Just finished Skyping a great female friend who lives on the West Coast. Our friendship was rekindled through the emotional blaze of this past summer. Its mystical, I'm learning, how life- with its people and experiences- tends to come full circle. And, always, it circles again and again and again...picking you up and pulling you towards so many 'serendipitous' encounters.
A week ago, I was in a bad place. A hair trauma sent me deep down a rabbit hole of despair and rage. There is something about hair for a woman. Its rooted in her psychology, her physicality, her sensuality- that a trauma here, regardless that it grows back, wreaks havoc and devastation. I cursed the Universe wholeheartedly for being an asshole of mega-proportions over the timing of this. Not sure I've been that enraged since Mom's death. Was surely not as low. And, when I say low, I mean REALLY LOW. Self-ruin became my fantasy and pushed up the 'to-do' list. I had felt that the physical blow that this hair incident provided was the sign I needed to go completely AWOL. Fuck goals. Fuck trying. Fuck LIFE.
In this raw and uncensored state, my sister was there. Thousands of miles away, but there- via telephone. She issued words of encouragement, offered suggestions to mend my (literally) troubled head, and was quiet in complete presence while listening to my fiery laments. The only time she exerted her will was when I, in an attempt to 'fix' a bad situation with any action, declared that I was going to personally cut all of my hair off. She advised, gently, to make no rash decision while I was so emotional. That I was in no place to do that.
But, rash decisions are what I do best. I've had to make decisions, hard ones, when my peers were ruminating on what color dress to wear for prom. Distinctly, I remember a high school English project where we had to write about something that troubled us. I WISH I could have wrote about things like not knowing which guy I was going to say yes to for said prom or which college is best for me. No, I was writing damn near an essay on the legal morality of Euphanasia and my empathy of a particular man's public struggle with the matter. Because these were the subjects plaguing my soul. For years, I've resented this- and probably most unfairly-resented my peers and others around me.
And, I still battle with the resentment. I don't believe my experience of journeying with a loved one through dying and death to be unique, but I have not felt it to be very common amongst my peers. In my close relationships, I have stood out with this situation. The insensitivity of those around me, most recently, has been a struggle. So, I have been trying to find peace with this. Telling myself that some of my friends do not understand because they can't understand, not yet. But, I'm sorry to say that excuse doesn't go far with me. Unfortunately, I've realized that some don't understand because they can't understand- and they can't understand because they are too self-involved. Which led me to another discovery...The major people that I have had trouble relating to or inspiring genuine sympathy from have all been...
Male.
Every male relationship I have(save one or two family members and a friend of the family - all much older, by the way) has proven profoundly disappointing throughout this journey. Does this mean that all men are emotionally devoid of emotional sympathy? Nah. I don't think so. Does it mean they gain emotional depth past a later age? God, I hope not only then. Do I want to lament about the men in my life who have pissed me off with their self-absorption and insensitivity? No, not really, I've done that well enough. But, being the curious creature that I am, I could not help but think of what this observation means in regards to my journey...
What can I learn from this?
Once I woke up the next day from my hair trauma, having heeded my sister's advice and slept through the night without chopping my hair off- I decided to take another golden piece of advice from my sister and call a trusted hair professional for help. The woman was soooo generous of spirit and advised me to come right on over to meet her so that she could help me. This was in the middle of her day where she was spending time with her kids ice skating! What followed was her working through my mangle head offering wisdom after wisdom that seemed perfect for my present struggle. See I am so used to making decisions, Hard decisions, any decision- decisions when others stay stagnant- that I have to learn when NOT to make a decision. When to just be still. This is a hard pill to swallow for someone taking charge all of the time. This 'Hair Healer' continued to challenge me (unbeknownst to her) to perceive the world differently. She spoke, "When you have been placed in the middle of the ocean...You do not look up to God and lament, WHY?! You look up to him and ask, How?" All this and more she offered me as she did her best to heal my trauma, healing much more than the surface.
