Tag Archives: forgiveness

Becoming friends with the darkness

I woke up  this morning in a pool of potential. I was surrounded by the guardians of fear, shame and unworthiness. My friends Brett Dennan, Natalie Merchant and of course Dave {Matthews that is} were on the outside looking in. They sang to me their songs of hope and encouragement. They tried to protect me by sharing their darkness to help me tease out my own light.

Somehow my ego got loose in a big way. Now how could that happen? I do as I have been told by the wise ones: I practice yoga, I meditate, I help others, I give to animal shelters. What more do I need to do to be set free from this feeling? This morning my ego decided that I am the only person that has ever felt this way. The only human who hasn’t lived up to the dreams and ideas that fill the heart and mind. My ego chose to rule this day. The battle ensued. Loneliness and heartache quickly closed the gap between my deeper knowledge and this momentary void. They shut me off from my gratitude and opened the flood gates of emptiness. Tears flowed like cheap champagne at a high school reunion as the pity party began.

I want so much from Life. There are some things that I will never have now. Those things have left big holes in the fabric of my Life. My ego is fighting to keep those spaces open, to keep me feeling empty. Life always finds a way to weave in beauty. I know that the exposures will be woven back together and the threads used will be made of the most sublime moments. That the final tapestry will be one of infinite beauty and quality. I know this. Yet still my ego wages this mighty war.                                                                                        IMG_5652

And so I sit.

I put my butt on my cushion and I begin again.

I breath. I think. I plan. I feel that awful emptiness.

I begin again.

I will sit with this feeling. I will dance with this feeling. It’s a tricky little number where I never really know who is leading and who is following…

I cannot escape it. We will become friends. It will take practice. It will feel familiar and then it will feel foreign. Feelings come and go. We get cut , we get bruised and yet we heal. Again and again.

I also know that I am not alone in this skirmish and this is why ego will not win this holy war. I believe we all face these moments.

If you are a believer please share your thoughts……….

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The Heart

The heart is the muscle that runs the whole organism. It beats, we beat. It stops, we stop. Is that why we use the shape of the heart to equate love? Is it because love is the “heartbeat” of life? Is it that without love we have no life, no breath, no way to live?

There are many types of love. I love them all. My precious daughters whose smiles, innocent remarks and hugs slay me. The love I have for my brothers who are forever surprising me as our relationships unfold with age. My Mother, my sweet little Mother who’s devotion to my Father was and is the greatest love I have ever witnessed. My friends whose love I feel across oceans and continents and their uncanny knack of knowing despite distance and years just when to reach out that hand to hold.

 

I loved a man recently.We seemed to have it all. Same age, children, passionate about work, creative, intellectual, respectful, devoted, worldly and between us enough scars and warts to humble us both. When my Father died my world was shattered and I ran. First I begged then I ran. I begged for arms to circle the God awful hole that was in my heart. When that didn’t work I pushed him away. He saw it and tried to stop it but I was already onto the next dance. I needed to feel my way into being me without my Father. I needed to heal. I needed all the love I could gather from the corners of the earth to hold me up. I needed the huge tapestry woven from the old friends compassion to hold me together until I could hold myself. The love I felt from so many people was the nourishment I needed. It gave me strength to grow roots into the soil of my new world.

Sitting by the shore I see repeatedly with imperfect precision the oceans unwavering love of the sand. The waves return again and again. Each time just a little different from the last. A dance like no other. A dance of steadfast commitment.

 

 

As a ballerina I was always changing roles. Just when something got comfortable it was on to the next. Our repetoire was ever changing and it was often years before we were given another chance at the same role. It seems I love that way too. Just when things get comfortable, I fall apart. I push them away. In lasting relationships you can’t do that. My friends, my brothers and my parents all managed to be like the ocean. Returning again and again. When my heart is heavy and sad I run to the ocean for its steady beat. Maybe I need to dive in………

What is love? How do you define love? Where does it begin and where does it end? How does it start? And does it ever really end? Would you share your thoughts on love?

 


Care to share the exhaustion?

