Angry

Slow Seethe
(Hold on Hope, 2011)

Anger is a lot like death. We don't talk about it, except in hushed tones.

When people are angry, we rush them out of sight as quickly as possible. People who express anger risk being labeled unstable, unreasonable, hysterical (primarily women), and whatever they say in this self-inflicted state of behaviour must automatically be negated, no matter how true. It's too bad so much of the truth makes me angry. It requires tremendous discipline to accept, accept, accept.

Or maybe, anger is the new sex. We don't talk about it, we just act out in private.

How private is private? What is acting out?

I am an angry person. I feel that I came into this world curious and ready to go, and time and again I was shoved aside, pushed down, discounted, ignored, dismissed, told to lower my sights and act like everyone else or be shunned. Perhaps, given my limitations, it was kindness, but I never enjoyed the process. So I have developed some sensitivity to being dismissed, which of course gets in my way. Even so, I believe that "nurture" is not where my anger came from, exactly. I think I was prone to it from the start, and it was fed by ongoing disappointment as I learned more about the world, history, and how far/not far we've come.

I am, frankly, disappointed with my species, humanity, which has completely missed the point in the grand scheme despite my stalwart optimism. Don't they say that a pessimist is a disappointed optimist? I've devoted much of my self-work to developing a positive attitude, and I train my thinking. But I have a long way to go in my heart.

I feel frustrated and angry with stupidity, injustice, unnecessary complexity, unnecessary simplicity...basically, anything that reminds me that humanity is still struggling with even the basic concept that all life has value, that all life deserves respect and dignity.

I resent anything that reminds me that we are led by selfish, greedy, short-sighted monkeys with such a stranglehold on the systems they created that the rest of us are working our asses off, reading articles about reducing stress and living on less sleep, so that 400 of them can decide what to do with most of the world's wealth. And defending it as though it's actually democracy, they claim changing this system would destroy democratic principles that, in fact, are made mockery by our current system. The ultimate pyramid scheme, my friends, is capitalism without a conscience. To what end? To what end?

There is anger in my genetics, if that is possible, and I have the burden of carrying a piece of that darkness inside of me. It is a gift, as well, and I would not live without it, but it's a heavy, heavy rock to weigh down an otherwise light heart. It makes me a tourist wherever I go, and tells me the secrets in the room. It lets me forgive people for what they are capable of even if they never do it; they feel that and let down their guard enough for me to pass them a moment of hope. It's something.

I believe we must love the dark to bring balance, and the only way to do that is to learn to love the anger in myself so that it can be free to do more positive things than drag me into depressive mires or violent outbursts. That I have largely contained unacceptable externalization to my workouts doesn't make me less angry, just disciplined. That I have been highly disciplined most of my life means only that my anger is more secret.

I have only begun to scratch the surface on this.

*Let me tell you, I am more ashamed to speak of my anger, more afraid of other people's rejection of me as an angry person, than anything else I might reveal. I would rather people see me naked and cold than see me truly angry. I am so uncomfortable that I may not publish this.

(And thus we feed ourselves to the machine.)

Staring into it

Burn Hole
(Hold on Hope Series, My Backyard, 2011)

Do you ever think,

Maybe,

I should just look away?

World in Motion

World in Motion (2011)

The barren world awaits the sun

to tell it what comes next

(blow, wind, blow...but not too hard)

Hopespring

Hope (is a well)
From my Hold on Hope series, 2011 (in progress)

I've often heard speakers begin their presentations with stories about how naive they used to be. They may describe earlier foibles and wrong-thinking with the amused affection of a parent, creating an illusion of vulnerability while actually only revealing what they have already resolved and, clearly, moved beyond. It's a fine tactic and I'm sure expresses their honest experience while establishing both rapport and context for their messages.

I imagine myself one day, many years from now, giving a speech like that; indulging, perhaps, a little self-congratulation at having finally dispelled the mire that overtakes me every time I think I've outrun it. Maybe I will describe this dry, cracked soul that begs for a hopespring while I moisten it with tears and spit and sometimes blood. Will I tell the audience how I clawed at that hard clay, stones grating my knuckles red, my fingernails broken and caked, because I didn't know what a shovel looked like? Will I say how I blamed the sky for not raining? Oh yes, of course I will. I will smile at my foolishness, hold up a shovel as a prop. All will be moved. I will stand before the people and know that I fulfill my purpose each day. I will shine with enlightenment, courage and love.

A girl can hope.

Perspective

Le Point de Vue
(Arles, France)

Love manages anger

This week I have evening commitments, so the kids aren't seeing me much. They have a very low tolerance for that, and let me know it. Last night, I got home ten minutes too late to say goodnight - they were both asleep when I kissed their cheeks.

I started thinking about how to fit in more time with them. I realized that I have a webinar Thursday night, and I'm starting my Kung Fu class on Friday evening, so if I wanted time it would have to be my usual yoga/workout time on Thursday evening. Right away, I resented having to give it up. My neck twanged just to reinforce the point that I was not prioritizing self-care. But really, how much self care can I justify. This week, the balance tips the other way because of extra demands and a new "me" activity.

I decided to set the clock a half hour early, even though I was late going to bed, so I could fit yoga into the morning. And of course, I hit the snooze and got up at the usual time. I was so mad at myself, but also really tired and grumpy. As I went down the stairs to start making breakfast, I came upon my husband, taking care of himself and doing his stretches, which he needs to do. And I resented it.

