Square-Peg People

What We All Need

 

Even though I wrote this years ago, it's still true.

In fact, I've learned that it's true in bigger ways, and in more situations, than I ever realized before!

I titled this post What We All Need because I'm coming to realize that (well - the title says it) we ALL need this!

I'm finding that being seen and heard (which means being listened to, sat with - by someone with no agenda, no plans for my/your improvement) is IT.

It's what we all need. Vitally. Like oxygen!

Which means, of course, that we need to be that for others as well.

I wrote this in response to grief*:

A friend's young-adult daughter died in a car accident,

around the same time that one of my clients (I was a therapist at the time) was dealing with similar (to my friend's) staggering losses -

and my own grief (over loss of my son, over loss of my family's matriarch, over frightening losses in childhood...) resonated - by opening my heart wider, as grief has habit of doing - if you let it.

And I asked myself (and spirit): how can I help? what do we need when we're grieving, what did I want when I was in acute grief? what helps?

This is what I got:

 

Diamonds

I thought that my role was

        to hold up a lantern

                 in the dark,

                        subterranean

                               labrynths.

 

 

Shine you the path

        until your eyesight

                 adjusted

                        and you could take it

                               on your own.

 

 

Turns out that my role is

        to sit with you

                 naked,

                        in the cold,

                               pitch

                                                dark

                 on the rim of a yawning chasm.

 

 

And, at times, to move with you

        our foreheads glistening with fear,

                 clammy hands clasped together -

                        backs to the wall

                             groping our way,

    occasionally stubbing our toes on diamonds.

 

*Like I said above the poem, what I'm finding now is -> We ALL need this. Whether we're actively grieving, whether we're grieving huge losses or small, even if we're not grieving at all -

we all need, in any time of darkness (and we all have those!), to clasp our clammy hands together - backs to the wall - and sit with each other (we will find diamonds!).

 

p.s. Why yes, you have seen this photo before! It's one of Slightly-British Daughter's - and I adore it (and her!), so I've used it before on the blog.

I Hear Voices

 

I got up late this morning. A couple hours late!

The alarm went off nice and early, I heard it - stretched and told myself: "Today is my Sunday - I'll sleep in"*. A conscious decision - sort of.

It was conscious in the fact that it was a decision; I didn't sleep through the alarm, I heard it and decided to grant myself extra time in my cozy, warm bed.

But it wasn't a totally conscious decision - I forgot the fact that I'd agreed to feed the pooch this morning. And I half forgot that I do my best writing early.

So, maybe we can call it a semi-conscious decision.

Before my feet hit the floor the voices started:

#@%$! I'm already behind with writing. Why did I have to sleep in? #@%$! I'll never get it all done today. #@%$! #@%$! What happened to the post I was writing on Friday? Well, it's old news now. Wow, I'm really behind today! #@%$!

Then the pooch greeted me. And I remembered that this was my morning to feed her. #@%$! How could I forget my dog?!? #@%$! #@%$! #@%$!

There were lots of #@%$!'s - and, of course, lots more bitching about what I didn't do, can't do, won't get to, should've done or already effed up (let's not even talk about the Candy Land incident!).

Because, when you let one of those voices in, all of a sudden it's a party (or a choir, anyway. Of bitchy voices. Who are all singing verses to a song called: You're wrong!).

What to do?

I could ignore the voices (yeah, that works); could do the smiley, it's-all-good deal; could do the stiff upper lip, lock-'em-in-the-basement-or-drown-'em thing (either of which feeds my Shadow)...

or

I could make a different decision - a fully conscious decision! I could pay attention, sit with them, see what they want.

Do you know Rumi's poem, Guest House? It starts:

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!

He further advises us to:

treat each guest honorably...meet them at the door laughing and invite them in...because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

 

There are all kinds of positive things I can (and will) do to alter my negative perspective about getting a late start on the day - and I almost pushed myself into doing some of them the minute the voices started.