And, this led me to even more encounters. One of my best friends sends me solid and strong texts of a "I'll still be checking on you nature" after I tell her I'm going AWOL. My sister continues to be a rock, at one point proving her true solidarity by considering chopping off all of her locks if mine did not recover. Another good friend of mine who lives in Georgia, calls me and inspires me with more wisdoms- threading together what I feel is my LESSON- heeding me to relish in the feminine support I've been so washed with. To nurture and care for myself. To receive nurturing. She even said that hair caring is a very tender part of our physicality, such a ritual connected to our mothers- now is the time for me to ask for help and receive all of the bounty from this- from all of the WOMEN in my life. There is a reason I'm not receiving male attention. It is not the energy I need most now for my growth. There will be a time and place for that. Not at this moment.
And, I was warmed by this. It resonated. Receiving IS an Action. But, of a different nature. Its foreign to me. It has a different energy charge than that of resenting others for what they cannot nor will not give. I must let them go. I must embrace what I do have. Especially, when I am surrounded by a bounty of women wanting to offer the goodness of who they are. And, there are so many! From my counselor to Hair Healer, from one of my best friends who lives blocks away to the West coast woman I just Skyped, from my Georgia goddess to my beloved rock of a sister. There are even more now that I think about it-all becoming more and more available as of late.
The night of my lamenting, my sister said something big. She said that amidst my wailing and rage, she struggled. She wanted to be there for me (physically and emotionally). She let me go on and on. All she could think at one point, while I suffered and cried, was how much that in That moment- I was needing my mommy.
She said she did her best to do what she thought mom would do. She did beyond a good job. She did great.
When she said that, I, too, realized more. That I (she as well)...we are like little toddlers first learning to use a fork. At first, this a foreign custom. In a fit of impatience, the kid in throws the fork and resorts back to the baser use of her hands. I'm learning to eat, walk, and move all over again- because this time- I don't have mommy to help. Not in the physical sense. I'm having to learn how to do everything I've done before (and new experiences) without Her. That hurts. No way getting around that.
But, I am grateful. Because the mothering 'essence' is unveiling itself. If I will open myself to it. No resentment for what I don't have. Only acknowledgment of my surplus- The Generosity of the women in my life. With me, learning to receive it and savor it. A different kind of action. Drinking and eating of this goodness. Using my fork.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Monday, January 18, 2010
Four Points
I woke up with a knot of anxiety in my stomach. Been waking up like that for the past week and a half. My eyes open and I sense that I'm not in any immediate danger or chaos and I have to consciously remind myself to breathe the knot out and relax. Everything's okay, I tell myself...
But, that's not entirely true. Everything in not okay. But, I don't overload myself with that thought in the moment- I just tell myself that in THIS particular moment- me in bed with my six pillows all over me- I'm okay. Breathe. At least you have these four points.
I believe every living human being should have four points that are just their own. Four corners they can call their sanctuary, large or small, that you share with no one. If you own your own home or live in apartment by yourself, you know the joys of having four points to call your own. If you live with others, family, your children, roommates!, then hopefully, you have your room. Even if you have a spouse or significant other, perhaps you claim your four points in the bathroom or an office- somewhere! Even a bed shared with no one can be your four points. A place to find solace and space.
I'm trying to make my four points as inviting and serene as possible. This week I purged my closets and shelves. I threw out or donated books I was never going to read, books I'd like others to experience, movies that I could just Netflix, clothes that no longer fit, and any other excess. It felt like a detox. Recently, I bought new vanilla colored soft sheets with a creamy lavender duvet cover for my down blanket. This was well overdue and the beginnings of a sensual promise I made myself for the new year (more on that another time). I cleared my desk and minimized it contents (distractions) to invite a well-awaited creative spirit. I have altars (another four points) that I created for meditation outside my self-made desk. One honors some of my mom's precious things. I cleaned them all and put things back slowly, with a present awareness. I reached high, dusting. I vacuumed. I washed my threshold in salt and cleansed all stagnant energy out and away. Today I will open my window to release any remnants.
A big feng shui move- I took my mother's special box with more of her memories from under my bed and found an honored spot high on a shelf to place her. This was a significant move for I have been plagued with awful nightmares over the past few months. That special box needed to be somewhere else- exalted, and not underneath my four points. My four points are for me and me only.
