the canyon of my heart

On the outside, you might see me sitting on the couch working on my laptop. Sometimes I wear my headphones and will suddenly start singing and dancing while I work. Other times I am hunched over the Chicago Manual of Style trying to figure out how to reference something. You might see me reading a book or a magazine while I am curled up in bed. I might be making macaroni and cheese or a cup of tea. I might be on the floor in bridge pose stretching out my back. This is what you might see on the outside if you peeked in on me in the middle of the day.

This is what you would see on the surface. But what would it be like to look beyond this outer me?

As I looked through the pictures we took in Durango last weekend, I had a thought when looking at this photo of the cliff dwellings carved into the side of a mountain at Mesa Verde—looking at this photo is almost like peeking into my heart. All the emotions and memories and dreams that live in my heart live in a place like this.

When I was taking this picture, I heard someone from across the canyon call out to another person. I was amazed at the thought of how I could hear the person as though she was right next to me. I started to imagine how it would have been to call out to one another hundreds of years ago. How the seemingly quiet world of living on the side of a cliff was probably not all that quiet with thousands of people living throughout this canyon. The surface of something is never quite what it seems. I wondered about the loneliness people felt hundreds of years ago. When did these people decide to leave this place? Did somebody run back to pick up a lost belonging and turn around to find her family had left her? Only to then hear someone from across the canyon yell, “hurry up, we are just over here.”

Someone told me that the second year after you lose someone is the hardest. I remember nodding my head but thinking, “you have no idea what last year was like for me.” Today I am beginning to understand the truth of this statement. The first year you are simply trying to wrap your brain around the pain. And as humans, I think we are used to the idea that pain goes away. You break your arm, and then it heals. You fail, and then you get bounce back. So part of you is waiting for the pain to go away. But at some point, you begin to realize that this pain isn’t leaving. The person doesn’t come back. Ever. Sometimes I will just look at Jon and say, “my grandmother is totally dead.” This isn’t my sarcastic self talking. No, this is me reminding myself of the truth. I appreciate that time has a way of dulling things a bit and that she is with me and on and on and on. But I also know that my heart feels broken. And sometimes I am paralyzed for seconds at a time at the thought that this is how it will feel when I lose the next person. And then again with the next. My breath is cut off by this thought.

No one ever explained all this to me. Though I realize that maybe you can’t really understand it until you experience the loss of someone you love. Still, I wish I had even understood a tiny piece of it. Every day I am still a bit shocked about the depth of feeling I have now. How my understanding of life changed in one moment. And this isn’t melodramatic; it is just truth. My truth. Me.

At times, my heart does feel as empty and lonely as this cliff dwelling appears from across the canyon at first glance. However, I know that even through this emptiness a spirit is strong within these walls. These dwellings have been here for hundreds of years and they aren’t going anywhere anytime soon. And even when they do crumble, the energy of the people who lived in these walls is everywhere. This is also true of my heart. Even in moments of grief I am not alone. Even when it seems as though no one knows my experience, I am not alone. The spirit of all those who came before me lives in me. The spirit of all those who are with me now lives in me. The energy that creates the future lives in me. I try to remind myself that even in the deep, wide feelings of grief, I am not alone.

And if there are moments when you don’t know what to do, you don’t know what to say, or you don’t know how to respond, remember: To really see me, is to move the outer stuff aside to take a peek across the canyon to look inside my heart. To really love me, is to call across the canyon to let me know you are there.

And I will remember that this is true with you too.

a bookmarked poem and a gift {poetry thursday}

This week's idea at Poetry Thursday spoke to me for many reasons. I love the idea of bringing poetry into the every day moments of our lives. To allow ourselves to stop being afraid of poetry (if that is the case) or to let others in on our love of poetry. Carrying poetry with you and sharing it is a beautiful thing. Even if you share only with yourself. To know that you have these special words along for the ride of whatever is before you. I also loved this idea because it was perfect for the hecticness of my life. Meaning, I haven't had time to write much lately, but I appreciated the invitation to stop and take a breath and read a poem that I love (thanks Lynn).

Because I am spending most of my time with my laptop attached to me, I decided to electronically bookmark my poem and click to it every now and then as I worked. And I have done this over the last few days. (I have to admit that I like the idea of actually writing out the poem and putting it in your pocket. I want to do that soon too.) Because I have felt a bit melancholy, I wanted to turn to someone who would fill me up a bit. And this person continues to be William Stafford. The words of his poem "Sending These Messages" have been like balm for my aching heart this week. They have been a reminder of why I write, why I read, of all that poetry is for me. You can read it here.

I haven't mentioned the exciting news that earlier this month one of the women I work for hired me full time! So I am still editing from home and taking on some freelance projects, but I will have steady work from now on. This is a fantastic development for me (and I won't go into how excited I am to be working for her because she is a woman with integrity and is so honest...I don't want kiss up or anything but really I am lucky).

However, my time has been a bit stretched with summer and weddings and other things going on, so I am feeling a bit disconnected from things other than editing. I found out Monday that the yoga studio I teach at is closing. Now. So last night was my last class there (I will still have my community center class) and I already miss my regular students. It has been a very odd few weeks. And spending the weekend with family, coming back to a project that has been a bit crazier than expected, and the closing of the studio has just added to it all. As I mentioned in a previous post, this family gathering was the first one since my grandmother's death. And this weighed heavily on me. No one talked about her. It was so odd. I miss her deeply. I wanted to talk about her. But it was a wedding weekend and not about this. I get that. Still, my heart feels a bit depleted with it all.

And my husband knows this.

So last night, when I came to bed in the middle of the night because I was working late, I found a book of poetry on my pillow with a love note.

Tonight, I opened the book and read these words:

And I am thinking: maybe just looking and listening
is the real work.

Maybe the world, without us,
is the real poem.

From the first section of the poem "From the Book of Time" in Mary Oliver's book The Leaf and the Cloud.

This is the year I have been given the gift of poetry.

Thank you.

enclosed in music {self-portrait challenge}

I sit and look in the mirror, listening to Deb Talan sing in my ear. Then I join in and harmonize with her.

Serenading myself has become a new experience for me. I always sing, but actually singing to myself on purpose is something new. In certain moments, it seems to be holding me together.