Do you see a theme beginning? I did. But I felt powerless to stop it. Suddenly all the hard things about my life right now started piling themselves up in my mind, building pressure as I rejected them and the feelings they stirred. I just didn't have time! I felt myself growing brittle, detached, resentment seething under my surface. I wanted to stop it. I tried to focus on my breath. The thoughts wouldn't leave me, they poked and jeered.

I should never speak in this state.

I said, "I hope you'll still be on time. I had to give up my workout today and I don't want to be late."

Ouch. To his credit, he just said, "Oh, yes, I"ll be on time."

I went downstairs. I started assembling food, making coffee, resenting and being mad at myself for resenting and half-heartedly trying to stop resenting while starting to weaken against the soothing flow of self-pity. Suddenly, my husband came down the stairs, fast and determined. He removed the container from my hand and wrapped me in a giant hug.

His heart against my heart, his arms supporting my lower back, his sigh and my sigh synchronous. I felt the pressure release, dissipate. The underlying angst that feeds my moods is not gone, but in that moment, he relieved the pressure that would have been an explosion. He noticed it building, and he didn't reject me or judge me for failing to fight it more strongly. He loved me.

Love manages anger. Even mine.

A good mother should be (a Bad Mom installment)

My fingers tingle the need to type.
That energy tugging, tugging my nerves,
demanding of my brain:  give me the words.

Someone there is in me
that refuses and negates
Shall I keep on hating her, keep getting what I get?
How to love that ugly?
(she is afraid)

Yesterday, my daughter (three and a half) was showing me her giraffe, which she had just discovered. She said "It's mine, it's mine forever."

What is it in me that needed to say to her, "Well, it's yours for as long as it lasts."

She looked up at me seriously.

"But I want to keep it for always. For when I'm a grown up."

And still, I persisted.

"It's not likely to last that long, sweetheart," I said, off-handedly.

Her little eyes welled up with tears.

"But I need to keep him! Forever!"

I could not let it go.

"Nothing lasts forever, sweetie. Everything goes back to the earth or sky or water. Everything."

Her eyeballs were getting red, the corners of her mouth turned down. She shook her head.

"No, not everything. Not me."

"Yes, love. You, me, everything, everyone. Nothing lasts forever."

And suddenly I saw it hit her, and I realized that it was too fast, too brutal a revelation. She understood exactly, precisely what I had said to her. She had not known impermanence until this moment, and I had thrust it on her suddenly and cruelly, carelessly. My heart cracked - I felt it crack. I had inflicted a sacred wound on this innocent spirit, as a mother inevitably will in spite of all.

I swept her up in my arms and carried her from the table, to our spot on the stairs where we talk.

"Oh, it's hard! Don't worry. If you take care of your giraffe, you might have him for a long time. I had a teddy bear when I was a baby, and I took care of him and he slept with me until I was 30!"

"But he didn't last?"

"Oh, sweetie, he did last for a very long time."

"I want my giraffe to last forever."

"I know. Me, too. Wouldn't it be great if everything we love could last forever? And all the stuff we don't like, that stuff can go away, right?"

"Right. But do you know? Mountains last forever."

"That's great thinking, but it just seems like that to us. They do wear away, or get changed when the earth moves."

"No. That's not true."

"You don't have to believe it for it to be."

You see, even then, I couldn't let her have it. She came up with MOUNTAINS in her search for forever, and I barely praised her before telling her she was wrong.

I tried to tell her, "We don't need anything to last forever," but she was wriggling away, already finished with this conversation.

Parenting is certainly a strange and interesting process. I'm learning so much. And I'm sure I'm missing half of it.

(Beliefs I hold: A good mother should be kinder than I am. A good mother should be more patient than I am. A good mother should be more selfless than I am. A good mother should be more present than I am. I am a pretty good mother. It's not good enough for them. I am improving.)

Indomitable

Indomitable (Grand Bend, 2005)

They are coming back, my words,
pushing through the rubble to reach for the sun
in the blue, blue sky

Living is

Avoiding regret is not living.

Grasping at dangling ladders is not living.

Living is being here with you, now. 
The rest of it scares the hell out of me. 

Can't see the forest

Can't see the forest (my backyard, 2010)

Careful, careful

Don't get ahead of yourself.

(but don't fall behind!)

No one will find me

Introuvable (Gourdes, France, 2004)
(No one will find me)

Somewhere In Between

Que le ciel est bleu (France, 2004)
(Nothin' but blue skies)

La luminosité m'attiire (France, 2004)
(Brightness beckons)

Musical Accompaniment from Faith No More

M'exprimer sans mes mots (still...)

La porte bleue pourrait ouvrir (Arles, France. 2004)

(The blue door could open)

Où jouaient les géants (Le Pont d’Avignon, France. 2004)
(Where Giants Played)

On peut s'échapper (Avignon, France. 2004)

(Escape is possible)

Je me suis senti à la merci des géants 

qui jouent avec nos destins

(I have felt at the whim of the giants who play with our fates)

No sweetness or light

Tonight no sweetness or light surround me. Day two of barely-together seething about injustice in general, and whatever stupidity is in front of me in particular. I'm not the best wrangler for this powerful Seethe when she arrives, especially when I'm weak. Like now.

I know I am not fit company and it takes my full force to keep myself in that space in-between, where I can pretend life is just like that and make quasi-pleasant conversation.

