I am not sure how anyone who is paying attention cannot be feeling a constant background hum of tension given the state of the world’s politics. I started to write the word economy, but as I did, I realized it’s not about the money at the core. It’s about power, and those who have it. As one of the 99% who do not have power, I feel anxious and tired whenever I think about the world economy. And completely helpless, did I mention completely helpless? I may have just given you a Thanksgiving recipe for anxiety – take lots of worry about the economy, add a heavy dose of helplessness and a dash of a tree fell on my office. (Wait, that last one is optional.) Carry it all around with you for a while and you have . . .
I don’t think about this all of the time. I have a long list of other things I do think about. Thank goodness. This little topic is simmering on the back burner on very low heat. I try not to focus on it because there’s nothing I can do about it. That’s the point. The problem is that 100% denial is impossible. As many of us know, it takes more and more effort to keep that ugly old thang locked away, off the front burner, not consciously felt, but it’s there . . . always there . . .
I heard that they didn’t even meet together in the same room.
No one thought they would succeed. Many are now saying that they shouldn’t have succeeded. They never meant to succeed. “Their not succeeding is important,” I heard on the radio last night.
Breathing . . . breathing . . .
I understand why the occupy Wall Street folks beat drums. It’s frustrating. It’s maddening. Dancing, moving – there is a need to bring some life to this problem. I believe in gratitude. I am grateful for my life. I am grateful for my family. I am grateful for where I live.
And the Super Committee . . . and our beloved Congress . . . I think that this year, I will count my blessings while walking outside. Taking deep breaths and focusing on the space between the stars. This one, I gotta walk off.
Blessed be.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Goodnight Nurse
I have been remembering old hurts. Feels like part of the season. Sorting through, deciding what to keep, what to throw away. Driving down the road the other night, I found myself thinking about an old hurt. Thinking about it. To give words to the experience, “Oh yeah. I forgot about that place – a bit tender there.”
I realize that this particular hurt goes with a particular time of year – an anniversary if you will. I do not like using that term though. This hurt is not that awful. It’s over and done with. Everybody loves everybody, mostly. Best not to think about it anymore. Walk down a new road, which I thought I had. And then . . .
I have been thinking about the difference between self compassion and nursing old grudges. Here is what I have been doing. When the thought of the old hurt comes up, I consciously think,”Yes, that was hard on you.” I automatically exhale, and I think my face softens in the way it does when I am compassionate toward someone else. I can feel the compassion come over me. A gentleness flows down from around my eyes, and my shoulders soften. I probably take a few deep breaths, which down here is its own reward because the sweet, sweet smell of the South County grass always makes my heart smile. Anyway, I feel better, softer on myself.
Notice, I haven’t mentioned anything about the nature of the hurt, or who did what to whom. That’s the surprising thing about all of this, and why I wanted to write about it. It’s really not at all about the other person, or who did what to whom. Intellectually, I have already made my peace with what happened. I believe I understand everyone’s reasons for their behavior, and I feel validated in my feelings about it at the time and now. So, it’s time to let it go. Move beyond it.
Just do it.
As soon as the sports talk starts, I know we have left my path. Just do it is easier said than done, and in my experience, when it comes to feelings, just do it means just deny your feelings. I don’t want to wallow, but I believe in my ability to transform a stuck place in me if I am willing to let the process unfold fully.
I think I am describing a latter stage of letting go. Owning the hurts and offering compassion without judgment is what this is about – the business of tending to the emotional residue of life. I know I am transformed by my experiences, and at this moment, it is possible for me to believe that the difficult ones can bring their own gifts if I don’t get scared and shut down along the way.
Blessed be.
I realize that this particular hurt goes with a particular time of year – an anniversary if you will. I do not like using that term though. This hurt is not that awful. It’s over and done with. Everybody loves everybody, mostly. Best not to think about it anymore. Walk down a new road, which I thought I had. And then . . .