See other self-portraits here.

********

Side note: I am busy, busy with work and have not been able to read blogs since some time last week (and really the week before that and maybe even the week before that). Know that I am holding all of you in my heart.

finding my way back

On being tired

There are days you invite me to hold up
everything in sight. You. The world.
My arms ache. Add more. Go ahead.
My body becomes numb. You look
into my eyes and tell me no one cares
about you. I shift, grit my teeth, and try
to explain you are wrong. You follow
the instructions from your past:
pour more, rinse, repeat.
I start crying. You change the subject
to how you give. I start shaking. I cannot
breathe. You remind me of all you do not
appreciate about me. The time I said nothing
the person I know would say. You remind me.
Again. “Do you see how hard it is to be me?”
Every day I stand, my arms reach to the sky
as the sun burns the back of my neck.

“Yes. I see”

********

Tomorrow this blog will return to the regularly scheduled programming of meditations and self-portraits and pictures from my trip and encouragement and all that good stuff. However, tonight I found my way back to this poem I began a few weeks ago and decided to share it here.

a few things...

1) my grandmother is here. even though this is the first big family event she is missing, she is here. in the faces of her daughters (and in their interactions with one another, this is a hee, hee moment), in my heart, and in the spirit of the hummingbirds that are everywhere in this gorgeous corner of the world.

2) even though my grandmother did this kind of wacky, sometimes horrible thing of encouraging this odd competition between my and my cousin who is about two months younger than me, we get along great. i adore him. and i can't wait to spend time catching up with him and with his wife this evening. i kind of stick my tongue out at my grandma right now about this one. she had this thing with creating competition when there didn't need to be any. and we outgrew that. thank goodness.

3) seeing my aunt and uncle interact with one another makes my heart happy.

4) my husband is a kind soul and my best friend. this makes me the luckiest person i know.

5) i might want to be a mom. but only if i can have a daughter as cute and smart and funny as my cousin's daughter. (no need to tell me it doesn't work that way...i am just sayin')

6) i wish my brother was here. he is playing a show in portland so he couldn't be here but i miss him. he and my cousin (the one who is getting married) were born on the same day of the same year. how cool is that? my mother and her sister both had a baby on the same day. i know he hates that he isn't here this weekend.

7) the cliff dwellings at mesa verde remind me that a lot of what i spend my time being wrapped up in is pretty insignificant in the scheme of things. i want to come back here (kind of want to come back alone) and spend time in these ruins. when my back is better and i can walk like regular old me again.

8) i am switzerland in a family that thinks they are switzerland too. but i think i might be the only one actually able to hoist that flag with certainty. family is great though. you can learn so much from spending time with the people that make up the tribe from which you came.

9) i love wearing my hair in these two pigtail bun things and i can't wait until it is long enough to wear it in two braids again.

10) the book eat, pray, love might change your life. so read it already won't you? (i am going to write and write and write some more. this book has yelled at me and also whispered to remind me that this is my calling.)

11) I miss my grandmother like crazy. i am just tired enough after getting three hours of sleep wednesday night and a few more than that last night that i kind of want to curl up in a ball and cry. but i won't. i will keep my eyes open for the hummingbirds. have you ever heard them talk? they make this fantastic chirping sound, letting you know that they have some feelings about you being in their air space. yes, i think my grandmother flies with them now.

12) i saw wild horses today. enough said really.

13) i know i missed poetry thursday for the first time since the thursday in february when it all began. just trust me that today in the ruins i was part of the poetry of the earth. that is enough for this week i think.

14) wait until i tell you about how i am doing the mirror meditation while i am here. stay tuned...

off again!

Just a quick note to say we are off to another wedding tomorrow. This time my cousin is getting married in Durango, CO. I have been working all day and have been trying to pack. We leave early, early tomorrow morning, so I don't have time to post for Poetry Thursday. Hopefully I will be able to post tomorrow after we get settled into our hotel.

Until then, go on over to poetry thursday to click to other blogs that have posted for PT.

Oh and you should also check out this site. I spent several minutes of my life exclaiming out loud, "oh jonny come quick! you gotta see this one!" on Sunday.

enclosed in a blanket {self-portrait challenge}

Enclosed in a blanket…
hiding from a world filled with cancer and terrorism.

(see other self-portraits here)

Why am I hiding?

Over the weekend, we saw World Trade Center. For some reason, I felt very compelled to see this. I cried through several moments, and I felt amazed by the strength of the people who experienced that day. I cannot believe that people survived the crumbling of those buildings. My husband and I sat behind seven teenage boys. One of them cried through almost the entire movie. I wish we could have taken him out for tea afterwards to just say, “how are you? who are you? are you okay?”

So I have had terrorism on the brain. Then last night, Jon was watching a documentary about the 9/11 Commission. And I was sucked into the last hour or so. This documentary was what the movie was not. In the sense that I felt right there in it, and I didn’t really feel that in the movie; the movie told a different story. And, of course, it was a movie. The documentary had actual footage. Seeing people choose jumping to their death over burning to death. Hearing the last phone calls. Listening to a father tell a story that his son was on the phone with him from the plane and he heard his son saying, “Oh God” before the plane hit while his wife was across the room watching the television and saw her son die as the plane he was on hit the second tower. The father says, “We lost half of our family that day.” His son, his daughter-in-law, and granddaughter were on the plane that crashed in to Tower 2.

I believe that the people who are at fault on this day were the terrorists because they caused this horror. Yet, I can’t help but wonder if it could have been avoided if people were awake in their lives. If people who overheard something that sounded like a hijacking did more than just think “oh that can’t be real.” If people paid attention to the metal detector going off when a person was “wanded” in the airport. If people didn’t put a flight attendant on one of the planes on hold and then not really do anything with what she was saying for almost 30 minutes, repeatedly asking her for her name and her seat, even when she had explained that a passenger had been stabbed. I believe that people do the best they can, but I cannot believe that only one person who testified in front of the commission apologized for errors that were made. And there were so many errors made. I don’t want to go into all the details here because, most of all, I know that I do not know them all. I know that I do not understand. I know I only saw the last hour of this documentary. However, I have a new understanding that I think I avoided understanding prior to now. And my heart feels heavy today. I couldn’t sleep last night because I had nightmares about people in the midst of a fear I cannot comprehend.

