Absolution

It is natural to be nostalgic this time of year.  We look back over the events of the past 12 months and make judgements of our experiences - our "year-in-review."  While I see and feel the value in assessing our actions, decisions and results, I have found it can be a way for me to avoid, sabotage, punish and stifle.  Even looking back with fondness can be a way to evade the present by indulging the past.  To quote the Little River Band, "Oh the time we're missing, spending the hours reminiscing."

So I am working today on gleaning the lessons, knowledge and realizations from this past year - enjoying the recollection of fun, heartwarming and gratifying times, and letting go.  If I cling to experiences, whether it be from guilt, remorse or pleasure, I am weighing myself down and lessening my capacity for new experiences.  I cannot be open to receiving all that life has to offer, if I show up with my hands already filled with the gifts of the past.

I am grateful for this past year.  It has been a year of challenge, change, growth, sorrow, love, fun and discovery.  I have had experiences and relationships I wouldn't change for the world.  I have made choices that have caused myself and others pain, and I have shared my gifts in ways that have inspired and uplifted as well.  I am grateful for it all.  But mostly, I am grateful to give myself the gift of absolution.  It is a clean slate, a brand new day.  My arms are empty and wide-open, as is my heart.  I am ready to rock 2012!

Comfortably numb

The past twenty four hours have been challenging and revelatory.  I have discovered just how numb I have become to being deceptive with myself and others.  How I have stuffed, withheld, and denied feelings that were uncomfortable or that I had predetermined to be bad - feelings that might be hurtful, upsetting, disappointing to or unpopular with others.

I have been so focussed on being grateful and compassionate that I have shunned any emotion that I thought might conflict with that part of me.  I have forced myself to swallow anger and find compassion for whoever I was angry with, telling myself the story of being the compassionate and giving woman.  What I ended up doing was lying to myself and others, feeding an undercurrent of resentment that showed up in unhealthy ways, and losing my sense of self.  I would struggle with why my relationships aren't working and find reasons to doubt myself and my truth, the truth I had become desensitized to.

I AM a compassionate and giving woman.  I am also a woman who can be petty and small and angry and hurt and uncaring.  I CAN find compassion for the one who hurts, angers, ignores or upsets me, but from now on it will be after I express my truth and find compassion for myself.  I am learning to stand up for myself, to stand in my truth.  I am ready to work at being honest with myself and others, even when it looks like expressing something ugly or unpopular . . . even when it means me being wrong . . . even at the risk of losing favor or love.

I am ready to become uncomfortably vulnerable.

More

I have many teachers in my life right now, from those who live deeply, to those who simply survive daily life.  I am finding, through observing these teachers, and from my own experience, that the more one enjoys life, the more they tend to suffer.  The deeper I love, the deeper I hurt.  It is the bad news, but it is also the good news.

I am learning that by openly embracing what pain may enter my heart, I am able to know myself and the world around me better.  If I can resist the urge to seek comfort, and the urge to argue with the reality of suffering, I can find the beauty that is inherent in it.  It is, in itself, an incredible teacher.  When I am able to accept it and encompass it, I can see where my ego creates the misery.  And when I can step outside my ego to find compassion for the sufferer, I find what I truly desire, which can always be reduced to love and self-acceptance.  Anguish and heartbreak can become gateways to deepened living, greater compassion and understanding, and expanded love.

I am hoping to improve my ability to welcome the pain and suffering I experience, and to be grateful for the gifts they bring.  What I know is that I intend to live from the space of "more."  I will listen more, laugh more, feel more, enjoy more, be more and love more . . . and yes, suffer more. What a beautiful thing.  I wish you more.

Miracle on Highway 89

I have always loved Christmas.  It has felt magical to me since I was a child.  I am one who still believes in Santa Claus - the myth, yes, but more so the ideology.  It is a time of year that society has allowed love and giving to become a focus.  I am still hoping and working toward a world where love, giving and gratitude are the focus all year.  I am starting with me.