I feel untethered, forever on cusp. The things that trigger my stress are real, they present clear and increasingly present dangers to my security and satisfaction. I walk a tightrope when I thought I'd at least built myself some sort of bridge. I want to speed up but I'm already teetering. The wind is so cold it freezes my smile in place, and when I try to speak my lips crack.

One foot. The next. And don't. look. down.

Which way the wind blows (matters)

Which way the wind blows (matters) (December, 2010)

The sky is. The sun is. The clouds are. I am. 

But what I see...

Hope is a colour

Hope is a colour, 2010

When words flee

There's nothing to do but wait

They'll come home when they're hungry for expression.

Between the Creeping and Descending

between the creeping and descending, 2005

There is still air here to breathe.
Breathe in. Cradle the air inside. Breathe out. Send it away with thanks for what it gave.
(Don't look up)
(Don't look down)

Encroaching? Receding? It's all perspective...isn't it?

These two photos are from a subset of my California series, and are fairly reflective of my general state of double-truth and uncertainty. That's the best my words can do tonight.

Training for grace (a new Workout post)

My workouts have become a strange, full-body conversation with myself. I like to start with a hug.

I am teacher, learner and observer, simultaneously and in turn, all of us enjoying each others' company as we move and challenge this body, which is ourselves, in baby-steps towards increased resiliency and longevity. I am also body, feeling the animal satisfaction of using my strength, becoming stronger and more supple. My body leads the movement, telling me what stretch it needs, when it needs to run, when it's time to really push and when it's time to ease and stick to subtle movements.

I like to play a little with myself, dare myself to do something hard and laugh with myself when I fall over. I encourage myself, often out loud, "why don't you try..." and "look how strong you are!" I let myself be impressed by progress the way I am for everyone else. I love my trying hard self. Simultaneously, I feel that love fill me with acceptance the way I once thought a lover's love should fill you. A lover's love can never find all the hidden places, but this love, from myself, enters cracks and crevices in my soul that I didn't know were rent.

At some point in the workout I might look myself in the eye, in the mirror, and ask, how are you? When the corners of my eyes soften with loving recognition I see myself there, beyond the pupils, and I meet my emotional need as it rises with love, sympathy, compassion and acceptance. I coax myself back from the brink of self-pity with soothing tones evolving into encouraging words that help me climb out of the gaping space of longing for what I know not. I decide to let the part of me that wants to wallow be loosened, cajoled since there is nothing to be done about it anyway. I wait, and find that I really mean it, for now. I smile at myself, massage my cheeks, put gentle pressure on my eyes and forehead. I rub my neck and loosen the hair at the back of my skull. I remind myself, you ROCK! Well, I love you, anyway. And I matter.

I know I can again bend to shoulder the burden that is mine, only mine, while I train for the strength to bear it with more grace.

Blogging when my words desert me

Beyond Lies, from my California series 2005

Dismal, from my California series, 2005

Today is a day to remind me

why some people choose what I have rejected.

Around the Bend

(Around the Bend, from my Grand Bending Series of photos 2004)

Everything really can turn on a dime. Laughter and lightness becomes anger and storm on the turn of a word, a look, a misstep. 

What is around that bend? More path? A bear? A cliff? My heart's desire? 

The only sure thing is that something is there, and I can't see it from here. 

The Change the World Bug

(okay, if you're one of those who really likes my work sometimes but mostly finds me a bit irritating, you should probably stop right now, because the only reason I'm publishing this is so that those of you who love me and like peeking into my brain can indulge your voyeurism in the following ramble)

Why do I want to change the world? It's nothing but an angst-creating, unsettling, demanding pain in the neck sometimes.

So why? Because people are still unkind to one another. To say the least. And it's not getting us anywhere to let that keep happening. That starts to scratch it.

You see, it bugs me. Day and night. I can't seem to just settle into life and let it happen and shrug and think, well, what can I do anyway? It really does drive me to distraction that our leaders are so ridiculous and our priorities so skewed that we can't seem to begin the untangling without bickering about who holds what part of the string. The illusion of self interest that we all indulge to our undoing.

I can't just leave it.

I tried really hard. I did pull it off for awhile. What changed? Why did I become decreasingly able to tow the status quo? Why did this bug hit me and not the girl in the cubicle next door? SHE's earning six figures right now, thank you, and you should see her gorgeous house. I'm struggling to be taken seriously in a whole new field and job, in non-profit at a non-profit salary, while my husband looks for work. It's hardly fair.

And can I change the world? Probably not. I'm starting late and not nearly as talented as I'd hoped to be. Nor as skilled as I'd like to be. (yes, my loves, thank you. I know. I rock. It's just, you know, I have very, very high standards).

Be content with my small corner and all that. Got it. Meditated on it. Accept it in principle. Not satisfied.

Maybe I won't make an impact. Am I okay with that? If I die without ever feeling that my life significantly contributed to humanity's sanity, beyond my corner, will I feel as though I've failed life? Maybe.

I can't help but grieve the waste of my years of fear-based, habitual behaviour, ignorant decision making, failure to reach for love, failure to appreciate love, resentment, waiting, doing-what's-in-front-without-looking-around. Years when I didn't pay nearly enough attention to any of the right things, and paid far to much attention to things that didn't matter.