I am also hiding from this dreaded word: cancer. A family member called today to tell me that he has skin cancer. Yes. They caught it early. Yes. He has to have a somewhat scary sounding procedure soon. Yes. He will probably be fine. But I hate that word. I have lost too many people already in my life to this disease. And even though I know this doesn’t make sense, I want it to go away. Far away. Actually, I just want it to vanish.

On a bright note though, when I turned to walk from the family room to another room in our house, I looked out the sliding glass door and there, in the middle of our back porch hovered a hummingbird. No flowers anywhere near it. It just hovered and seemed to stare at me through the glass. Hummingbirds have special place in my heart (see this post to understand a bit more); my grandmother taught me to love them.

I am taking this as a sign to just keep doing what I am doing and living in my life.

the heart center {a guided meditation}

This guided meditation can be done with your eyes closed.

If you are participating in the daily mirror reflection, you could look in the mirror during this meditation, or you could also sit in front of the mirror with your eyes closed and open them when I say namaste.

(Please email me if you would like the words to this meditation or if you have any questions.)

senses. a day spent working on my laptop on the back porch.

{see}


{taste}


{touch}


{smell}


{hear}


{and know}

what do you want?

There are a lot of voices that whisper inside me. That is just the truth. But there is one that has been trying to spend a lot of time with me recently. It has been a soft voice lately, but I know it has been there for a long time, and it has, in the past, even been a loud, shouting voice. This voice says things like: “Who do you think you are?” “Why are you doing this?” “Do you really think anyone cares? About you? About what you are DOING? About who you are?” “Why can’t you just be quiet and leave others alone?” “You always want to talk about things and no one else does. Shut up.” “Stop whining.” “This is pathetic. Just stop. It will be easier if you just sit back down in your corner.”

There are lots of things that I can do to ignore this voice. I read, eat, watch television, go to a movie, listen to music, practice yoga, talk on the phone with a friend, talk and talk so I don’t have to hear it. But it just waits until I think I feel some balance. Then it begins again.

Over the last few weeks, the comments and emails I have received from you wonderful people who visit me in my world at this blog have simply overwhelmed me. You have invited me to honor who I am and how I share myself here. But just as I finish reading and feel those words start to fill up my heart, this whisper starts up again. “Who do you think you are? You can’t really believe that stuff.” And I recognize that may seem like I am not honoring what people have written, but that is not the case. This is not about the writer of the comment or email, it is about me. It is about how I cannot accept that the words are true.

I always thought my friends thought of me as “the bitch” of the group. I always wanted to do the right thing and not get in trouble. I would disagree with them. I had strong opinions about what was right and what was wrong. I was liberal and independent and wanted to be strong in a culture that kind of just wanted me to shut up and be like the rest of the girls. In grade school, I recited Helen Reddy’s “I Am Woman Hear Me Roar” for my oral interpretation. My freshmen year of high school, my speech teacher had me speak against the Equal Rights Amendment because he knew how alien this would be to me. I was so angry I could not vote for Bill Clinton in high school because I was worried he wasn’t going to win. I could be moody at times because I felt sadness and was troubled by things that were happening around me and in the world. I was confused by fakeness and would react with emotion when I was confused. Friends would keep things from me (like how a boy I had a crush on had asked one of them out on a date or that they all started smoking when I was vocally against smoking because my grandfather had died of lung cancer before I was born) because they were afraid of how I would react, “Liz is emotional.” I had similar experiences in college and beyond. And this made me feel scared that I didn’t really have any friends because no one really knew me or wanted to really know me.

There is a song by the Spin Doctors that was popular in high school called, I think, “Little Miss Can’t Be Wrong.” One of my high school friends turned to me one evening and said, “Liz, I think this song is about you.” Do you know how that song starts? “Been a whole lot easier since the bitch left town.” Wow. That interaction greatly shaped my role in my group of friends in high school and to this day. Was I the bitch?

In my family, I often felt like the oldest person in the room because of my need to do the right thing or because I felt so deeply about things or because I wanted to talk about things or because I spent so much time worrying about everyone else. And this was different from how people in my family reacted to life, at least from my perspective at the time.

(This is where a disclaimer originally appeared. A place where I talked about how I am not pointing any fingers and I am not trying to invite anyone to feel bad. But really, I have to stop that. Sometimes my life feels like a disclaimer {my friend Heather is out there nodding somewhere} so I deleted it. Still, remember that this blog is about my perspective and not about someone else’s. My name is the one in the sidebar to the right.)

When I look in the mirror, I am afraid to be honest about the fact that I think some of that past stuff is shit. That I do not think I am a bitch. (Am I?) That I do not think I was wrong when I was vocal because I felt compassion for others or because my goal wasn’t to be a quiet “good” wife one day or because I was intelligent or because I was mad about something or confused…the list is endless.

Now there is a bit of a disconnect between my realization that I have spent so much time thinking about the feelings of others and not myself and that some of these others think of me as a self-centered person. This seems so confusing. And I wonder if some people read my blog and think, “This isn’t really her. I mean, she isn’t being honest about how she can be a bitch.” But as I look in the mirror, I think I just have to honor that I know my truth.

And your words, the community I have found here, a community where I do think people are real with one another, helps me see this. Do I believe this seems so “real” partly because I don’t have baggage yet with the people I have met through blogging? Perhaps. But what I think is that in this environment, many people (certainly not all, but the people I feel the deepest connections with) get right to the guts of things. The small talk isn’t needed. Whether this is on their blog, in an email conversation, over the phone. Instead, we just get right to it. The heavy lifting. The good stuff that is hard and painful and beautiful and true.

Last night, I turned off my computer earlier than usual and went to bed to read. I may be the last blogger to read the book Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert, but I am finally reading it. I imagine there was a reason I waited until now. I am so swept up in it that I keep promising myself little things like, "just edit one more chapter, then you can read five pages." There is something wonderful about not reading on a computer screen because I do that all day long with my work and when I am out in blog world.