This Christmas was different than any Christmas before it.  My holiday plans were interrupted, and on Christmas Eve I found myself at my parents house keeping a vigil in the living room as my father struggled to stay on this earth in the other room.  None of us thought he would make it through the night.  At 3:30 in the morning his breathing became less labored and he was able to sleep.  When he woke up a few hours later, he was remarkably better.  His blood pressure had gone from 52/38 to 80/62.  For us, it seemed to be a miracle.

I sat with my father and talked about football, the ranch, horses and Christmas memories. Conversation and connection that no amount of money could buy and nothing material could compare to.  Eventually my entire family was there at the ranch.  The first time all of us had been in the same room in years.  Loving, laughing and relating.  That was my Christmas miracle.

Letting go of what I had expected Christmas to look like, and embracing the Christmas that showed up was a beautiful thing for me.  I am in such gratitude for it all.  I am grateful for my father.  I am grateful that he brought our family together in the most divine way.  I am grateful for this prompting of what truly is important in life - love, giving and gratitude.  I am blessed beyond belief with amazing people in my life.  It is my intention to carry the gratitude and love I feel for them all in this moment always in my heart, and to act, speak and write from that space.

May the season of miracles touch all of you the way it has touched me.  Much love.

Believe

I recently spent the day with a young man who claims to believe there is no God, no higher power, no engineer of intelligent life.  I listened to his theory and beliefs as we discussed many topics.  He is not, as I would have expected, angry or rebellious, or even depressed and disillusioned or fatalistic.  He has a very scientific mind and looks at things through the lens of facts and figures, not faith and hope.  He is open and authentic.

He is a well-spoken young man, and puts forethought into his answers and assertions.  He is engaging and wise.  I found myself totally enraptured by the divine attributes he so genuinely embodied.  Here was this youthful philosopher speaking his truth and earnestly integrating my questions and his answers.  For him, this conversation was simply that, a chat about spiritual realities and how they differ from person to person.  For me, it was validation of my belief in a higher power.

Where this young man feels we were "an accident" which arose from the primordial ooze of the Big Bang, I am at a loss for exactly how any of us came to be here.  But listening to him convey his beliefs, I was captivated by the inquisitive soul in him that yearned to find answers.  I can't imagine that that longing came from a cosmological catastrophe.  The light in his eyes when our conversation turned to writing is beyond whatever physiological matter makes up his anatomy.  His passion, his intelligence, his curiosity . . . simply divine.

There is divinity in everything.  I am awestruck when I stop to notice it.  I am grateful for my belief in a higher power.  I am grateful for differing beliefs and those who are willing to express them.  I am grateful for the heavenliness of it all.

The Season of giving

I have never quite understood those individuals who dislike the holidays.  I comprehend a great many of their complaints . . . over commercialism, business, hectic schedule, family pressure, religious differences . . . but whether or not to embrace a reason to celebrate the finest qualities we have as human beings, that seems to be a no-brainer to me.

Christmas is whatever it is in your heart, in your mind.  No one can make it anything else for you.
For me, Christmas is a time to celebrate out loud how I feel about life.  To express through gifts, sharing, singing, food, laughter, dancing . . . how much I love and appreciate the abundance I enjoy.  It is a time to convey gratitude and kindness, to love from the most compassionate part of my soul.

My challenge to everyone, myself included, is to stop and breathe and, for a moment, set aside the schedule, the commotion, the to-do lists and have tos.  Breathe in the sweet kindness that dwells in each of us.  Breathe in the giving, compassionate heart the beats in your chest.  Breathe in the wave of tenderness and tolerance that lies just below the hustle and bustle around you.  We find what we are looking for in this world.  Look for the goodness, the charity, the kindness.  What is this season to you? Make it just that . . .

Back in Black

So, yesterday I began this "post" and was summoned away from my writing to attend to some family business.  The post ended up publishing, so I removed it when I got home to finish it.  But it seems to have permanently vanished.  Basically it was just my statement that it was time for me to come clean.  Here goes.