I can never have those years back, just take their learning forward. Once these aspects of myself became apparent and intolerable to me, I began to work on weeding them out. I am far, far, from finished. A decade into my practice, my fear doesn't rule me. I see it now, even when I can't control all my behaviours that it drives. I know my fear and it's just part of who I am. I know my courage, too. Neither of them are in charge. I am.

But even so, at this point, will I really be willing to do what it takes to make a meaningful impact? I'm busy now, with kids and all that. I'm kind of tired. Wearing down. Changing the world is demanding and I'm not the only one at stake anymore. I keep thinking, when the kids are a bit older...but is that just false consolation for settling in? Has my potential passed its shelf life?

I can hope that my best work is before me, that I can be part of spreading compassionate pragmatism, or sanity, or whatever. An individual in a stadium seat can be, in a moment, part of a wave.

I'd rather start a wave than be swept up, yet swept up I am.

Words fail

At times like this

I wish I could draw

Paint, sketch, make a picture

To help the words, the poor, tired words

Who think they can explain what can never be explained in

Words.

(photo shot in Grand Bend, Ontario, part of the Grand Bending series of photos I took in 2004)

Rating Monogamy

(Dear Diary...)

Yesterday a new friend asked me, quite boldly I thought, whether I am satisfied with monogamy. Not those words, but essentially, that.

I've recognized for a long time that there is something about me that invites this level of immediate over-intimacy, so I tend to forgive impertinence and try to answer the questions I'm posed fairly. I dutifully tried to explain, in the fumbling way I have when I haven't thought about something in a long time, the idea that exclusivity is an essential ingredient that permits the level of trust required to deepen one's knowledge of another, and allow that other to deepen their knowledge of you. That this lifetime process requires a commitment to partner up on life, no matter what comes. But I didn't say, out loud, the rest of the story. Isn't it strange? What I didn't say, as if it didn't have legitimacy, was this: I am in love with my husband.

I never was one to believe in "in love," which is the primary source of my reticence to bring it up as a topic of conversation with someone I hardly know. My first husband was my best friend and I thought that was ideal - I loved him very much, though in the end we weren't good for each other. But I would never have described myself as "in love." I was often attracted to other people.

After that relationship ended and I was ready to pay attention again, I turned around and found myself slave to a man I didn't even know well enough to trust. There was something about how he looked at me that felt like soul's nectar, even before we were dating. My stomach lurched when he smiled at me like I was already his. His hand on my skin felt warmer than anyone's hand should feel, an accidental touch electrifying and drawing my attention to him as a male creature. The first time he kissed me felt like the first time I'd ever been kissed, (and it was far from that). The first time we had sex felt like the sex I'd been trying to have all along. The last time we had sex was the best sex I've ever had.  It is, every time. Really. I mean, why have sex if it's not great? What I'm saying is that I feel about him like nothing I've ever experienced before. I don't really notice anyone else anymore, from a sexual standpoint. I don't say that to people because they never believe me, but I can only share my experience. It's like I've locked onto this man, and he is sex for me.

He still just has to look at me to melt me. Maybe more, now, because our intimacy is becoming so much safer and more confident over time. I feel a surge of affection whenever I look at him, even when I'm really mad at him. He inspires me to be better, so he'll feel the same way (I believe he does). He grounds me. Who could have thought I would find this? Not me. I had no idea

Why would I fuck around with that, for something as banal as sex without trust? I wouldn't, in a million years, for a billion dollars.

So yes, I am satisfied with monogamy. In fact, I'd say it far exceeds my expectations.

(musical accompaniment from Sarah McLaughlin)

(I echo @artemisretreats sentiment earlier today: I wish I could be as eloquent in person as I am in writing. I'm also #grateful for the chance to think this through again.)

Mini Bad Mom post

My heart is racing. My breath is ragged. My eyes are filled with tears and my jaw is clenched. I just screamed at my family. Why is that the only thing that anyone listens to?

I wasted 45 minutes on much more reasonable, loving approaches that only seemed to encourage them to grander heights of irrationality to keep my attention. More and more I find myself thinking, I should just lose it, scream and freak out at them now, and save myself the trouble instead of waiting until they have worn away my patience to the point where I’m scraped dry and bleeding inside and I just can’t take another second of it. 

I don't want to be a person who screams at other people. 

I choke it back. And try again. 

Shard in my mind

Hate and love, growing exponentially. Awareness and awakening, in such narrow slices as to often prove dangerous, mostly completely misunderstood and met with unreasonable hope and expectations.

Everything is part of the story. Everything is part of the truth, even that we'd rather turn from or think can be banished by the light. That's what makes it so hard to say: this is wrong, universally, we all agree. This is right. Because we are all right, and friends, we are all wrong. Always. Why waste our energy fighting semantics rather than putting our puzzle together? It drives me to distraction, it really does.

What is my life in all of that? It's tempting to say nothing but there is something in me that knows it's everything. That I am the most important person alive, that my choices every moment tip the cosmic balance. And then I look around at every other person, the ones my brain categorizes and dismisses (loser, housewife, old lady, clerk, homeless guy, business guy, bitch, beautiful girl) and I know: the same is true for each of them. They have no idea. I have no idea, really.

When a glass breaks, no matter how well we clean up, a shard will eventually stick in someone's foot. Why that shard? How did it escape the dustpan and the vacuum and the careful inspection of the floor? It escaped, and it found the foot we tried so hard to keep it from, the one it had been meant for all along. It escaped, and by random chance, on this day, a footstep discovered it. God put it there to punish the stepper. The stepper willed it to be there by thinking negative thoughts. The Universe provided the pain of the shard as an opportunity for enlightenment. A shard of glass got into a foot for no reason at all. Why? Why? Why?