Gilbert's words prompted me to spend time in front of my mirror around midnight last night. I got up to go to the bathroom and then after I washed my hands, I leaned against the bathroom counter and had a meeting of the minds with myself.

What do you want?

The answer came right away. But then: You can’t really do that.

What do you want?

Same answer. Then, no, you don’t want that.

What do you really want?

Same answer. But, you said you wanted this and that, so you are kidding yourself again.

What do you want?

Same answer. This time I did not even pay attention to the voice, I just asked myself again.

And again and again and again, the same answer.

As I leaned into the mirror, I felt as though I had clarity about something that the negativity could not touch. Clarity that is not about some huge life changing thing exactly, but something I know to be true about my future and who I want to be. Something I have pretended to have clarity about in the past but always that knowledge seemed to succumb to that voice. And maybe it will again. But at least I see it for what it is now. Just a voice that wants to drag me to the past. The past I honor because it brought me to this place. But a past in which I do not live.

in case of an emergency {poetry thursday}

If there is an earthquake or other natural disaster out here in the Pacific Northwest, the land of volcanoes and earthquakes and tsunamis, this is where you will find me. I won’t have bottled water or a first aid kit. I won’t have a hand-crank radio or my cell phone with extra batteries. No, you will find me under the dining room table with my poetry emergency kit.

Would you rather be in a total panic in the midst of a disaster or be found writing a poem?



Last weekend, Lynn gave me this Poetry Emergency Kit (henceforth known as PEK).



PEK is one of the most thoughtful, inspiring, and downright fun gifts I have ever received.



Look at all these things to ignite my imagination and invite me to move my pen across paper! PEK has something for any moment of writer’s block. Rocks from Ruby Beach, the scent of lavender, a finger puppet to keep me company. Books! to open my mind. Two journals to write things down in when ideas and thoughts come to me. New pens in fun colors! Vocabulary cards and more. And my favorite part? See those little folders? They each hold a prompt to get me started when I feel stuck. And when I use all those prompts, Lynn is going to give me new ones. Just like that. She is the best.



i love poetry.

(thank you my friend. thank you for honoring my desire to write and believing in me.)

It's a free day at Poetry Thursday, so click on over there to see what other people have posted.

(and for those of you who are worried...yes, i will probably at least add a small flashlight with extra batteries to my kit)

enclosed in a moment {self-portrait challenge}

This month’s topic at self-portrait challenge is enclosed spaces. I have been exploring the idea of being enclosed in my body.

Today I was enclosed in a moment with my body.

In this last week, my energy around the reflection meditation has become a bit more about “oh I forgot again and it is 11:00 p.m.” and less “this is the time I have set aside to do this.”

Today, I changed that. I created a practice. My plan is to partake in the extended version I did today at least once a week. But each day, I will do at least a piece of this practice.

I created a space for myself in our family room. Propping up the mirror that usually sits on our mantel, using a small stool as a table, changing into something that makes me feel good, putting on a little make-up. I made a pot of tea for one and a small plate of treats.

I sat down in front of the mirror and lit a candle and stated my intention.

I chanted to Shiva, hoping to gain strength and the ability to detach from all that flits back and forth in my mind.

I opened my eyes and looked at my reflection.

I had a tea party with my own reflection, eating a little chocolate, some walnuts, and rainier cherries.

I took some pictures of myself.

I watched myself in the mirror, noticing how it felt to be in my body, in these clothes, in this day.

I honored my body and its curves.

I acknowledged a power greater than me and blew out the candle.

This meditation is about accepting that my outer self and my inner self are one. It is about being as gentle with my physical body as I believe I should be with my emotional body because they both make up me.

Is there a separation between the outer and inner physical self? Do the voices of others speak so loudly in our heads that we forget to honor that inner beauty is the outer beauty? Will we allow the expectations of the “shoulds” to take over who we want to be? These are the questions that swirl around me tonight as I sit here hoping you are being gentle with yourself. That you are honoring your physical and emotional bodies. Hoping you are owning your beauty.

inviting peace {a chant}

I believe that letting go of the words that can seem stuck inside of us, as many people have been doing in the comments of Sunday’s post, frees some space inside you. I honor those of you who have freed this space inside you with the pieces you have left here. Thank you for being brave and sharing your feelings, emotions, fears, and thoughts.

Today, I was thinking about the idea that for some people, when they share something they have been keeping inside, they feel freedom. This created space inside is a relief. For others, this space may feel new and invite uncertainty.

Wherever you are in your journey, I would like to invite you to fill the space inside you with peace.

To me, inviting peace means to invite a feeling of quiet, calm, validation, safety, and the knowledge that you are not alone.

If you click on the audio post below, you will hear a chant that invites peace. Shanti is the Sanskrit word for peace. In my yoga classes, and maybe in classes you have been in, this brief chant is usually repeated three time. I have repeated it a few more times in case you want to join in after you have heard it. At the end of this chant, I have shared some words my teacher often says at the end of class.

If you don’t feel like you are in a place to invite peace inside you, maybe you should take a moment to leave a comment in the previous post or read what others have left in the comments. You might feel yourself shift a bit.

Thank you for sharing yourself here.

let go of the beast inside

We are so accustomed to disguising ourselves to others that in the end we become disguised to ourselves.
François Duc de La Rochefoucauld

As I was walking in Portland yesterday, I had this thought that there is something I would really like to share here but I can't. Something that someone said to me recently that stopped. me. in. my. tracks. I was so shocked by this person's "well-intentioned but holy crap I can't believe you just said that to me and I am supposed to react to you" idea that I did not know what to do. This isn't someone who "lives" in my blog world but someone who lives in my "real" world. It wasn't earth shattering, but it was something I wanted to post about because I think people would...well...I think it would be an interesting topic. However, I know that person never even thought for a minute that what was said might hurt me or have been not at all helpful.