But I remembered something. I remembered that there's no legitimate way (no way that works) to sneak around those negative voices, annoying feelings - those challenging emotions; I have to sit with them first, listen to find out what they want...

take Rumi's advice and "treat each guest honorably". They always have a reason, always point to something.

And then I can do positive things about my perspective - after the voices have been honored, listened to. Then they come out of the Shadow and relax a bit...and sometimes they'll even sing happy songs.

Have you tried The Guest House Approach with your #@%$! voices?

 

*this past weekend my granddaughter came over for her long-awaited holiday visit. So we celebrated Second Christmas, which involved waking up extra early on the weekend mornings (that's why I called today, Monday - my Sunday).

There Are Stars

 

 

As mentioned in the previous post, Empty, I've been having trouble getting started in 2012. This isn't what I expected. And, granted - the year is far from over. But still, I expected more shiny - more bright...

I look around me and notice that 2012's begun with a lot of down time. Not just the usual Northern Hemisphere's winter rest, introspection and reflection kind of down time,

but down time - the doldrums (stuck-ness), deep sadness - and even grief. Actually, lots of grief!

Many people I know and care about (online and in person) went through the holiday season (and on into the beginning of 2012) with significant grief, having lost a loved one (or more than one!) - or with serious health issues.

I look inside myself and notice grief, sadness and stuck-ness at times as well.

WTF? (or, if you prefer the polite version: What the what?)

I was at the Michener Museum the other day (these seemingly disparate topics will come together). There's a lot to love at the Michener*, but right now I want to tell you about a couple paintings that really grabbed me.

They were landscape paintings by George Sotter - with deep, dark purple-blue night skies and tiny, brilliant stars. What grabbed me? The contrast. The eye and heart opening contrast!

The stars stand out in those paintings. There's something about those pinpoints of light - about how they change the darkness, even a whole sky's worth of it. They give me hope: remind me that, no matter how dark it is, one tiny bit of light breaks up the darkness.

And, interestingly - there's also something about the darkness - how the depth of the darkness is what causes those pinpoints of light to stand out! That the stars wouldn't look so bright, wouldn't call to me - if they weren't in the dark.

I was expecting more shiny - more bright - in 2012; and I got it (even though I wasn't noticing) - there are stars! (ah, see - I told you the topics would come together)

The beginning of 2012's been like Sotter's paintings - there's a lot of dark, but there are stars!

Something else interesting (that doesn't show up in the paintings): those stars - they are there even when we can't see them.

 

*One of the many things to love: the fact that it used to be a prison (where I worked occasionally). On the Michener Museum site they tell us: "the old Bucks County jail, once a place of fear and despair, has been transformed into a welcoming center of culture and beauty..." (so true! so beautiful! talk about stars!!!)

Empty

 

I'm having a hard time getting started in 2012.

Actually, I've been working on a different post that starts with those exact words. I'll share it with you another day, but today I'm going to share my empty altar.

The inspiring Jeanne Hewell-Chambers created a site called 365 Altars. I love her idea of making daily altars, but I've been slow getting starting with it (see note above about having a hard time getting started in 2012)...

Last night I wrote Jeanne to tell her how much I appreciate 365 Altars - and noted that I was going to make an altar before going to bed, to set the tone for today.

I didn't - sigh - because (say it with me, please): I'm having a hard time getting started in 2012 (thank you).

In the morning I struggled to figure out what to put in/on my altar (and multitasked by simultaneously berating myself because I didn't make the altar last night - which really goes against my self-care principles).

I couldn't think of anything. Nothing - blank. Then this bowl (pictured above) came to mind.

Empty.

Yes, an empty bowl. That fits. It doesn't exactly set the tone for what I want, but it sure sums up where I'm at.

I've been trying (the word "trying" is important here) to get started in 2012 - trying to get hold of something. Trying to grab something...