Why are we spending our time on this attempt to pick and choose, label and understand, use and exploit? We are so far from true understanding as to be laughable, after so many generations of our species. What can I possibly do in the face of all of this.

Never enough.

Next Installment - Will we really change our lives? pt. 2

(If you missed part 1, here)

Is it possible that I have become so detached from my current life that I would leave it?

Not my family, my husband and kids. Only for them would I stay, actually. There's no doing anything without them.

But this life. Does it have to look like this? Do we have to participate so fully in creating and reinforcing systems that are clearly wrong-headed and generated from an utterly hopeless illusion of self-interest which is ultimately inescapable in each of us? What did I just say, anyway? Who is this person?

A calling. What's a calling?

My mother-in-law told me, over Christmas, how one of the nuns at her high school called each girl into the office, individually, attempting to convince them that they had a calling to the sisterhood. When my mother-in-law politely said that she'd rather not, that she wanted to have a family, the nun told her that she would pray for her vocation. My mother-in-law politely declined. If I have a calling, I want it to come from me, she said.

Am I called to a middle class lifestyle?

Am I called to dust my small corner and smile, content with my lot?

I worked to get here, and here I am. It looks much the same from this point on the hill as it did from the bottom. I was wrong about what I thought I'd see from here. I'm just more sure, I can pick out details that once all looked like scenery.

Every day I face it, my ingratitude. Each night I choose one thing in my life that I'm grateful for to focus on before bed. It's made me very ashamed. This life should be good enough. I should be satisfied to do what is needed to keep this life going, just as it is, as long as humanly possible, because it is just that good.

Yet the urge is strong. Not to drop out, as my husband likes to put it, but to drop in. Drop back into the world by dropping out of this placid, rarefied, perfect life to try to actually experience. Whatever that means. Do we become hobos? Join a commune? What options are there, exactly, for people who want to try another way of living? Is there a handbook?

What do we really need? What is a happy life? What do we most want to maximize and minimize, and are we even trying? Are we living by rote, doing what's done, choosing for lack of choice in front of our noses? Do we ever even think about it? We're in a place where these questions need some attention.

I'm reminded of my little girl self, cowering in my nook in the woods while others were playing the game (read here). I'm hiding out in my perceived safe place (but is it, really, a sustainable safety?), writing a little from back here and hoping we can hang to what we have through the next set of challenges.

The game is rigged, and there are lots of carnivores out there.

Sigh.

Shifting focus (or, What If...)

Will we change our lives? What if we really meant it?

What if, instead of focusing on...

• It would be very hard to do.
• There are some things about it we wouldn't like.
• What would we be giving up?
• How could we get back this life if things didn't work out?
• How do we hold onto this life and still get the benefits we want from the alternate life?
• Would it be a big mistake?
• We might not have enough money.
• We might be throwing everything away on a pipe dream life.
• It would be too hard.

...we decided to spend more time on:

• It would be really interesting
• There are many things about it we would cherish.
• What would we be gaining?
• I wonder what could happen next that we can't see from here?
• What would we be removing that sucks our souls?
• What could we learn and build on, even if it doesn't work out?
• There are no mistakes, only choices, their outcomes, and what comes next. 
• Less is in our control than we like to think, anyway.
• What would it take to make it happen?
• What concrete things could we do in the next year to get from here to there?
• It would change everything. 

What if we shifted the focus of the dialogue from why shouldn't we, to questions like, what could it look like, why would we want to, how could we pull it off?

What. If.
(stay tuned...)

Blue sky

Pouring through (December, 2010)

The night of the eclipse, the clouds closed ranks against me and blanketed the sky. If I had never seen a blue sky, or the stars at night, I might have thought that our world exists in isolation, nothing above us at all but a ceiling of greyish white. No eclipse for my eyes to witness. To me, it did not exist, except in dreams.

For days, the sky stayed that way. The whole time I was alone in my home, my family miles away. A oppressive, drop-ceiling of clouds. The entire journey to Toronto to catch a bus that was never meant for me - the world dull, the sun diffused. After two hours of standing in the freezing cold, after two hours of not knowing what would happen next, the bus pulled from the station. As I looked at the sky, the clouds began to move.

The world was still blanketed, but a crack appeared, moving fast. It revealed a moment of bright, bright blue. Blue sky.

The world looked grey. The sun, nowhere to be seen. And behind all of that, blue sky. Sunshine. Whether I could see it or not. The blue sky doesn´t disappear when the clouds hide it from my view.

Did I know that already? It seems like I need to learn again, and again, and again.

Dear Children, Dear God

Writing Out Loud to Clarify my Position on Religion, Which is Muddy at Best, Because my Kids Keep Asking Questions... (Sidestep from #reverb10. This is on my mind)

My children, I feel the need to speak but what can I tell you of God that makes any sense? For years I have scorned the very notion. And, largely, I still do. Any notion that you’re likely to hear of God, I do not accept.