Speaking of dreams (or rather nightmares), I had one a few nights ago. This one was not so much of a nightmare as some of the others I've had of or about mom, but more unsettling and uncomfortable. The more I think of this dream, the more I become at peace with underlying feelings...
...I was with my mother and sister at our childhood apartment. Jennifer was sleeping and mom was about, seemingly healthy though not grounded. Was unsure of her placement there. I was hungry and wanted to go out to get food, not content with foraging inside, but kept procrastinating- getting distracted by things. Outside it looked as if it were going to rain soon. "I should go NOW", I thought. But, for some reason I didn't seize the opportunity. Soon, I started to hear the rain and could see it slightly through the blinds. The trees and landscape had a bluish green look to it. "Ugh, now I have to go out in the rain" was my thinking, especially when I purveyed our at home options. Good options. Certainly was not going to starve. Just was not satisfied with them. And, for some reason, hearing the downpour become heavier wasn't swaying me. I get dressed and prepare to go and when I open the front door, I am taken aback by complete quiet blanketed with a milk white thick mist. This mist was thick and bright, but I could not see arms length through it. The opaque thickness moved slightly. It was so heavy and came right up to the front door. I started to feel anxious, trapped. Didn't want to stay in, I was fired up already with the determination to go out. But, the mist was so thick that I'd be completely blind. I knew how to get down the stairs. After all, this was my childhood home. Could feel the way there. But, beyond that?! What if I got lost and could not come back?! Did I really need this 'other meal' that much? Was it worth the effort? Apparently, I did. At least enough not to shut the door because I stood there at the threshold, trying to 'SEE' through the fog, pondering my options...trying to move myself to go forward.
That's how the dream ended. I woke up unsettled. The feelings I felt were slightly akin to what I felt arriving way early for my return flight back to New York earlier this month. Having much time, I wandered into a touristy New Orleans shop wanting to buy something. I was settling on a t-shirt when I noticed all of these New Orleans magnets. I started to choke up. My mother adored and collected all kinds of magnets and they found sanctuary on (one of her four points)-an upright freezer. Now, I see my mom in everything so there are triggers everywhere- but for some reason I got really anxious and overwhelmed by emotion. So much so, that I had to ponder if I would need to run out of the shop. I quickly made my purchase and walked to the gate realizing why I was overwhelmed. It was the first time since her death that I 'walked alone'. My sis and family came to NYC with me shortly after the funeral.....I had the sweet anticipation of seeing family and friends for a bittersweet holiday...I looked forward to the special New Year's Eve ritual that Jennifer and I had planned....I even had the hope that I would see a certain guy.
But, there at the airport, all these things were gone. Part of a recent past, yes, but the past nonetheless. The road that lay ahead was misty, alright- healing that would take place in its own precious time, lusty goals that require extreme vulnerability, and adventures unknown. There I walked towards them stripped bare- no future plan to see family soon that was set in stone, no distractions. No Anchors nor Assurances. Just the pure and raw clay that I am.
And when you feel like you are raw clay being an action driver woman like myself- you can get overwhelmed trying to mold yourself. Curses and laments to the higher powers ensue when you get exhausted working with raw materials that hurt when you move them. I AM HUNGRY for something else. I just don't know how to move forward in the thick of it all sometimes.
And, that's when it just hit me. Literally- just now. When you are clay, ready to be molded, standing at the threshold of a mist that envelops your world in silence, perhaps the action you take is that you stand there and just Listen. When you are clay, instead of molding, allow yourself to be molded. Just Listen. It moved me from my bed to desk today. From one four points to another.
Right now, I am satiated with that.
But, that's not entirely true. Everything in not okay. But, I don't overload myself with that thought in the moment- I just tell myself that in THIS particular moment- me in bed with my six pillows all over me- I'm okay. Breathe. At least you have these four points.
I believe every living human being should have four points that are just their own. Four corners they can call their sanctuary, large or small, that you share with no one. If you own your own home or live in apartment by yourself, you know the joys of having four points to call your own. If you live with others, family, your children, roommates!, then hopefully, you have your room. Even if you have a spouse or significant other, perhaps you claim your four points in the bathroom or an office- somewhere! Even a bed shared with no one can be your four points. A place to find solace and space.