We all have “those days” and today was one of them for me. I woke up exhausted. I dragged my children out of bed. Had  a silent ride to school. I slogged my way into a useless 8:45 meeting counting down the minutes until I was free. Lost my cool with a class of very brave souls who didn’t bother to tell me for a week that they hadn’t been able to complete an assignment. They forgot to “email” me about it. I somnambulated my way thru 2 ballet classes. Almost fell asleep behind the wheel picking the kids up from school. During the flute lesson I napped as always and still, all I wanted to do was cry.

Tiredness is in my bones. My soul needs a day off. I looked to everything in the universe for an answer. For acceptance. For someone to say

“Enough! This ones had enough! She deserves it.”

Well that is never going to happen. No one is going to come to my rescue. No one except me. It’s my choice to over do, over spend, over think and over green tea.

Tea

“In the process of letting go you will lose many things from the past, but you will find yourself.”  ~Deepak Chopra

 

Tonight I messaged a friend who’s a doctor. I asked if even the good doc needs a good cry. The answer was a simple yes. We all do. What struck me about his response was the common thread. We all have hard days, weeks, months and even years when we feel so alone. It was comforting for me to hear that even Dr. Perfect wants a shoulder to cry on and sometimes for the smallest of things. I’m tired because I can’t do it all and I want to so badly. I’m tired because I reached out to help someone I care about very deeply and they bit me. I can’t help them until they want to help themselves. I’m tired because I don’t listen to my heart and get stuck in my head and try to keep going.

I’m tired because I’m trying for the impossible: I want it all to be perfect.

I am so clearly not perfect and yet I keep banging my head against the same perfectly hard wall. I read last night about kindness. It is the most noble of traits. They say the only way we can truly experience kindness is by first being kind to ourselves. I am going to try this one. I am going to bed now because I want to be kind and in order to be kind I must be awake and in order to be awake, I must get some sleep. May we all find a little more kindness in our lives tomorrow. I’ll probably dance in my sleep, but until then,

Namaste and good night.


Healing

It has been exactly 41 days since my sweet Father put on his wings and flew away. The world feels so empty and lonely. It’s strange I know, but everything he ever touched feels lifeless and cold right now. Even me. I feel as though I am here, but not here. Like everyone, I long for that last conversation. That last I love you. That long goodbye.

I have been reading the Tibetan Book of the Dead and it is helping put things in perspective for me. A little. In my own selfish need for him to stay alive, I forgot that he was dealing with a little bit of his own personal hell. How would you feel if you heard the words that there was an end in sight? We all glamorize and dramatize what we would do. The trips we’d take, the people we would forgive, the grand gestures we’d make. In truth though, I think it is much much simpler. Yes, we would love up all those we love. Give hugs and kisses and I love you’s and thank you’s. The bigger question to ponder becomes really about “me.”

How would you feel if you were told this is it. If it were me, how would I feel knowing the end was there? Looming like a distant wave that will come, sooner than later, to shore and crash leaving nothing in its wake because it is all dissolved and swallowed up by the vastness of the ever changing. The truth is, that this is it. Any moment could be my last and what am I doing with the few precious moments I have?

 

Me and Dad

Now and again I have these “ah ha” moments that whisper to me of the big as hell space that is within and without. The heaven above, around and inside of me and each one of us. I am so busy grasping to this life that I am eternally fearful of the next. What would you do if you were handed that sentence?

In hindsight, I think I did it all wrong. I kept hoping and trying to have conversations with my Father about he felt about dying. We never had a single one. I never told him of my fear of life without him. I wanted him to tell me how he was feeling and all he wanted was to feel all the love of his family. He gave up his independence to be dialyzed 3 days a week so he could feel our love. So he could bask in the love and togetherness his illness created. As he got weaker, we got stronger and we didn’t even know it but he did.

I had a year and almost 2 months to say everything and I didn’t. My fear of death paralyzed me. He had a year to absorb the love and support of his children and beloved Mary. He had a year to look death in the face and say not yet. It took him that long to be ready for the great journey home. I hope in some small measure our love gave him the strength to wear those wings with pride.

My lesson in this: My Father always listened to everyone. He always put others first. I know this big cold empty hole in my life will never be filled, but it can be the fertile ground from which compassion can grow. His life and legacy can be the soil that feeds the bodhisattva in me. The one whose arms are open for all to find kindness. My fears have kept me selfish. His death has unlocked my heart.

I love you. I miss you. Thank you.