to be what I already am

(from ”Now I Become Myself” by May Sarton) 

Now I become myself. It’s taken
Time, many years and places;
I have been dissolved and shaken,
Worn other people’s faces…

Planting the seeds of transformation - mara friedman

 

Finally I am coming to the conclusion
that my highest ambition is to be what I already am.
That I will never fulfill my obligation
to surpass myself
unless I first accept myself,
and if I accept myself fully in the right way,
I will already have surpassed myself.
- Thomas Merton

 

 

imagine infinite potential ~ mara friedman

ten phases of a woman’s life

 

michelangelo - delphic sibyl

The Ten Phases of a Woman’s Life

.  A little list I found tucked in the back of a little book by Joan Anderson (The Second Journey) that I haven’t actually read yet….but this caught my eye and I loved it.  It’s a list of the phases women go through on their journey to themselves.   It helps to explain the restlessness, aching and tugging going on inside during these last years.  And it helps me feel a bit less alone – maybe I’m not such a loser freak, after all.  Maybe there are other women out there who have had life-altering events slamming into them like the waves of a tsunami.  Maybe I’m not the only one reeling from a reversal of all I thought I knew and a new and sudden “knowing” of a completely different reality.  After so long of feeling that I was pushing through uncharted areas, lately I’ve begun to be reminded that I’m not alone at all.  There are myriads of women, past and present, who have trod this path before.  I just don’t have them with me in the flesh.  But I read their words, in books and blogs.  (like here, here and here, to start)  And, like this list, they give me hope and fresh purpose. 

michelangelo - libyan sibyl

• 0-7        childlike wonder
• 7-14      the beginning of hormonal activity
• 14-21    unfurling sexuality
• 21-28    being affirmed by a man-the desire to procreate
• 28-35    birthing, mothering, caretaking, putting others first
• 35-42    leaving self out but occasionally looking beyond
• 42-49    menopause approaching – is this all?  a desire for self-love
• 49-56    birthing of a mature psyche – a desire to go away, live without rules and become more instinctive
• 56-63    choosing one’s true purpose, work, vocation, finding one’s individual reason for being beyond the roles
• 63-70    reflection – becoming the watchwoman, recasting all that one has learned, being whatever one has become

michelangelo - cumaean sibyl

on my fridge

On my fridge is one of my favorite things – a hand-made card from Tay.  My own personal award of love from one of the coolest little chickies I know.  I love her picture of me on the front.

What I love even more is what is inside:

The feeling this card gives me is the best thing ever.

sweet darkness

When your eyes are tired
the world is tired also.

 

When your vision has gone
no part of the world can find you.

 

Time to go into the dark
where the night has eyes
to recognize its own.

 

There you can be sure
you are not beyond love.

 

The dark will be your womb
tonight.

 

The night will give you a horizon
further than you can see.

 

You must learn one thing:
the world was made to be free in.

 

Give up all the other worlds
except the one to which you belong.

 

Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet
confinement of your aloneness
to learn

 

anything or anyone
that does not bring you alive

 

is too small for you.

 

~ David Whyte ~

the face on your plate

Isn’t man an amazing animal?  He kills wildlife – birds, kangaroos, deer, and all kinds of cats, coyotes, beavers, groundhogs, mice, foxes and dingoes – by the million in order to protect his domestic animals and their feed.  Then he kills domestic animals by the billion and eats them.  This in turn kills man by the million, because eating all those animals leads to degenerative and fatal health conditions like heart disease, kidney disease, and cancer.  So then man tortures and kills millions more animals to look for cures for these diseases.  Elsewhere, millions of other human beings are being killed by hunger and malnutrition because food they could eat is being used to fatten domestic animals.  David Coats

I just finished reading “The Face on Your Plate” and I must admit that my life is changed.  I’ve been leaning toward vegetarianism for such a long time now, but haven’t had the guts to make it happen.  This book is really good…only a few chapters long, it focuses on the damage done to the earth, the suffering of animals on factory farms, denial and living as a vegan.  Who was it that said the a mind stretched by a new idea never regains its former dimensions?  So true.  What you know, you can never “un”know.  Having read the chapter on the lives of chickens, cows and pigs, I can’t bear the thought of eating them ever again.  Knowing the details of their lives, the suffering they endure…I can’t bear to be a part of that anymore. 