I have been thinking about the difference between self compassion and nursing old grudges. Here is what I have been doing. When the thought of the old hurt comes up, I consciously think,”Yes, that was hard on you.” I automatically exhale, and I think my face softens in the way it does when I am compassionate toward someone else. I can feel the compassion come over me. A gentleness flows down from around my eyes, and my shoulders soften. I probably take a few deep breaths, which down here is its own reward because the sweet, sweet smell of the South County grass always makes my heart smile. Anyway, I feel better, softer on myself.
Notice, I haven’t mentioned anything about the nature of the hurt, or who did what to whom. That’s the surprising thing about all of this, and why I wanted to write about it. It’s really not at all about the other person, or who did what to whom. Intellectually, I have already made my peace with what happened. I believe I understand everyone’s reasons for their behavior, and I feel validated in my feelings about it at the time and now. So, it’s time to let it go. Move beyond it.
Just do it.
As soon as the sports talk starts, I know we have left my path. Just do it is easier said than done, and in my experience, when it comes to feelings, just do it means just deny your feelings. I don’t want to wallow, but I believe in my ability to transform a stuck place in me if I am willing to let the process unfold fully.
I think I am describing a latter stage of letting go. Owning the hurts and offering compassion without judgment is what this is about – the business of tending to the emotional residue of life. I know I am transformed by my experiences, and at this moment, it is possible for me to believe that the difficult ones can bring their own gifts if I don’t get scared and shut down along the way.
Blessed be.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Climbing Trees
Today in Mexico, folks celebrate the Day of the Dead. I don’t know what this holiday feels like for those who don’t have any Dead. For me, it feels like old home week. I like the tradition of setting out pictures and decorating with flowers. Some people cook special foods. For the past couple of evenings, I have burned candles in honor of my family members who have passed on. It’s nice to once again have something to do for them. It’s been such a long time since I have seen them. I have been telling my daughter happy stories of times together with them and describing traits that she shares with each of them.
There were six in my family of origin. Growing up, that number felt tangible – two of each plus Mom and Dad. When we were all together we felt full and robust, and when there started to be spouses, our gatherings felt like parties. We loved to get together, and we were enough. (We always called boyfriends and girlfriends "spouses" even before they actually were.) I remember after they first passed feeling acutely aware of our much reduced number. We who remained were incomplete and not nearly enough. Over the years we have added actual spouses, extended family, and GRANDKIDS! It’s been a while now, and we feel full again – different, but mostly enough. Somehow, this year during this time of remembering, I have had moments where I feel full in the old way. Hard to put into words, but precious to live through. It feels like a visit, not just from my Dear Ones, but from a time that has passed. Somehow, I get to be me now but also me then, before it ever occurred to me that it all could change. For a moment here and there, I feel it, and the feeling tastes sweet. Rather than being a only memory, the experience is somehow fresh and lovely – for a moment.
So for the remaining day or so, I will continue to climb our family tree – feeling like one of six for the first time in fifteen years and enjoying the view. My Dad used to feed ice cream sandwiches to our fat happy dog. He (both of them) loved it. That dog outlived my Dad.
Blessed be.
There were six in my family of origin. Growing up, that number felt tangible – two of each plus Mom and Dad. When we were all together we felt full and robust, and when there started to be spouses, our gatherings felt like parties. We loved to get together, and we were enough. (We always called boyfriends and girlfriends "spouses" even before they actually were.) I remember after they first passed feeling acutely aware of our much reduced number. We who remained were incomplete and not nearly enough. Over the years we have added actual spouses, extended family, and GRANDKIDS! It’s been a while now, and we feel full again – different, but mostly enough. Somehow, this year during this time of remembering, I have had moments where I feel full in the old way. Hard to put into words, but precious to live through. It feels like a visit, not just from my Dear Ones, but from a time that has passed. Somehow, I get to be me now but also me then, before it ever occurred to me that it all could change. For a moment here and there, I feel it, and the feeling tastes sweet. Rather than being a only memory, the experience is somehow fresh and lovely – for a moment.
So for the remaining day or so, I will continue to climb our family tree – feeling like one of six for the first time in fifteen years and enjoying the view. My Dad used to feed ice cream sandwiches to our fat happy dog. He (both of them) loved it. That dog outlived my Dad.
Blessed be.
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