This led me to think about the idea that after a blog is shared with friends or family, censoring or the avoidance of certain topics might occur, and if the blog is anonymous, this probably doesn't happen as often. Whether you started out with friends and family reading your blog, told them about it after you started, or even if they don't know but you feel close with people in your blog world, you probably began to censor just a bit or avoided certain hot topics. For some, it may not be too much. For others, it might be a lot. It depends on the topic and the day and so many other things. For me, I do not really censor, but when I do, it is usually to avoid accidentally hurting someone's feelings. (I am already thinking, "Oh I hope no one is out there trying to figure out what you said. Let that go. That is not the point of this post. And no, it wasn't you. Or you.") I believe this is a place for me to reveal pieces of the truth of my journey, a place where I unpack bits of my baggage to examine and learn. But it is also a place where I seek a community of sorts. And I appreciate that this has given some people in my life the opportunity to see other sides of who I am. I know that there are topics I avoid (politics being one) because I just don't want my blog to be about debating or other things. Still, there are times when I want to say things here. I want to show another side of myself. I want to say, "hey, you hurt my feelings and I think you should know that and if you are going to do it in public, I want to reply in public." Or maybe tell a piece from my childhood or about my relationships with certain people in my life. But I believe my blog is not a place for that. Even though writing here is so personal for me and has become a big piece of who I am, this is not the place for everything.

However, if we keep these things bottled up inside for too long, they grow. It is almost as though they sprout feet and teeth and claws. We have to be careful that they don't become raging beasts inside us, threatening to alter our course with their power.

As I was walking around in Portland, I had the thought that I wished I could just share some of these things in someone else's comments. I know that is odd, but that way I could put it out into the universe and not censor. Hmmm. Then as we were walking today, I shared this next idea with Lynn, and we agreed I should put it out there.

Is there anything you want to share here that you can't share on your blog? A story that others wouldn't understand? Feelings about a hot topic? A venting that just needs to be unearthed from the depth of your being? A piece of information you just have to share? A secret's energy that needs releasing? If yes, I invite you to leave this here in the comments of this post. Feel free to leave it anonymously if you like. Just get it out of you.

I think you will feel lighter without it growing inside you.

these eyes

My mind resists why I am here. Eyebrows need to be plucked. Hmmm. Those pores need some attention. What are we going to do for dinner? Did I take Millie out this afternoon? I think I might want to run out and get some coffee. Why am I doing this again? Hmmm. I close my eyes. Breathe in. Pause. Breathe out. Open my eyes. Look again.

This thought.

These eyes. These eyes are the only eyes that will ever see all that I have seen, all that I will see. Holy crap. This is huge. HUGE. I spend so much time wishing that I could adjust this or move that or look like. But this is it. This is the face I bring to this life time. These are the eyes that will see all that I will see as I move through my experiences. These are the eyes that will help me learn this time around; the eyes that will force me to see even when I want to sleep.

Spending time with my reflection seems to take me down a different pathway each day. Sometimes I resist to such a degree I feel like I have let myself down a bit, like I didn't "get" what I was to "get" that day. Though I know that isn't really true, I can become a bit exasperated with myself. Other days I have the "crappers it is 11:30 p.m. and I haven't spent any time in front of the mirror" thoughts. But those seem to be the days that I have a little epiphany. Interupting the flow of things seems to turn my usual thoughts upside down. And that can't be a bad thing.

If you are joining me in your own journey of self-reflection through time with your mirrored self, I hope you will realize there is no "right" way to practice this. You could spend 15 seconds just breathing and looking at yourself, noticing whatever comes up. You could devote the same 10 minutes every day to this experience. You could sit with a poem or whatever inspires you and read, then spend time with your reflection. The possibilities go on and on. This week, I wrote about how I unexpectedly serenaded myself and I have to say I highly recommend that. Feel free to share your ideas and experiences here if you would like.

Take a moment and look deeply into your eyes. What do you see? What would happen if you let go a bit of the wishing to look like and honored this face? Honored these eyes? Honored you?

reflections, a poem, and a serenade to the self

This is a long post. But, just like there is sometimes a monster at the end of a book, there is a poem at the end of this post. (Feel free to just jump ahead. Go on. You will find it in the third part of this post.)

Part I
Last night, I decided that teaching my evening yoga classes and chanting with the two students who came to my yoga, chanting, and meditation class was going to be my meditation for the day. So, I did not spend time in front of the mirror. I shared one of my favorite chants with them and the words and sound swirled around the studio. My teacher says the chant is said to turn the petals of the heart, and as we chanted together, I felt my heart fill with some of the joy I had been focusing on prior to yesterday. Then when I returned home last night and when I woke up this morning, I read the comments left and emails sent by some of you in response to yesterday’s post. Thank you for filling my heart with your support. I do recognize that there are things I need to look at based on my internal response to this doctor’s words…and like you…I do the best I can.

This is what I know. We never really know the frame of mind of the person to whom we are communicating. Where they are in their day, in their life, in their journey. And we will try to be gentle. And sometimes we will fail, not because we weren’t doing the best we could, but because they were in a place where they couldn’t hear it. And sometimes we will not be gentle, because our communication is more about ourselves than about them. And sometimes we will forget or be melodramatic or insensitive. What we can know is our own motivation, and we are in charge of the way that we react to others. But none of this means that communication is easy. Or that we don’t bruise one another every now and then. Because we just can’t know. You can’t know where I am in any given moment, even though it would seem I post about so many aspects of my journey here, and I cannot know where you are. We know pieces of one another. What we choose to share. This is true with all people we know. We know pieces.

Part II

Because I edit from home, I am able to listen to music throughout my day. And with the nano Jon gave me for my birthday, this music becomes portable as I move around when needed. When I stop to think for a moment or take a break, I notice how the sound is so clear it is as though it is inside me.

My breaks today were filled with music that pulled me out of the leftover bits of melancholy.

First, I got in touch with my inner country girl. And, of course, this meant time with Kenny. If you ever want to virtually take a break and join me, just start singing “Ruby” along with Kenny Rogers (make sure you really get the “Ruuuuuuubbeeeeeeee” and then start shaking your hips when the music changes toward the end). Then follow that with “80 Proof Bottle of Tearstopper” by George Strait. “Get a little loose and lose her memory” is one of my favorite phrases to sing. Wrap your tongue around those l’s.

Then, this afternoon, when Marc Broussard started singing “Home,” I jumped up and went to find Jon, who was listening to his ipod in the other room, and insisted we synchronize and dance (which we did after several attempts to start the song at the same time). Anyone watching us would have wondered what the heck we were doing. This was too much fun. Seriously. Silly, hilarious, and romantic in its own way.