In fact, I accept nothing. That there is order to the universe seems increasingly undeniable. The implications of this order extending as far as galaxies and as deep as our own living cells only recently began to dawn on us as a species. How arrogant to think we can even begin to comprehend meaning in this order. Religions are designed to control people’s behaviour towards particular ideologies, all of which are part of a universal truth we cannot possibly comprehend. To choose a religion is to deliberately narrow your field of study to achieve depth, not to find a truth that excludes that which contradicts it. To treat any religion as “true” helps no one. All religious and spiritual beliefs are just puzzle pieces, with most of the pieces missing or so tarnished as to be hardly recognizable. Deep understanding is critical, within the larger context.


On the other hand, the anti-religious. How perversely, falsely modest to think that our smallness in the scheme of things means that we don’t matter. How perversely, falsely proud to believe that this plane of reality is exclusive, our understanding of it largely complete. Even if we could accurately measure what we don’t know exists, it seems unlikely that the limited tools we call brains would be capable of comprehending the resulting data in any useful fashion. Instead, people would look for ways to exploit their limited understanding for personal gain at cost to others, as people have done with all understanding since the dawn of time. Given the economic drivers of research and development activities, and the almost total withdrawal of western society from active civic participation (or even paying attention and demanding accountability from their own investments), it seems unlikely that enough human endeavour is being put into finding out what we don’t already know, rather than using what we know to drive the economic engine we’ve created to greater and greater excess.


All this to say, if we don’t know about God, it’s arrogant to think that’s because there is no divinity. I’m not saying I think it’s likely that there is a single being sitting up above us, watching and judging and putting some of us in heaven and others in hell when we die, interfering in our lives at our behest through prayer, punishing us when we aren’t nice. Such a simple model makes no sense in light of the complexity we mistake for chaos. There is clearly order. If that order is driven by intelligence, I cannot possibly hope to understand it, through lack of data, lack of competence, and probably lack of physical capability in the brain.


So I’ve decided to withhold my judgment and hold no belief as wrong, though many beliefs are wrongly applied. Any information or data taken out of context, in too thin a slice, becomes ineffective at communicating its truth and can be easily misunderstood and misapplied. Most religious teachings come from much different times and contexts, and represent only the dominant aspects of thinking that managed to make it through biased translations of translations. So I respect those who choose a religious path for their diligence in pursuing spiritual depth, and I expect that they should respect that their discipline is just one of many, as History, English and Sociology co-exist in an Arts Department within a University within a Community and so on. We are all seeking the whole of knowledge in our ways, from where we are.


Accepting that a belief is part of the truth is not the same as accepting that the intolerant, oppressive or harmful implementations of that belief are acceptable. Every human life matters. I want every human to live secure of person - safe place to sleep, nutritious food to eat, shelter from the elements including adequate clothing, protection from animals and pests, clean water, the ability to be be clean and hygienic, participation in a community of people, protection from violence and coercion , love. Any beliefs that implement in ways that enhance the likelihood that every human can have these things, every day, I will support. Any beliefs that hinder a human's chances of having those things, I must question.


I find sifting through the sea of existing beliefs more difficult and far less interesting than thinking the problem through for myself, with some hints and help along the way that are largely driven by interest and chance. I try on ways of thinking, distilling that which fits what I know, that which challenges what I know. I feel the truth and I feel when it is distorted. Yet who am I to judge? Even my own judgement is suspect.


I am not seeking a belief system to settle into, I’m just seeking. That is my belief system – remaining in non-belief. I’m willing to hold possibilities open, as many as I can. I don’t accept the explanations that exist as they exist, scientific or religious. I feel I that I am divine in this body, no matter what I think, and no matter how unskilled I am at living my divinity. Seeking in that direction feels like a pull, it interests me, it adds wonder back into my life. Is it right? What is the metric?


Life is impossible. My very existence means that anything is possible. Thus, accepting nothing becomes accepting everything as part of the truth. With love, they are the same acceptance, the paradox that appears again and again. The same one.


(Okay, that's the best I can do at an explanation. Now, I just have to put it in language that preschoolers can understand. No problem.)


Musical accompaniment from Sarah McLachlan: Dear God

Longing for Hope (a ramble that starts with #reverb10 Day 20 prompt)

#Reverb10 December 20 – Beyond Avoidance 
What should you have done this year but didn’t because you were too scared, worried, unsure, busy or otherwise deterred from doing? (Bonus: Will you do it?) (Author: Jake Nickell)


Should is a difficult word for me. Now, could - could I can work with. What could I have done...


Coulda, shoulda, woulda. This line of thinking feels like a rat-hole of self-indulgent confession. 


But Avoidance. That's a prompt that's not to be passed by unattended.


What am I avoiding? Here's one: Letting go of longing.

Longing gets in the way of my presence, and, longing feeds my imagination. Like TV feeds the imagination of millions, setting up standards and comparisons they can use to judge life status, my longing gives me a quick fix peek into what could be better than this.

My longing is like an addiction. It seems to be attached to particular wishes, but if they come to fruition, the longing just finds another host. Several things I long for seem just enough out of reach that they are perpetually outside the bounds of what currently seems possible. When something I long for happens, it's no time at all before I treat those miracles as common place, just "what is." And long for something else.

I have avoided letting go of longing, in part because I feel like it keeps me going. Without it, I would need to say, this is what I am, this is where I am, and it's not what I expected or even what I thought I wanted. Yet it is a wonderful life. 

More than that, I think I'm afraid to let it go. Somewhere in me, I believe that longing keeps me from despair when things seem hard (impossible), sad (unbearable), dull (always the same), hard to understand (pointless). Longing says, it doesn't have to always be like this. If this thing or that happened, everything would be different! Better! 