I mean, I “kind-of” knew that things weren’t the way they used to be on the family farm.  Chickens don’t run around pecking and sunning, cows don’t roam the fields and suckle their calves, pigs don’t root and roll in the mud for the sheer joy of it.  I “kind-of” knew things must be much different than that now, but I wouldn’t let myself think about it.  Too late for that now.  Now I have the picture in my head of the calf ripped from its mother at birth, both of them bellowing and obviously in distress.  I see the mother in a pen just large enough to stand in her own waste, not even large enough to lay down.   I see the calf fed a sickening gruel that includes ground up cow(!), similar to what his mother eats.  I see him thrown into a crate, shipped off to become a package of veal.

I hear the cackling of chickens as they have their beaks clipped, right through nerve endings similar to our nail bed.  I see them crammed into cages smaller than a piece of notebook paper, where they live their whole lives, never seeing the sun, never running or pecking or sitting in a bush or tree at night. 

And I feel the sorrow of the pig who can’t get to her piglets below her in the wire cage where they can look up and nurse, but not be touched at all by their mother’s loving snout.

I’ll stop now.  I won’t talk anymore,even though there are more things like this in my head.  And the book doesn’t even talk about the slaughter of these animals, just the suffering of their lives.  It’s like my eyes just suddenly opened and I wept at the sight of how cruel we are to these gentle beings.  I don’t want to be a “born-again’ veggie…don’t want to be preachy…don’t want to force my convictions onto any one else.  I only know that I have been changed and I’m glad about it.  I already feel lighter, more spacious and free.  One of the main tenets I try to live by is to do no harm.   Thanks to reading this book, I think I’m doing a better job now of keeping that vow.

embryonic compassion

Some interesting thoughts on pain and suffering from Norman Fischer:

So this is what I learned…about the meaning of loss:  love rushes into the absence that is loss, and that love brings inspired action.  If we are able to give ourselves to the loss, to move toward it – rather than recoil in an effort to escape, deny, distract, or obscure – our wounded hearts become full, and out of that fullness we will do things differently and we will do different things.

He goes on to talk about that sore spot or rawness that is painful and that we try to cover over or protect.  He points out that, although painful and no fun, the sore spot is valuable.  He tells about how Trungpa Rinpoche call the sore spot “embryonic compassion”.   I love that.  Potential compassion coming from our wounds waking us up to love and to loving action.  This is precious and wonderful to me in the way it brings reason and purpose to suffering.

He then goes on to describe the darkness that descends on our thoughts and emotions after the shock of loss has passed and fear and despair arrive:

We are anxious about our uncertain future, over which we have so little control.  It’s easy to fall into the paralysis of despair, coming back to our childish default position of feeling completely vulnerable and unprepared in a harsh and hostile world.  This fearful feeling of self-diminishment may darken our view to such an extent that we find ourselves wondering whether we are worth while people, whether we’re capable of surviving in this tough world, whether we deserve to survive, whether our lives matter, whether there is any point in trying to do anything at all.

This describes perfectly how it feels when the dark veil falls – the thoughts reflect so closely what I’ve experienced.  He goes on to point out that this sense of loss, despair and fear is terrible, that we hate it, but that it is exactly what we need.  It is the embryo of compassion stirring to be born.  Birth is painful.  Like Jung said, “There is no coming to life without pain.”  Oh, how we resist this!  We spend much of our time administering our own personal versions of an epidural…alcohol, dope, food, tv, computer, books, busyness, and on and on…

Norman points out that instead of medicating, this is a perfect time for spiritual practice because now meditation (or your practice of choice) has gone from being a lifestyle choice or method of self-improvement to becoming a matter of survival!