The last few years of my journey here on this Earth have been interesting, exciting, intense.  I have been working on my spirituality for the past ten years, after finally discovering the being spiritual does not necessarily involve religion.  I have been blessed with amazing teachers along my path, and have some of the greatest teachers in my life right now.  I am humbled and grateful for this.  And it is through these teachers, that I am learning who I truly am.  The best way to start learning that, is to learn first what I am not.

I am not all things to all people.  I apologize for ever thinking I could be, and for taking on such a monumental task for which I blamed my failures often on those I disappointed.

I am not the best person for every job.  I convinced myself and sometimes those I love that I am, and then couldn't believe it when I would fail.

I am not the strongest, toughest, smartest or nicest person in the world, but I wanted you to think that.

I am not the answer to your prayers or the person that is going to make your life better or easier.  I thought I had to be to make a difference, and trying just added up to more disappointment.

I am not always positive and loving.  When you ask how I am, I often lie - I haven't trusted you or myself enough to say anything but "super fantastic," or the like.

I am not the person that is going to show up for lunch, coffee, or whatever at least half the time.  I over promise and under deliver.

I have let down every person on this earth that has ever mattered to me.  That's the bad news.  The good news is, now I know.  I have finally taken that ride all the way to the bottom, and I can see where I trip myself up.  I want to apologize for the disappointment.  The best way to do that is to get up, dust myself off, step back up to the plate and keep my eye on the ball.  Now I know who I am.

I am a woman who is truly filled with love and gratitude.  I feel deeply, I love completely and I share emphatically.  It is who I am.

I am a woman who has met her belief that she needs to be loved, and found that peace can be found in the gratitude of loving without  want of return.

I am a woman who is learning to trust herself and is building a reputation of integrity.  I will be the woman who promises what she is capable of delivering.

I am many things, but more than anything, I am sincerely grateful.  I am grateful for every joyous second, and every painful hour.  I am grateful for the depth of my emotions, the indefatigable love I have, and for the fervent desire for connection that drives me.

Thanks for letting me clear the air.  Deep breath in . . .

Down the rabbit hole

I love books, stories, poems, plays, tales, yarns . . . I love reading.  I also love art.  All of it.  If someone creates something that is an expression of themselves and calls it art, I am going to love it.  Maybe not love it in the sense that I would buy it and display it in my home, but love it in the sense that I appreciate the creative force that dwells in us all, and specifically in those that are passionate about expressing it.

The above being true, I have been captivated by and drawn to authors and artists who suffer, and whose suffering is the driving force behind their creative endeavors.  I have long imagined what it must feel like to dance on the edge of sanity like Plath; or be almost immobilized by the desperate need of love from another like Van Gogh; to drown shame and self-loathing in alcohol like Poe . . .  I have wanted to know these struggles, these feelings, and yet I have held myself back from that very thing.

Gratitude, love and positive thinking have been incredible tools to assist me through navigating frightening terrain, and I will continue to rely on them in the future.  But I am really feeling called to fall down the rabbit hole.  I trust this Universe.  I trust myself.  I would be lying if I said I were in any way prepared  or unafraid.

Yesterday I realized that it always comes down to doing the most loving thing for me.  I feel, in this moment, that the most loving thing for me is to go through whatever it s that is waiting for me.  As Peter Gabriel says, "Got to get in to get out."

Peace and love.  See you when I get out!

Fear Factor

For the record, I am very conflicted over reality tv.  I have never been a fan of Survivor, The Bachelor or Project Runway.  I would not even think of watching something like Hoarders, Intervention or Fear Factor.  And yet, I set my dvr to record Dancing With the Stars, So You Think You Can Dance, The Voice, Sing-off, and yes, American Idol.