This evening, I pulled a stool up to our mirror in the hallway annd I settled in with the Indigo Girls singing Virginia Woolf. I just looked at myself, taking in the reactions as I listened to the music.
“When the river eclipsed your life. And sent your soul like a message in a bottle to me and it was my rebirth.”
This is the line. The reason why I keep listening to this song over and over. Tears fill my eyes each time I hear it.

Then I turned to Deb Talan to listen to “Ashes on Your Eyes” (click here to read the lyrics). About two lines in, I started singing out loud. I suddenly realized I was singing to myself. It was one of the sweetest moments I have ever had. And I was alone. Looking in the mirror. I was reminded of the realization I had last week. That my eyes, the eyes that were staring back at me, were the only eyes that would ever see what I have seen and what I will see. (I want to expand on this is another post later this week.)

And as the song finished, I went to get up, not really thinking about what the next song on the playlist would be. As Stephanie Dosen started singing “Brave” (you can hear it here), I just stopped. And started singing right to the mirror again. I scooted closer and just looked at my reflection. Singing the words. Soaking them into my skin and mind and into the space around my heart. (Thank you for sharing this song with me Meg.)

And as I listened to her words, an idea for a series poem came to me; I think the poem below might be the first part of that series.

Part III

The Sunday before the Wednesday I was to see you
the conversation played
on a stage in my mind.
Knowing you would pretend to be irritated that
I had flown across the country unannounced
because you did not
want me to see you like this,
I would pull the chair next to your bed,
see your emaciated body,
and my hand would brush
away the hair around your face
like I did twenty-five years ago
right before I would smear Pond’s cold cream
across your nose, cheeks, and forehead.
I would tell you that I finally understood.

But then you died on Tuesday.

In their need for reason,
people said you chose to die
the Tuesday before the Wednesday I was to see you
because you knew I was coming and
you wouldn’t have
wanted me to see you like that.
Infuriated, I turned my back
on the words that meant nothing
to the open wound you left behind
that people saw as me, and
I sat in the darkness,
my throat choked with silence,
my fingertips filled with regret that I
did not brush your hair away
from your face when I saw you on
the morning of the Thursday after the Wednesday I was to see you,
when I heard your voice say,
“It isn’t me.”

(read other poems, some also with the theme of unfinished conversations, at poetry thursday)

enclosed in my body week 2 {self-portrait challenge}

Today, I again feel like my body is enclosed in itself. My back pain is getting a little better each day, but today it is this constant dull ache. Yesterday, there was really no pain and I felt so free.

This morning, I went to the doctor because the ER insisted I have a follow-up with my primary care physician (even though I had never met him, he has been my PCP for two years—gotta love health care in this country). I wanted a referral for an acupuncturist, which I will receive after I pick one from a list of 10 not knowing anything about any of them.

The doctor acted like he wasn’t really sure why I was there and didn’t really know what he could do to help me. He dismissed what my yoga teacher (who was a PT before teaching yoga) and I thought about it being SI pain, thinking I was trying to diagnose myself with something called Piriformis Syndrome that I had never even heard of until today. He acted like doctors in the “know” don’t believe in it, which was fine by me since I had never heard of it but have to admit I wonder if it might be what is going on because of where the pain is. Anyway, after being treated like I didn’t really know my own body and that my yoga teacher doesn’t know anything (he didn’t give me a chance to explain that she knows EVERYTHING and that doctors in Seattle send their patients to her and that she was actually part of a health study done by my health insurance, the one that pays his bills because it is actually a healthcare network that he is a part of—the recent one in publication in papers across the country about how back pain is decreased by practicing yoga, especially viniyoga), he sat down and started typing all the information in the computer like they do now. Even though I wasn’t asked if I had any questions, I took that opportunity to ask if he thought this was something that would continue throughout my life or if stretches and taking care of myself would help me to avoid it. I guess I already knew the answer that one really can’t know and that stretching and keeping the body flexible is important because of our sedentary society and blah, blah, blah. But then he threw this one in “and maintaining proper body weight to avoid pressure on the back.”

And that was when the little tears that have been threatening to fall for the last six hours started to pinprick on the back of my eyeballs. He kept talking about other things and how he thought I would be fine based on how the pain had already significantly decreased, my desire to get better, and so on. He didn’t explain if he meant “lose weight you big tub” or if he just meant to keep that in mind. He, having never seen me before, didn’t take the time to notice that since I had my last appointment for my annual exam I had lost eight pounds. No. He just threw that little comment out into the world for my ears to hear and my heart to absorb.

So today, I am struggling with looking at any picture of myself, trying to crop out any bit of fat arm, yet forcing myself to look at the double chin that is a part of me. I can’t imagine how I will face the mirror to reflect on it all unless I actually allow myself to have the “sob fest” that is sitting on my heart, threatening to burst open at any minute.

This feeling of being trapped, enclosed in my body is about more than just my back pain this week. It is about all that “stuff” that sits inside my heart. That stuff about how I look and how much I weigh and how it feels to know that losing weight would be better for my health, my self esteem, my heart, my soul. That stuff that invites a feeling of emptiness around the heart instead of the understanding that the emptiness is space waiting to be filled with joy.

I am sure he is a fine doctor. And I know I am one of many patients. I just wish people would take the time to remember they are talking to a person. A person with feelings and a heart who is sitting in a robe feeling vulnerable and scared. A person who has to leave that little examine room and carry on with the tiny pieces of information shared in the least amount of time possible. That person. Today. That person was me.

see more self-portraits here.

finding the joy {a meditation}

At the end of this post there is a meditation...
but a couple of other things first.

Thank you all for your kind comments about my Sunday Scribblings post. Your words fill my heart. I am so grateful that I can come here to this space and write and someone reads my words and a connection is made...
but I want to let you know that...