I love the way Norman doesn’t diminish the power of darkness or try to cover it over with snappy spiritual slogans.  Instead:

The goal is not to make the thoughts and feelings go away:  when there is loss or trouble, it is normal to feel sorrow, fear, despair, confusion, discouragement, and so on….but it would be good to have some perspective – and occasional relief – so these thoughts don’t get the best of us and become full-blown demons pushing us around.

Hard times are painful and no rational person would ever think to bring them on intentionally, yet disasters are inevitable in a human lifetime and it is highly impractical not to welcome them when they come.

Welcome them?  That is a novel thought.  Yet, we can welcome them, because these hard times remind us of what’s important, what is basic, beautiful and worth while about being alive.  When all is going well, we have a tendency to become dull to all that we have, to all of our blessings.  When we have less, we appreciate more.  We have more openness to wonder and joy – our hands are open, less grasping and greedy.

Seen this way – loss, pain and hard times have the potential for bringing more happiness, more awareness of the joys in life, bigger hearts and more compassion.  It can bring a slower, more heartfelt and realistic style of loving and being in this world.

Gabriela Mistal:  I give thanks on this day and every day for the ability you gave me to gather the beauty of the land as if it were water that one takes with the lips, and also for the wealth of pain that I can carry in the depths of my soul without dying.

the dance

Someone I loved once gave me
a box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand
that this, too, was a gift.

Mary Oliver

After over a month of feeling very sick, I’ve been remarkably well for the last several days.  It is amazing how much lighter my step is, how much brighter and friendlier all of life seems when I don’t feel ill.

My illness is like my dancing partner.  I’m learning to dance with her and learning to let her lead is the hardest part!  I keep trying to lead and all that gets me is sore feet.  It increases my suffering to resist or deny or get angry or sad about being ill.  Practicing with my illness has been like having a very determined teacher.  In this way, my illness is both my enemy and my friend, a curse and a blessing.

When I’m in the middle of a bad time, lying on the bed with my body curled around the pain, so weary that every movement is hard…all of life loses its spark and joy.  I’ve felt horribly guilty for this, thinking that I should be able to regulate my moods better, that I should have that stiff upper lip and be a man.  But my teacher has been showing me that this guilt and shame only add to the pain and suffering.  Now, I remind myself that it is normal to feel this way, that there is nothing “wrong” with me when I become surrounded by darkness during times of illness and pain.

Another lesson my teacher has been impressing on me is that everything in my life must take second place to the illness.  Where once I was dependable, now I have to back out of plans at the last minute.  I often avoid making any plans at all because of worry over breaking my word yet again.  When the symptoms return, my life becomes very stark and narrow.  I often feel sadness.  It is hard to hurt again, hard to feel ill so often, hard to let my partner and family down.  I worry about Tam during these times, stuck here in the dark with me.

I’m beginning to learn that I must pay careful attention to how I feel.  My body will tell me what I need to know if I will but listen.  When I get tired, I must rest, not soldier on.  When I find that something makes me ill, I must lay it down, even if I love it.  (goodbye coffee, dear friend)  I’ve been learning to treat my body with respect and compassion, letting it lead in the dance.  Remembering that resistance increases the suffering.  Remembering that the illness must lead and my job is to follow.  During times of pain and weakness, this is tough.  I struggle to accept this as my path. 

They say that if you pay attention, all of life is your teacher.  Perhaps this is the greatest gift of the illness, this paying attention.  This learning to follow, to submit to the hard teachings of my Guru Crohnes has also given me eyes to see all sorts of small blessings in my every day life.  It has forced me to be quieter, to sit stiller, to listen, to be engaged.  I’m thankful for that.  So, crank up the music.  The night is young and I feel like dancing.

 

an apron full of berries

She sits down and puts her hand to her chest and rocks.

Thinks of all she has lost and will lose.

All she has had and will have.

It seems to her that life is like gathering berries into an apron with a hole.

Why do we keep on?

 

Because the berries are beautiful, and we must eat to survive.