I can picture Slightly-British Daughter trying to catch a beam of sunlight (I'm talking about when she was a wee one; she almost never does this now, although I bet I could still get her to try to catch water) - reaching and grabbing and having nothing to show for it.

I've been doing that. And I have the same thing to show for it: nothing.

So I gave up! I picked an empty bowl for my altar.

My altar is empty today, but it's also open (to receive?). And though it doesn't catch the light (doesn't grab it or hold onto it), it reflects light...

beautifully (if I do say so myself).

 

Grace Notes

A couple~few whiles ago (I'm time impaired, can you tell?) I found a heart-opening post on the interweb. The story was robed in grace. I read it - and reread it, pointed to it - and shared it with Slightly-British Daughter on a car ride.

I can't define grace. I've often said that grace is, for me, like the porn thing. Remember when Justice Potter Stewart, of the U.S. Supreme Court (when he couldn't come up with an exact definition of porn) said: "I know it when I see it."?

Even though I can't define grace, I was quite taken by the grace in the grace-robed story. Because I know grace when I see it (or read it).

As we drove along I decided to tell the story to Slightly-Brit (who, btw, is an adult - which will matter as you read on). While blinking back tears (I was so choked up), I began to share...

But mid-tell someone who'd been riding my tail for miles finally distracted me past patience.

And there, with the grace story still sticking to my tongue, and tears still welling up in my eyes (because I was so choked up), and The Peace Center license plate still displayed on the front of my car (because I'm proud that my son volunteered there for years - and I believe in peace - and everything to do with nonviolent communication)...

I shouted: "Get off my ass you fucking dick-head!"

And even though I can't define grace it was pretty easy to figure out that that was not grace. At all.

One good thing I can say about my shouting is (besides being glad the windows were closed): it was so loud that it woke me up to the hypocrite thing pretty quickly.

What came next was a kind of grace.

The ludicrousness of my telling a grace story while shouting profanity must've rolled over Slightly-Brit and I at the same time.

We shared a wry smile (one of those ain't-life-weird smiles. Or maybe, in SBD's case, it was an ain't-my-mother-weird smile).

Quickly adding more ludicrousness, I looked over my shoulder at the guy who'd been riding my tail and repeated a phrase from my childhood church experience: "The Lord be with you."

Slightly-Brit just as quickly added a phrase from her childhood church experience: "And also with you."

Then we laughed so hard I almost had to pull over.

Grace isn't just for other people. Sometimes grace is for ourselves.

Realizing that we're all Bozos on this bus - and that that's life (particularly right when I've auditioned for head clown) - and laughing about it (rather than hating on myself or getting worse) is sometimes as close to grace as I can get.

Having someone with me who saw what was going on - and also didn't hate on me, but instead laughed with me, well - even without being able to define it I think that's grace. Brava Bozo-grace!

Got a grace note moment you'd like to share?

A Story that Goes Straight to the Heart

 

 

(Another Heart-Opening Reminder of the Shiny!)

I met Dagny Sol only recently. And yet, already I feel I can call her a friend. She is wise, compassionate, open-hearted - and she plays with words like a master (plus she's got a great sense of humor)!

Dagny's blog, Serenely Rapt, is home to a number of her pieces - both essays and fiction. She's been published in Ripples - Short Stories By Indian Women - and like I said: she plays with words like a master, making them work double time.

Dagny wrote a story that I want to share with you, it's called Cindered Dreams - and, oh! how I love this story!!

Writing of the story, Dagny says: "The story demonstrates the inherent impotence of evil. The theme is not new, all of mankind’s mythology is built around the concept of the ultimate victory of GOOD. Just as love stories are an old theme, so is the victory of good over evil. Yet, there are variants to the theme, there are distinctions, there is newness in the incidents."

but you've got to read the story to experience it. I could write for pages on what happens in the story and how it affected me; but I think it's best to just point you to the story itself.