Wow, that confession just took a huge weight from my shoulders.  There.  Now you know.  So, while I am confessing, I have another disclosure to make.  For the past several days, I have been living in my own version of the Fear Factor.  There were no snakes, worms, cows blood or catapulting.  My Fear Factor simply involved fear.

I stepped (or slipped or fell) out of gratitude, out of a space of trusting the Universe, trusting life, trusting me.  And I learned that once I step out of thankfulness, it can be a very swift descent into fear.  Every change in my physical body became something to panic about.  I found myself torn between reaching out and connecting with people I love or becoming reclusive.  I doubted every thought.  I questioned every statement.  I cursed every element of my life.  I got angry.  I became indignant and resentful.

For a moment, I questioned whether I could recover from the tailspin I was in.  And then a five year-old lovingly and unknowingly brought my attention to the fact that every moment is a choice between love and fear.  Every moment.  "What is the most loving thing for me?"  If I allow myself to be guided by that question and the honest answers that come, I will always be peaceful.

Bodies get older and fail, relationships have hiccups, goals are not always reached, pain is felt . . . but when met with love, they can be some of our greatest moments.  I am grateful for my fall from grace.  It is, if nothing else, a fabulous reminder to me of the power of gratitude and importance of trust.

"I trust my soul, my only goal is to be.  There's only now, there's only here.  Give in to love or live in fear.  No other path, no other way.  No day but today." - Jonathon Larson (from Rent)

Things left unsaid

I'm sorry.
You hurt me.
I was wrong.
I love you.
I don't love you.
I never loved you.
I am in love with you.
I have always loved you.
I lied.
I was mean and vindictive.
I was stubborn.
You were cruel.
I don't want you to go.
I need you to leave.
What will it take?
I don't know.
Stop!
I can't give you what you want.
Please stay.
I could use a friend right now.
If you don't love me, please say so.
Forgive me.
I forgive you.
Trust me.
I trust you.
I love you.
Love me.

The list could go on and on.  Words that spring from raw emotion that want to be heard and felt.  Words that are left pendulous in our mouths, so close to freedom, but are withheld.  Words that remain in our heads are but specters of thought that can grow into disruptive and destructive stories we use to scare ourselves.  They become excuses we use to keep us stagnant and insignificant.  Things left unsaid have the potential of leading to lives that are left unrealized, relationships that are left toxic, and love that is left unfulfilled.  Say what you need to say.

Reclamation

I have been Scrooged this week.  I have watched three cinematic versions of Dickens' A Christmas Carol, and two stage plays of it as well.  All five viewings were quite enjoyable!  I still prefer to read the book to get the real feel of the story, but that will be another week.

One scene, one small exchange of dialogue, stood out for me this week.  Scrooge asks The Ghost of Christmas Past what her business is here.  The Ghost responds with, "your welfare."  Scrooge is surprised.  "My welfare?" The Ghost says, "Your reclamation, then.  Take heed, rise and walk with me."

Reclamation is in interesting word choice.  Reclamation is the process of reclaiming something from loss or from a less useful condition.  Is Scrooge reclaiming his lost innocence?  Lost compassion?  Lost goodwill and charity?  Or is he reclaiming his soul from a less useful condition?

That question got me to wondering how it is we lose things like faith, hope, charity, good will, compassion and the like.  "Last time I remember using it, I was in the kitchen.  Now . . . where did I put that?" I didn't lose it.  I may have lost sight of it, but I didn't lose it.

We make conscious choices in every moment of how we respond to the circumstances we find ourselves in, and the needs we see in others around us.  The problem is found in the word "conscious." That is what leads to Scrooge's reclamation.  He had become unconscious in his life, focused on matters of the ego, not the heart.  Like many of us.  He was able to reclaim his soul from the less useful condition of unaware, and become a warm, compassionate, cognizant being.