Longing pretends to be Hope, and it does a pretty good impersonation. But if you look closely, the makeup is caked on. 

So here's my fear: what if I let go of longing, and there's nothing left of what I thought was hope? What then? Will I fall? Can I get back up from that, or does the fall alone take my breath from my body?

I'm hoping to wean myself off longing by building my muscles in curiosity, wonder, openness, attention, welcome, benefit-of-the-doubt/slack, compassion and love. To name a few. It takes practice to keep employing these when fear, anxiety, "what will they think" and "how will that impact me" take over. It's also hard to remember to change my thinking patterns before I spend too much time in the old ones. 

All that work will be for naught if I'm too afraid to let the longing go. I guess where I really need to spend my time in on hope.  It might help if I'm sure that I can even tell the difference between longing and hope, untangle that mess in my mind and heart.

2011, I'm ready. Let's make me hopeful. 

A friend indeed (#reverb10 Day 16)

December 16 – Friendship 
How has a friend changed you or your perspective on the world this year? Was this change gradual, or a sudden burst? (Author: Martha Mihalick)


Earlier this year, I got dishwasher powder in my eyes. I had just turned the lid on the powder compartment a bit too fast, and it was a bit too full - poof! A puff of powder blew up toward my face and, like they were magnets, coated my eyes. It may not sound like a big deal - I didn't take it seriously at first, either. But when 20 minutes of clearing with water found them still burning, a call to poison control confirmed that I would need to go to emergency. Did you know that dishwasher powder is basically sand and acid? Me either! 


We have two small children, and I clearly couldn't drive myself. We have no family in town. Right away, I knew the only person I was comfortable calling. My 3-doors-down neighbour, a woman I would be lucky to call a friend. 


Many times, she has reached out to me, and shyly, I've fumbled forward to accept her invitations, have meaningful conversations. But I rarely see her, and far less since my daughter was born. With work, kids, household, physical fitness and writing, I don't seem to find the time to invest in friendships. 


But this woman, my neighbour, she gives friendship for free. She doesn't wonder why I don't come more often, or take offense that I say I'd love to get together and then a month goes by. She is always happy to see me, always compassionate about my trials. She shares her own, openly. She takes joy in helping other people. She is someone who comes through, is there for you. For me. She has many reasons to be angry with the world, and she picks love anyway.


Twice now, I've been seriously hurt and needed to go to emergency. Twice it was her that I called. And she didn't blink.


My own family, they blink. It's not that they're not there for me, it's that they feel the imposition and I feel them feel it and that is intolerable to me. Even my very close friend, blinks. I know I often blink too. 


I will always come through for people in my life, but whether I feel it as "I must be there for this person because they need me" or "I am so glad that I can be here for this person" makes a big difference. I can choose. 


I have a lot of trouble asking for help, and any whiff of "must" on the part of the other person will cause me to back off the ask so fast that they couldn't help me if they wanted to. I abhor obligation. My neighbour is one of very few people in the world that I believe to be genuine in her happiness to help me when I need it, and her complete lack of associated expectations. She just expects me to graciously accept her help, and it's the least I can do.


She taught me that she exists, which is important for my hope. She taught me to graciously accept help graciously offered. She reminded me that I could try harder to be a friend, to be the kind of person that you don't mind asking for help because you know, just know, that I love to do it for you. That I am grateful for the chance to help.


She probably has no idea of her impact. I could tell her. I hope I do it soon.

A year in a day (#reverb10, Day 15)

#Reverb10, Day 15, Prompt: 5 minutes. 

Imagine you will completely lose your memory of 2010 in five minutes. Set an alarm for five minutes and capture the things you mostwant to remember about 2010.

Tonight, my daughter and I danced together, and I felt lighter on my feet than I have in a long time. At first she watched me, as if afraid to let go and have fun only to have me walk away. My daughter sees me as walking away a lot, though I hope she eventually understands that perspective changes everything. After about twenty seconds, she decided to believe me and her face broke out in joy. We danced and twirled and laughed. Our eyes met and I saw how raw her love for me is. I softened my eyes to let them show her whatever she could see of my love. She started singing, "thank you thank you thank you love love love!" so I sang it with her. We collapsed to the ground and I wrapped her up in my arms on my lap, so small and portable, so warm and sweet. Her hair smelled like purity. Every cell in my being vibrated with love until I couldn't tell where she ended and I began, like the way we started together in one body. We sunk into each other and hugged for a minute; then, she jumped up. "Let's dance again, mommy!"

Tonight, my son and I laughed together. He was resisting tooth brushing by rote rather than actual aversion. I laughed out loud at the ridiculousness of this nightly ritual we both dread, and caught his eye. He got the joke and his frown dissolved though he tried to keep a stoney face. I reached over and brushed his cheek with my hand. I lightly tickled his tummy and we giggled together. Our eyes met, and he intoned a few sounds - ah, enh, EEEEE, then stuck out his tongue, BLA! He was delighted when I repeated the tones back, complete with the BLA! His laugh surprised and thrilled him. We repeated back and forth for awhile, laughing between tones, our smiles taking up half our faces. Then, in a moment, my focus shifted. Suddenly and for only a second, I saw him as now, as an older child, as a teen, as a man, as an elder, as a force of energy, all at once! The shock of it pushed me backward. My laugh surprised us both, infecting him, and it felt like our joy in each other filled a void in the universe.