Cindered Dreams was presented in serial form on Serenely Rapt (which, by the way, is an awesome blog title, yes?) - there are 7 parts, and I'm including links to each part here:

• Cindered Dreams
• Cindered Dreams II
• Cindered Dreams III
• Cindered Dreams IV
• Cindered Dreams V
• Cindered Dreams VI
• Cindered Dreams VII

I'd love to hear your experience of the story!!

Heart-Opening Reminders of the Shiny

(or: It's Not All Shit)

Things have been less than smooth lately. Blame it on Mercury, or Murphy's Law - or don't blame at all - just call it Life (shit happens). Whatever. The thing is, when shit happens (or hits the fan - or covers everything because of a plumbing backup, flood or ?) it is SO lovely,

so heart-openingly necessary to remember that the sun still shines - that life is made up of more than shit. That there's a whole lot of not-shit out there - a whole lot of shiny!

I have been so blessed recently - I've been nearly swimming in internet reminders - posts that point to the shiny, that glory in the more-than-shit of life.

And I want to share those blessing with YOU, because I figure that you're likely to need reminding at some time too.

fyi: oddly (or not), most of the blog posts linked relate to grieving in some way...

Heart-opening reminders of the shiny:

1. Slightly-British Daughter pointed me to this post - it's by artist, teacher, journal-maker Mary Ann Moss, and was written after her beloved cat was attacked (she witnessed this) and died (in her arms).

The post celebrates her cat's life, and is very touching...then there are the comments - ohmyword! The comments are such an outpouring of compassion and care (most from people who say they've never met the artist) - they make my heart smile!

2. Slightly-Brit pointed me to another blog post - where Brooklyn Whimsy & Spice owner, Jenna, chats about the "bane of my domestic existence" (laundry). And again the comments! The 4th comment, from a woman named Karen (not me), where the commenter shared about her issues with laundry after her husband died, and the over-the-top help of a hardware store worker - OH! There's so much love in the world - it's so heart-opening!!

3. Body Aware Grieving is a new-to-me blog, written by body worker Margo Rose, who's learned to incorporate body awareness into dealing with grief. Margo says, on the blog, that "it was not my intention or preference to become so informed about grief." But that's what Life handed her - and she has gifted us with the results of what she's learned.

This particular post, Grief Funny, talks about an experience the writer and her mother had when her mother "was losing her battle with breast cancer." It celebrates the silly stuff - bright spots - that are often there during the hard stuff.

4. Maribeth Doerr wrote open-heartedly about the difficulty of the parent roles being reversed - about (very compassionately and respectfully) helping her parents consider moving out of their home and into a place that would be safer for them.

Then, very recently, her mom died (unexpectedly) - and Maribeth now writes about moving her father into her own house while grieving her mother. She is going through very tough times in many areas of her life, but she still writes with hope (and honesty! Hers is not a fake-the-happy blog!). Her latest post, Sometimes It's Overwhelming, and Then Magic Happens is a big heart-opener!

5. I was thinking about Jane Cunningham all weekend - because I was reading a book that had me fall in love with New Zealand (where she lives). I wandered over to her blog this morning to see what she was up to and found this incredible poem - talk about heart-opening! It's called Sometimes I, and starts:

"sometimes i feel invincible, bullet proof, made of divinity
and sometimes i feel tiny and crushed"

I love how Jane courageously shares her truth - the opposites she (we!) live with - her poem felt like a benediction.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I hope these links help your heart stay open, remind you of the shiny - and I'd love it if you shared YOUR favorite reminders. What have you found lately that helps you remember it's not all shit (even if you're standing in a pile)?

Be Here Now

I've been having a hard time. A scary double kick-ass hard time (just to get technical).

And strangely (can you say Life Lessons ), all my normal comfort spots (in numerous areas of my life) have disappeared. The usual shoulders, the oft-proffered hand, the blog where I find encouragement and inspiration, the physical resting place - nada, kaput, unavailable, gone - phffft!

Oh! Let's not forget the ants! All of a sudden we've got ants (never before - in 30+ years here) - what the what?