I'm trying to make my four points as inviting and serene as possible. This week I purged my closets and shelves. I threw out or donated books I was never going to read, books I'd like others to experience, movies that I could just Netflix, clothes that no longer fit, and any other excess. It felt like a detox. Recently, I bought new vanilla colored soft sheets with a creamy lavender duvet cover for my down blanket. This was well overdue and the beginnings of a sensual promise I made myself for the new year (more on that another time). I cleared my desk and minimized it contents (distractions) to invite a well-awaited creative spirit. I have altars (another four points) that I created for meditation outside my self-made desk. One honors some of my mom's precious things. I cleaned them all and put things back slowly, with a present awareness. I reached high, dusting. I vacuumed. I washed my threshold in salt and cleansed all stagnant energy out and away. Today I will open my window to release any remnants.
A big feng shui move- I took my mother's special box with more of her memories from under my bed and found an honored spot high on a shelf to place her. This was a significant move for I have been plagued with awful nightmares over the past few months. That special box needed to be somewhere else- exalted, and not underneath my four points. My four points are for me and me only.
Speaking of dreams (or rather nightmares), I had one a few nights ago. This one was not so much of a nightmare as some of the others I've had of or about mom, but more unsettling and uncomfortable. The more I think of this dream, the more I become at peace with underlying feelings...
...I was with my mother and sister at our childhood apartment. Jennifer was sleeping and mom was about, seemingly healthy though not grounded. Was unsure of her placement there. I was hungry and wanted to go out to get food, not content with foraging inside, but kept procrastinating- getting distracted by things. Outside it looked as if it were going to rain soon. "I should go NOW", I thought. But, for some reason I didn't seize the opportunity. Soon, I started to hear the rain and could see it slightly through the blinds. The trees and landscape had a bluish green look to it. "Ugh, now I have to go out in the rain" was my thinking, especially when I purveyed our at home options. Good options. Certainly was not going to starve. Just was not satisfied with them. And, for some reason, hearing the downpour become heavier wasn't swaying me. I get dressed and prepare to go and when I open the front door, I am taken aback by complete quiet blanketed with a milk white thick mist. This mist was thick and bright, but I could not see arms length through it. The opaque thickness moved slightly. It was so heavy and came right up to the front door. I started to feel anxious, trapped. Didn't want to stay in, I was fired up already with the determination to go out. But, the mist was so thick that I'd be completely blind. I knew how to get down the stairs. After all, this was my childhood home. Could feel the way there. But, beyond that?! What if I got lost and could not come back?! Did I really need this 'other meal' that much? Was it worth the effort? Apparently, I did. At least enough not to shut the door because I stood there at the threshold, trying to 'SEE' through the fog, pondering my options...trying to move myself to go forward.
That's how the dream ended. I woke up unsettled. The feelings I felt were slightly akin to what I felt arriving way early for my return flight back to New York earlier this month. Having much time, I wandered into a touristy New Orleans shop wanting to buy something. I was settling on a t-shirt when I noticed all of these New Orleans magnets. I started to choke up. My mother adored and collected all kinds of magnets and they found sanctuary on (one of her four points)-an upright freezer. Now, I see my mom in everything so there are triggers everywhere- but for some reason I got really anxious and overwhelmed by emotion. So much so, that I had to ponder if I would need to run out of the shop. I quickly made my purchase and walked to the gate realizing why I was overwhelmed. It was the first time since her death that I 'walked alone'. My sis and family came to NYC with me shortly after the funeral.....I had the sweet anticipation of seeing family and friends for a bittersweet holiday...I looked forward to the special New Year's Eve ritual that Jennifer and I had planned....I even had the hope that I would see a certain guy.
But, there at the airport, all these things were gone. Part of a recent past, yes, but the past nonetheless. The road that lay ahead was misty, alright- healing that would take place in its own precious time, lusty goals that require extreme vulnerability, and adventures unknown. There I walked towards them stripped bare- no future plan to see family soon that was set in stone, no distractions. No Anchors nor Assurances. Just the pure and raw clay that I am.