Tonight, my husband and I held each other. I stood my toes on his toes, our thighs and stomachs and chests pressed together, our faces buried in each others' necks, our arms holding tight. The rest of this memory I reserve for us.

Tonight, I moved with myself as one. I closed my eyes and played music arranged for someone I care about, sharing some of my love-space with that person and all those I think of when I'm in a state of love. I stretched and challenged my muscles, eased and massaged tensions, breathed my breath from my belly and felt the power I am building. I was, for several consecutive moments, calm, peaceful and certain. I held myself in a loving hug and relaxed into it, knowing that I am enough.

These memories are all I need to take, the culmination and representation of everything that mattered this year. They are infused into my being.

11 for 2011 on day 11 (#reverb10)

#Reverb10, Day 11: 11 Things 
What are 11 things your life doesn’t need in 2011? How will you go about eliminating them? How will getting rid of these 11 things change your life? (Author: Sam Davidson)

Just 11? Here's my first thought stream of consciousness

1. food as comfort
2. procrastination
3. feeling sorry for myself
4. saying yes when I mean no
5. saying no to avoid thinking about it
6. worry
7. fear
8. guilt
9. weed control
10. the need for recognition
11. All the pairs of shoes I'm never going to wear again

As for how...well, that's more than today's post I'm afraid. How is my life work. Except the shoes and weed control. Weed control: cancelled. Shoes: donated. Done.

Hey, only 9 left!

Getting Wise

December 10 – Wisdom. What was the wisest decision you made this year, and how did it play out?

Wisdom is one thing. A wise decision is another.

If this year had a goal, it may have been de-naiivifying myself as quickly as possible without permanently damaging my hold on hope. I made a meta-decision early in this process that has translated into daily micro-decisions to give myself some slack.

Two parts.
1) Some. As in not none, and not too much.
2) Slack, as in letting go of my embarrassment at how many stupid things come out of my mouth every day, my disgust at my slow progress on my goals, my disappointment in my relatively small ability to influence and contribute. Slack, as in saying, well, maybe you'll do better tomorrow knowing what you know from today. Slack, as in saying, you're making great progress, your speed is above average, just flow with it, chill out girlie. Giving myself the same compassion and appreciation I hand freely to others.

Oh, and swallowing it whole. That's the part that's mostly magician-work.

This is hard to do, but what's harder is getting into the habit of doing it. Reprogramming the brain is a very slow process. Lots of missteps.

Most days I'm putting myself out in the world more publicly than I'm comfortable with, and I feel less confident about how I'm received than I'd like. I soothe or battle my anxiety depending on the day, or walk quietly if it seems to be sleeping. I might have had to quit by now if it wasn't for deliberately taking the time to comfort and be kind with myself. I might have lost my grip.

I said to @AmyOscar this morning that most of my wisdom is in retrospect, and it's absolutely true. She said that makes it no less wise, and since she's a wise woman herself, I"ll take it. It points to something important. Whenever I try to be smart or knowledgeable, to take my wisdom and make it do something, it forsakes me. When that happens, what takes over, be it reason or emotion, knocks me just enough off course that recovery feels outside my power.

When I go in with nothing, feeling empty and useless, and let myself be in the problem, often the path clears itself for me. But not always, and the fear of public failure makes me loathe to trust it.

When will I get wise?


(the wise old owl sat in an oak. the more he heard, the less he spoke. the less he spoke, the more he heard. why aren't we all like that wise old bird? - as recited by my 3yo from her Nursery Rhyme book)

Party (vote splitting)

#Reverb10 Day 9: Party

An Open Letter to the Green Party of Canada

Dear Green Party of Canada,

Please stop calling. You're making me feel bad. I can't join your party.

I'd like to, I would. I understand that there are tax deductions involved that magically transform my $200 donation into a $50 cost, or whatever. I do get that you need the cash. And I give you money sometimes, you must admit.

It's not that I don't like you. I've never met a party I liked better. I couldn't agree more that there's no point divvying up the caviar on a sinking ship. And you have a great platform well beyond that fundamental - implemented with excellence across the globe, your policies could transform human civilization, slowing and diversifying the creation and accumulation of wealth to more proportionately reflect the global and human costs and values that rightly should govern our species-wide decision-making. I applaud you for laying them out so clearly, and standing up for them.

But I can't join your party. I think that when someone joins a party, they should vote for them. If your members aren't voting for you, who is, right? And while I may vote for you, and in fact have done so in the past, I am not certain I will always vote for you. I'm quite certain I will never like another party better. But in the last election, the Liberal who had held our riding for many terms of office lost by very few votes to the Conservative, while Green candidates increased their standing.

Sure, he lost our votes and you won them, fair and square, based on the policies. But the outcome was not the one I would have voted for.

Until there is a chance your candidate will win in my riding, I will always have to decide, at the very moment when I place my X, where my principles lie - with sending a message about what I believe in, or with giving my vote to the least bad choice who has a hope of winning.

I suppose I could have picked up the phone, one of the nine times you've called this month, and explained all of that to the poor student volunteer at the other end of the line. But I'm a little shy, so I let it go to voice mail.

Good luck changing the world - I'm on your side, just not in your party.

Love,
Me

(Mrs. Which looks around at the bewildered #reverb10 faces around the room.)

What? That's not what she meant by Party?