There goes another comfort spot. I can forget my woes for a few minutes if I'm indulging in goodies - but not while I'm doing parry-riposte maneuvers with ants. Yuck!

When I sat reflecting on all this, a mind-picture of a ship in the middle of a very stormy sea appeared (yes, it is weird how my brain throws out visuals).

The ship-in-the-stormy-sea visual brought to mind some of the scarier ocean crossings of my youth. My family often boated over to Bimini (the island Papa Hemingway loved) - and for whatever reason, we very often went when seas were wild crazy. I remember a few times when the waves were higher than the boat was long. Scary!

You couldn't see the shore - couldn't gauge the length of time it would take to get to land. Fears crept in (galloped in, actually): would the wild ride ever end? Would we ever get to shore? Was this IT (the end)? Scary!

In my current adrift-in-wild-seas state I tossed a question out, a plea for help from my inner spirit - and Spirit: how-where-what do I do now? Ok, maybe it was more like HOW-WHERE-WHAT-DO-I-DO-NOW? (loud & whiney).

And I wrote the answer down:

Tap into love. Sit with love, let it flow over you.

Sit with love, BE the love,

not DO, just sit with it.

Absorb it.

You are enough and not too much.
You are loved.
You are love.

You can sit anywhere - open your heart and feel,
see - with nature - through music, laughter,
touch, the senses

you can feel the abundance - the beauty - that is maybe just a hint
of the breath of the Beloved...
not even a measurable piece of the wholeness and yet - wow!
The beauty in nature, music, laughter - it's a LOT!

Sit.
Absorb.

Nothing new -- this is Be Here Now stuff. But sometimes I need specifics, some practical, directive help with how to Be Here Now. The answer I got gave me this. This worked (while I did it! Don't want to give the idea that this was a one-time-and-you're-done thing).

And I offer it to you, in case you're boat is facing wild crazy scary waves right now, too - in case you need a practical reminder (maybe another tool for the self-care toolbox?) of one of the ways to Be Here Now.

Building a Self-care (Love Thyself) Toolbox

I went into the TDF Zone the other day: Tripping over things, Dropping things, Forgetting things - everything. 

It started with a few of these: drop this (& that), trip over it (or them) - then forget what I got this and/or that out for in the first place. #@!%&*!

Next there were a couple rounds of: head downstairs, trip over doorsill, trip over rug, trip over my own feet, drop something on the way downstairs, get down the stairs and realize I forgot something I will need, drop something else, head back up (but not before tripping over another something else) #@!%&*! -

and then there were mixed variations of the same theme - it was total TDF Zone! 

I probably should've tripped down the hall and dropped myself into a dark room somewhere (for safety sake), but I needed to get to the post office to mail a couple Easter bunny packages and a few letters. Plus there were some items I needed to grab from the store - so off I went.

Well, not immediately. First I dropped the car keys a couple times, dropped 3 of the 5 pieces of mail (one piece at a time - so 3 separate droppings), got out to the car and realized I'd forgotten the list...(there was more, but you get the picture) #@!%&*!.

I didn't realize it at the time, but I was feeling sad (does sadness make everybody clumsy, or is it just me?). I might've noticed the sadness when I had a near melt-down over what to put in the Easter packages I was mailing (because, really - how important is Pez dispenser placement?). I also might have noticed the sadness in my sighs -- my continuous sighs (a sure sign!). But I didn't.

I pulled into the post office parking lot and headed for the door (after dropping a package, getting knotted up in the strap of my purse and hitting my shins on the car door). Grumble, grumble. The question: What else can go wrong? rumbled around in my head. #@!%&*!

When I got knotted up with the purse strap I'd decided not to tempt fate - why struggle with a wallet in the post office when I could take cash - so I stuck cash in my pocket. While waiting for the (very pleasant) postal clerk to weigh one of my packages I pulled the $20 bill out of my jeans pocket. It was a folded-over, mangled mess. #@!%&*!