And when you feel like you are raw clay being an action driver woman like myself- you can get overwhelmed trying to mold yourself. Curses and laments to the higher powers ensue when you get exhausted working with raw materials that hurt when you move them. I AM HUNGRY for something else. I just don't know how to move forward in the thick of it all sometimes.
And, that's when it just hit me. Literally- just now. When you are clay, ready to be molded, standing at the threshold of a mist that envelops your world in silence, perhaps the action you take is that you stand there and just Listen. When you are clay, instead of molding, allow yourself to be molded. Just Listen. It moved me from my bed to desk today. From one four points to another.
Right now, I am satiated with that.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
In The New Year
Its been awhile since I've written. A little over 2 months. Christmas and New Year has come and gone. Much has transpired. Maybe I'll be able to share, but for now I can just say- emotionally exhausting, but not without beauty. I'm well into my resolutions at this point. Kind of got a head start.
I just read an article about blogging. How its so popular and self-indulgent. Since, I am completely self-absorbed right now- I wondered if I should revisit this blog. Its as good as any, I thought. People write about wine, child rearing, their pets, so forth...Why couldn't I continue to write about the bereavement process with the same indulgent fervor? Some might think it should be a personal journey not meant to be shared in this manner, but I enjoy writing and have learned rather recently that I could care less what a lot of people think. Could care less in that liberated 'I'm going to do it anyway because at the end of the day you could hurt me no more than I've already been hurt'.
So, with that logic, I will write at my leisure...any morbid thought i feel, any insight I can share, any neuroses I need to purge. And, I will be forgiving of myself and fine with my punctuation errors and any bad grammar or syntax, How it flows out is how it comes out...because I want it out. I want what I'm feeling to be in and out at the same time. Writing anchors me and I've been flailing about in stormy waters for awhile.
My mom used to say, "Heather, whatever you write, I will want to read. When you write your first book- I don't want you to give me a copy- I want to buy a copy"
"Of course, I'd never have you buy a copy, Mom!"...that's what I would always say.
But, she would protest. Thank you mom for reading my stories when I was a kid and for keeping them when I was throwing them out. I will try to have that faith in myself you so generously had for me. A faith that is beyond the belief in one's own talents or gifts, but the faith that encourages the belief of self expression.. That it is good to pour yourself- outside of yourself. And- that we should trust in that mother principle, real woman or universal deity (how lucky to have both) to nurture that growth worthy and pure enough of sharing.
I just read an article about blogging. How its so popular and self-indulgent. Since, I am completely self-absorbed right now- I wondered if I should revisit this blog. Its as good as any, I thought. People write about wine, child rearing, their pets, so forth...Why couldn't I continue to write about the bereavement process with the same indulgent fervor? Some might think it should be a personal journey not meant to be shared in this manner, but I enjoy writing and have learned rather recently that I could care less what a lot of people think. Could care less in that liberated 'I'm going to do it anyway because at the end of the day you could hurt me no more than I've already been hurt'.
So, with that logic, I will write at my leisure...any morbid thought i feel, any insight I can share, any neuroses I need to purge. And, I will be forgiving of myself and fine with my punctuation errors and any bad grammar or syntax, How it flows out is how it comes out...because I want it out. I want what I'm feeling to be in and out at the same time. Writing anchors me and I've been flailing about in stormy waters for awhile.
My mom used to say, "Heather, whatever you write, I will want to read. When you write your first book- I don't want you to give me a copy- I want to buy a copy"
"Of course, I'd never have you buy a copy, Mom!"...that's what I would always say.
But, she would protest. Thank you mom for reading my stories when I was a kid and for keeping them when I was throwing them out. I will try to have that faith in myself you so generously had for me. A faith that is beyond the belief in one's own talents or gifts, but the faith that encourages the belief of self expression.. That it is good to pour yourself- outside of yourself. And- that we should trust in that mother principle, real woman or universal deity (how lucky to have both) to nurture that growth worthy and pure enough of sharing.
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