I do watch Project Runway, Survivor, and this last season of American Idol. My current favorite summer program is Entourage on HBO. Johnny Drama is the funniest character on television in my opinion.
I sometimes get really pissed off and say the worst kinds of words (my husband will nod his head when he reads this).
We subscribe to Entertainment Weekly and I often read it right before I go to sleep because I have found it helps me to avoid nightmares (and if you subscribe too, check out their article about Mr. Gibson this week...wow).
I recently spent way too much money on clothes and other stuff to try to measure up to my very cool, thin, beautiful friends.
I ate at McDonald's for dinner tonight. Ugh.
If I had to choose between a bowl of haagen daz ice cream and spending a day with a friend who only wants to talk about herself and not ask me how I am doing, I would choose the ice cream every time. (Wish someone would give me that choice sometimes.)

but I also...
Read poetry to feel grounded.
Organize my theology and philosophy and other spiritual books in a way that I hope the authors talk to one another while sitting on the shelf (I have probably already told you this but I have just moved a few and thought of it again). Maybe they will solve some of the world's problems and I will receive some of their energy.
Cry when my mom sends me a dishtowel she found that had a note attached to it from my grandmother to me. (Why is it that seeing the handwriting invites so much longing? Something tactile in front of you I guess.)
Am not talking about anyone who reads this blog in the ice cream comment. I am just sayin' some people suck the life out of you and ice cream, chocolate creamy ice cream, can simply be a better friend.
Believe blogging has reintroduced me to myself.
Drink daily mugs of woodsy green tea to feel a connection to the earth.

*******

This is another meditation that could be used in conjunction with the daily mirror reflection some of us are participating in this month and next.

Options for this meditation:
You can keep your eyes closed throughout.
You could open your eyes and look in a mirror when you hear the invitation to bring awareness to your face.
You could keep your eyes open, looking in a mirror throughout this meditation.

If you would like the words to this meditation, please send me an email.

i might have been... {sunday scribblings}

I might have been someone who watched television for hours each night, keeping a distance from the reality of her life while zoning out into the “reality” of the lives of others. Someone who would, every now and then, glance at the theology and philosophy books on her bookshelves and remember a time when there was a hunger to learn. I might have been someone who thought it would be easier to let go of needing friends in a new place. I might have been someone who avoided mirrors because she did not want to notice her body, her face, her soul. I might have been someone who never told her husband the truth of her needs and wants and desires. Someone who always said “yes” when she meant “no” and “I’m okay” when she meant “I am drowning.” I might have been someone who jumped up whenever the phone rang because she knew someone would need her because someone always needs her to solve their problems. I might have been someone who forgot to let people know when she needs support. Someone who spent a lot of time giving and receiving mostly guilt. Someone who ached inside but chose to ignore the pain.

I might have been someone who forgot herself.

Someone who one day would look in the mirror and resent all that had happened in her life. Resent the life she didn’t choose. Someone who chose what seemed like an easier path and allowed herself to get caught up in all of the distractions that life in this time and in this place can offer. Someone who chose sleep over wide open eyes.

I might have been someone who was so weighed down by baggage that the little girl inside her went to sleep for so long she never woke up.

But something intervened and shifted everything.

In one uncontrollable moment, my heart was broken. The sadness this caused, the waves of grief and the wonder that I could feel such pain invited this little girl inside me to awaken. As I started noticing her, she started singing. She reminded me of dreams and desires and hopes and beliefs. She sang of possibility. And as I listened to her, I knew I had only one choice. To live in my life.

And I began to live in my life by healing my heart.

During the last year, I have begun to heal by finding the creative in my life and challenging myself. Painting and writing and chanting and teaching yoga and sewing. Long conversations with friends about “real” things in life and learning from one another. Being validated and reminded I am not alone in this blog world. Erasing the lines of safety I drew around myself for protection and jumping into new adventures.

This little girl who sings to me about truth and possibility has saved me. This little girl, who is really me.

I am someone who has realized that I choose in every single moment of my life. What to say, how to react, the next step, these are all choices I can make. And even though I do sometimes need to sleep in a bit, when I am a bit exhausted from it all, I know that living, truly living in my life is the only path for me.

(read more sunday scribblings here)

show and tell

this past year, i have been finding the little creative girl that lives inside me. and i am having so much fun! now that i have a sewing machine i have a new found LOVE of fabric. i mean really, who knew there was so many wonderful patterns out there?

i am excited because the ArtFest brochure is out. as i looked through the workshops and talked to a friend on the phone about it today, i realized that creating a schedule that includes time for creating is really important to me.

in the spirit of ArtFest, i also want to share that Kelly has opened up an etsy shop! (finally!) go check it out and show her some love. she is selling her originals and a little bird told me that she is going to have some prints up for sale soon!

also, i just learned that another ArtFest friend has started a blog and she will be teaching at ArtFest as well. check out Tracie Lyn Huskamp's blog and her art. i bought one of her pieces at vendor night and i enjoy looking at it every single day. it reminds me of what is important in life...home...friends...love.

here are pictures of the purses i have been making with my new sewing machine. (forgive the lighting...i finished the last one this evening and just wanted to finally share them. if you click on them you can learn a little more info and see a bit more detail.)










hope you are feeling some creative energy this weekend.
(and the computer is still sick. but i have installed the camera software onto my laptop. and i will be backing up pictures from now on. i promise.)

having a bit of a moment and hoping the deity of computers reads my blog

last week, an odd message appeared out of no where on my desktop computer. i shut down. restarted. all was fine. i am one of those wacky people blessed with a laptop and a desktop. i use my desktop for scanning, downloading my pictures from my rebel, printing, and some work and my work-related email. so a whole lotta stuff is on that thing. my laptop is a new purchase (well, in the last few months) so now i am not attached to a desk all the time and can work from the couch or take off for a cafe in the middle of the day and work from there.
but.
the message appeared again today. and now nothing is working. jon spent an hour on the phone with dell and we thought all was right again. it worked for a few minutes (of course we had hung up with ravi the nice guy from dell who just might be in india). until i tried to check my email. same error message. the computer is not working. at all. i can restart in safe mode and it will work for a few minutes. then the same error message.
here is the kicker. (and how i know some of you relate to this next part.)
all of my pictures taken in the last two years are on that damn computer.
(yes. you. yes. you. nodding at this screen. yes. you are right. i did not back them up.)
so this means that the last pictures of my grandmother and me and the last pictures of my golden traveler. these last pictures are stuck on this computer.

so this comes up...