I began to smooth the bill out and ripped it in half! #@!%&*! Completely in half, not a little rip. I felt embarrassed (and clumsy), I could feel myself starting to turn red. Now what?

I asked the clerk: "Do you guys take this?" (pointing to the ripped money and figuring I was going to have to go to the bank for a replacement) - she said: "Sure, sure - we tape this." (See, I told you she was very pleasant - even if she doesn't hear so well). 

The very pleasant postal clerk proceeded to tape up my ripped money, tally my charges and hand me some change. I went back to the car, still feeling a little embarrassed, but anxious to get home and tell Slightly-British Daughter about my cash-ripping adventure (she's a great audience).

While I was telling her I started to laugh. I remembered something Little Princess (granddaughter) said years ago that's become an oft-repeated family favorite. When someone tripped (must've been a TDF Zone day) Little Princess burst out laughing (she was probably about 4 y/o - didn't have the false-face social graces perfected yet) and, when she got "the look" she said: "Well, it was kinda funny!" (which it was!).

When I started laughing about the ripped $20 dollar bill I noticed my sadness. Actually, what I noticed was my sadness losing its grip (hadn't even known it was there - but I was sure aware of it moving). I realized that Laughter could kick some TDF Zone ass! 

In an earlier post - On Relaxation - or the Lack Thereof I wrote about how 3 things: music, movement and noticing the breath, help me relax and ground myself (self-care). Laughter is another one of those tools.

So I started to think of building a Love Thyself (self-care) toolbox! Because really - I need all the help I can get remembering self-care (I bet we all do) - and metaphors help!

Remembering our tools (and using them) - maybe even before we get into a TDF Zone kinda day - sounds like a good idea, right?

Thus far I've got Movement, Music and Muahaha (meaning Laughter, but - you know, I'm trying to run some alliteration here) and Breath in my self-care toolbox. 

What's in YOUR self-care toolbox?

 

Chicken Poop Again

Way back in June 2008 I wrote a post called Chicken Poop. I came across it today while fixing a bunch of blog posts (which involves a long, chicken-poop-type story that we won't get into) and wanted to share it with you. I'd love to hear how YOU deal with chicken poop!!

So here's Chicken Poop again:

I love wandering around The Morris Arboretum.

We were there a little over a week ago soaking up the beauty of Spring colors and blooms.

As we strolled along from favorite place to favorite place Little Princess told me: "I love these enormous chickens, but I hate walking in their poop!"

The enormous chickens are actually ducks and geese, but Little Princess' fowl-naming difficulty isn't my point - I'm here to talk about the poop.

I don't like walking through poop either. Duck poop at the arboretum is pretty unavoidable. Shoes can be washed off - not that big of a deal. What I get frustrated with is emotional poop.

Why is it that emotional poop is also unavoidable? You can be walking along the most beautiful paths, soaking in everything wonderful and splat you've stepped in ickystinkysadmadglumblah poop.

And puleeze, do not scold me with fairy tales about the life lived totally poopless! YOUR feet touch the ground too (don't make me knock you down - then you'd be sitting in poop - and that's REALLY disgusting - grin).

Here's what we did at the arboretum: Sometimes I'd hoist Little Princess up onto my shoulder and she'd squeal and we'd both laugh and she got to keep her feet poop-free.

Other times we'd just trudge through the poop together. Sometimes she went her way and I went mine - and one or both of us ambled through poop. And sometimes we'd be able to walk around the poop - although that was rare, because - well, because that's the way it is.

My inspirational thought for the day is: There's poop underfoot - the question "Why?" is moot. Even when we're in places of great beauty (literally and metaphorically) - there's poop around somewhere...

And it's great to avoid stepping in poop - when we can.

It's great to travel with a playful, squealing friend. Great to either hoist someone or be hoisted over the poop occasionally. And also - it's just fine to traipse through the poop. Life goes on. Isn't it a trip to look around and enjoy the beauty even if you're standing in poop!