We catch what we can.

 We walk past what we lose for the promise of more,

just ahead.

(From “Home Safe” by Elizabeth Berg)

the uncertain nature of reality

 

Pema Chodron, talking about what happens when we stop shielding ourselves from the completely uncertain nature of reality -  “ All the ways that we hold back and shut down, all the ways that we cling and grasp, all our habitual ways of limiting and solidifying our world become very clear to us, and it’s unnerving”.   I’ll say.  It feels like stepping off a cliff, again and again and again…

“At that painful point, we usually want to make the teacher wrong or make ourselves wrong or do anything that is habitual and comforting to get ground back under our feet. (A sudden urge to check my email…the refrigerator beckons…the remote jumps into my hand…)

“But when we make an unconditional commitment to hang in there, we do not run away from the pain of seeing ourselves—and this is a revolutionary thing to do and it transforms us. But how many of us are ready for this?

And here is the kicker — One has to gradually develop the trust that it is ultimately liberating to let go of strongly held assumptions about reality”.

This little excerpt seems to express some of what I’ve been experiencing lately.  Because of my illness and depression, I’ve had the opportunity to attempt spiritual practice in the midst of pain and uncertainty.  There have been interesting experiences and insights, but I don’t  feel much like trying to put them into words just now.  Maybe it’s because I feel a little lighter, my step seems softer and I don’t want to stumble backward because of too much thinking.  But my head is full of interesting new thoughts and I begin to have a bit of enthusiasm for life again.  That is a good thing.

Not just relief…but a cure

Loneliness is not cured by human company.

 Loneliness is cured by contact with reality.

People don’t really want to be cured.

What they want is relief; a cure is painful.

Anthony de Mello

I’ve been wondering what is going on with me lately.  I’ve been wondering if maybe I’m depressed.  I don’t have much energy.  Doing anything at all feels like trying to move through water.  It is hard to get excited about anything much at all.

I didn’t really notice how down I’ve been until I awoke the other day in a good mood.  I wasn’t hurting, wasn’t nauseous or sick and had energy.  I’d kind of forgotten how good it feels to feel good.  Tammy was really happy to see me feeling so well.  That’s when I realized I had been feeling sick for months.  And it was wearing on me.  Unfortunately, my energy and healthy feeling only lasted a couple of hours.

This week I haven’t been able to stop crying.  I keep crying over things that really aren’t that big a deal.  But everything seems big to me right now.  Everything seems hard.  And unfair.  Like the odds are stacked against me and I don’t have a chance at all.  I keep telling myself that these are just feelings, that they will pass, that they aren’t real…but it really isn’t helping much just yet.

I realized that I’ve been kind of down since I didn’t get to move as planned this spring.  Stuck in Florida for another summer.  Now I’m wondering if I need to get meds.  I’ve never taken meds when I’ve been down in the past.  It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this dark.  I was putting the dishes away yesterday and found myself caressing the big knife, imagining plunging it into my chest and all the trouble and pain of life being done.  Not that I ever would do that.  I wouldn’t do that to my kids or to Tammy.  But just realizing how I was thinking kind of freaked me out a bit.

The last two days I’ve been trying to sign up for school.  I’m proud as hell of Tam for starting next week.  She applied for Pell Grant for me awhile back, but I wanted to wait till after moving to start school.  Then I realized that going to school would help me get my energy and happiness back…just to get out of the house and interact with people and be interested in something.  But I keep running into walls, over and over, and it looks like I won’t be able to get signed up in time to start back to school this fall.  Which just makes me sadder than if I’d never tried.  Ah well.  This post is starting to depress me.

What I started out to say is this:  maybe what is happening is that I am doing this inner work (through meditation and mindfulness practice) and maybe the pain I am feeling has to do with that.  I kind of hope so, in that at least it would serve a purpose.  Not just random depression and darkness, but an experiencing of the darkness in order to be cured. 

We are healed of a suffering only by expressing it to the full ~ Marcel Proust