a few weeks ago a friend and i were talking about her big move. the stress that comes with moving period. let alone moving to a new state. it is scary. and she and her husband were feeling the pressure. she said that the three biggest stresses in a person's life are (in order):
losing a loved one
losing a pet
moving

then she looked at me and said, "you had all three didn't you?"
yes. in a nine month time period i moved across the country from the only place i had ever lived (and this means i "changed" jobs), my dog died, and then my grandmother died.
no wonder i felt lost in the midst of it all.

and all the pictures taken during this time of being lost are stuck on my computer. i know there are lessons. don't i always find those darn lessons.
but right now i just want to cry. i feel a deep hole in my chest. i know it isn't about the pictures really it is about all that other stuff. about not having control. about missing loved ones. and i just want to curl up in a little ball.

instead i am crawling into bed with my three uglydolls (we welcomed two new ones into the family this week so jeero is no longer alone) and jon and i'm gonna watch another episode of making fiends.

we'll call ravi the dell guy again tomorrow and hope he can work a miracle. if he can't, then the geek squad may be making a stop by this house.

finally getting a little sexy with poetry {poetry thursday}

A few weeks ago, the prompt at Poetry Thursday was sex. And I happily shared two poems written by others on that day. Because, well, ahem, my parents sometimes read my blog. And my friends who may not talk about such things also stop by. And a friend I also work with might be reading it right now (hi). So writing about sex is something...ahem...that doesn't quite come easily to me. Except that isn't really true. It is more writing about sex and then posting it for others to read (anyone out there in all the world), well, that is the part that gets me in a bit of a tizzy.

But, as soon as I read Lynn's completely and totally optional Monday idea, this poem began to dance in my head. And it continued to dance throughout these last few days. So tonight, as I listened to Itzhak Perlman's violin play "Tango (Por Una Cabeza) "on repeat, this poem took shape. A little blending of PT's sex and music prompts.

tango on a hot july night

the click of the record player
needle skids
as the first notes play
a sigh

her hands move to the roundness of her belly

a woman in a black dress,
pink rose tucked in her hair
eyes dark
fierceness on her face
his hand splayed across her back
they stare at one another
quick turn
long step
look away
her leg kicks
and slides across the floor
then his
long step
slow turn
bodies collide
skirt twirls
long step
quick quick quick
turn

ba boom
ba boom

her hand moves to her breast

the woman turns her face away
he pulls her in
a violence that invites no fear
quick turn
long step
long step
her foot slides
then his
slow turn
knees bend
pivot
pull closer
anticipate every move
breath
turn

ba ba boom
ba ba boom boom boom

fingertips to lips as another sigh escapes

sweat begins to form
the small of her back
his forehead
quick turn
long step
he thrusts her closer
pause
long step
quick quick quick
bodies lean in
never letting go
feet know
her foot slides
then his
quick turn
skirt twirls
slow slow
quick quick
turn
breath to breath

hands roam where needed
soft sighs
the music quiets
a whisper until the final moment

one hand to her forehead, the other below her belly

ba boom
ba boom

********

make sure you head on over to poetry thursday to click to some more poetry today. happy reading!

looking at the outside becomes a peek inside

Yesterday, as I sat looking at myself on the first day of the reflection meditation, I had three distinct thoughts.
The first came as I tried to get comfortable. Last week, I decided I was going to use the mirror that is on the back of our bedroom door. This way I could close the door and create a little cocoon for myself between the wall and my bedside table. A place where I could sit and look directly into my own face, without holding a mirror, and also have some privacy. And because I can be stubborn, I tried to get comfortable in this same place even though my back and right leg hurt. I tried sitting on my knees, so I did not have to rotate my right hip. But of course, this hurt my knees. I finally "stood" on my knees, all the time wanting to just say, "okay, my five seconds are up." Then the thought came, "You are going to have to do this. You can't just talk about it. This can't be another thing you talk about but do not do."
As I looked into my face, I concentrated on my eyes. I like my eyes. I even think they are kind of pretty. But then I forced myself to take in the rest of my face. The second thought arrived like a car slamming into a telephone poll, "I am going to have to look at you for the next two months. Every single day?"
After another minute or so, I found myself feeling somewhat amused at my state. Back aching, standing on my knees looking in the mirror, feeling a bit pouty, and when this amused expression crossed my face, I noticed how much my face seemed to change. I let myself find my breath and just look at me. As a few moments passed, it was almost as though my face became flat and I could see every corner of it. I began to turn to look at the left side of my face, then the right. And I discovered that I have four moles/freckles on my right cheek that I had never really noticed. And the third thought came, "what else don't you know about yourself?"
A deep sigh within.
What do we not know about ourselves? What are we hiding from the world, from ourselves? We are the only ones who can truly know us; yet, somehow we are afraid to peek inside and see what is there. No one will ever know you as well as you know yourself. Do not be afraid. Take a peek. See yourself.

********

I want to thank you for the emails and comments you all have sent/left about this meditation. Some of you have even posted about your experience on your blogs this week; we are all thankful for your words. This is already a powerful journey and we are on only the second day.

Later today I am going to send out an email (keeping the email addresses private) to those of you who have indicated you are participating in the reflection meditation. If you do not receive one and would like to be included (this means that 1) I don't have your email, 2) I didn't know you were participating, or 3) between my trip and the pain medication I somehow forgot to add you), please email me (don't just leave a comment though because sometimes emails aren't included in the comments - thanks). I will send these emails out every now and then over the next two months.

my body as an enclosed space {self portrait challenge}

This week, my body prevents me from physically tucking inside an enclosed space and taking a picture for this month's self portrait challenge of tight spaces.

My body is my enclosed space this week. The aches in my back, hip, and down my leg have invited me to feel trapped in my own body. This body is used to stretching and bending and reaching and twisting. I love to forward bend in my yoga practice. I love to teach forward bending. I love to exhale into twists and feel my body open as I move out of the twist. But right now, my body cannot do any of this.

Tomorrow, I will meet with my yoga teacher in the hopes of freeing myself from some of this body claustrophobia. I keep singing that Queen song..."I want to break free....I want to break free." Yes. Three days of feeling trapped in my body is enough for me.