why...actually I do, but that is another blog entry for another time. Back to the truth....
I heard someone say recently, actually it was on an ad for a TV show on FOX, can't think of the name of the show, but a guy being sworn in, in court, says "Well that is impossible to tell the whole truth" or something like that and proceeds to say something about it being dependent on perspective. Kind of like beauty is in the eye of the beholder, I suppose, truth is in the eye of the beholder. Let's just say that there is a difference between truth and honesty. Back to the truth, my truth...
As I have been thumbing through these old journal entries from 1997, I came across a quote (from me) that grabbed me. "What is truth? It is in my heart, awaiting exposure to the rest of me." Even back then, I had the notion that we know everything we need to know, sometimes it is just a matter of uncovering or recovering it. We so easily stray from it and sometimes it is really hard to find our way back. We feel the most when we expose our truth, when we allow ourselves to be vulnerable, to be honest with those we love.
So, to speak my truth...As much as I'd like this blogging to be about the process, my process, it is often about the response, hoping to get something in return, hoping to inspire, to make laugh, to provoke thought or connect with someone even if its secondhand (hmm, hmm cybersnooper). The truth is, I love that somebody, anybody reads this, and it is what keeps me writing, coming back to the keyboard, wanting to expose the truth, MY truth, to the rest of me, and the rest of you. I want to be "seen". My heartfelt thanks for reading and most of all for seeing.
I heard someone say recently, actually it was on an ad for a TV show on FOX, can't think of the name of the show, but a guy being sworn in, in court, says "Well that is impossible to tell the whole truth" or something like that and proceeds to say something about it being dependent on perspective. Kind of like beauty is in the eye of the beholder, I suppose, truth is in the eye of the beholder. Let's just say that there is a difference between truth and honesty. Back to the truth, my truth...
As I have been thumbing through these old journal entries from 1997, I came across a quote (from me) that grabbed me. "What is truth? It is in my heart, awaiting exposure to the rest of me." Even back then, I had the notion that we know everything we need to know, sometimes it is just a matter of uncovering or recovering it. We so easily stray from it and sometimes it is really hard to find our way back. We feel the most when we expose our truth, when we allow ourselves to be vulnerable, to be honest with those we love.
So, to speak my truth...As much as I'd like this blogging to be about the process, my process, it is often about the response, hoping to get something in return, hoping to inspire, to make laugh, to provoke thought or connect with someone even if its secondhand (hmm, hmm cybersnooper). The truth is, I love that somebody, anybody reads this, and it is what keeps me writing, coming back to the keyboard, wanting to expose the truth, MY truth, to the rest of me, and the rest of you. I want to be "seen". My heartfelt thanks for reading and most of all for seeing.
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