And I am starting to think that it is just that simple.  We wake up.  We become aware and purposeful, and we consider the ramifications of our actions and choices.  We look beyond our daily survival, our intrinsic needs, and see the bigger picture.  Set our egos aside and step into our hearts.  There is no need for any of us to be visited by holiday spirits and dead coworkers . . . Just wake up.  "Take heed, rise and walk with me."

The long way home

I think it is human nature to establish routines.  We drive to work, school, the grocery store, our friends houses, etc., and we drive home.  We have routine routes we take . . .  most of us.  We get so used to the drive - the scenery, the road, traffic patters - that we tend to check out.  I've gotten off the freeway on my exit before thinking "how did I miss from Pleasant Grove to Springville?"

Routines can be great things, especially for learning, and for efficiency.  But routines can be devastating to our being present in the moment.  I have gotten into the habit going Supertramp and taking the long way home.  Noticing different places, different faces and finding different pot holes. It is a great way to stay connected to the here and now.

Inside out

I believe there are angels, both figuratively and literally, among us.  I feel I am not alone in that belief.  I believe these angels sometimes take over the "shuffle" control on my Ipod for their own amusement.  I feel insecure about possibly being alone in that belief.  But, how else do you explain Pearls On a Chain by Olivia Newton John followed by Dialectic Chaos by Megadeth?

I got in my car the other day after a fairly gut-wrenching experience, and Phil Collins greeted me with the song Inside Out.  A few miles, a few tissues and a few songs down the road and Inside Out by Eve 6 came on.  Interesting.  That one got repeated because it is my favorite song in the world to sing along with (loudly and badly.)  After a Heart song (yay) and a quickly skipped Jonas Brothers song (don't judge me, my nephew downloaded it,) Inside Out by by Sara Bareilles came on.  I was definitely paying attention now.

Was I inside out?  What does it mean to be inside out?  Feeling discombobulated and dejected could be described as inside out-ish.  But I was interested in the lesson that would come from the message of inside out.  Then, in one of those instances of incredible timing, I rearranged the last sentence in my head to "lesson that would come from inside out," (complete with the aha visual of a lightbulb above my head) right as Sara belts "I'll give my love from the inside out, from the inside out."

I have been working that one for the last couple of days.  Asking myself what were the "gut-wrenching" parts of the experience, finding and questioning the thoughts behind them, and then settling into the lesson.  If I approach every relationship with arms and heart wide-open, I have the best opportunity to connect and share.  If a wide-open heart is met with hostility, pain, confusion, resentment, sadness . . . if I love from the inside out, it will not matter.  If I love from the inside out, I am not seeking the love or affection of another, I am sharing the love I create.  If I am loving from the outside in, I might as well put my "tender heart in a blender and watch it spin around to a beautiful oblivion."  Something I considered doing the last time a Jonas Brothers song came on.

Random poetry day

So, yesterday's post about getting happy was pretty vulnerable for me.  I am working on being all of who I am (not just the fun, comfortable parts.) Sticking with the "vulnerable and growing" theme, I created a stretch for myself.  I snagged a couple of poems out of a notebook and thought I would share with anyone who cares to read them.  Don't be expecting Whitman or Plath . . . probably a lot more along the lines of Rowan and Martin.  Anyway, enjoy!  Worst case scenario is you waste three minutes of your life you can never get back but you have something to tease me about at dinner parties.


Unsheltered

The weight of the world has fallen, however briefly,
from these weary shoulders
It lay at my feet like the golden-orange leaves of the attenuated oak
I feel young, emancipated and . . . unusually exposed
My gut reaction is to bend down and pick up the fragments that surround me
Comfort found in the familiar
But I step through and walk forward, completely vulnerable



Say Anything

An open door, a flat affect

subtleties exchanged and aspirations are invisibly deflated

your voice is cold, words are rushed, eyes darting

I say nothing of consequence

words fall away

Left with silence, I feel the weight you carry

the encumbrance you cling to in your tacit world

I would bear it if I could

And though I know I can say anything now

I will simply say "I love you"

First Light

It brings with it the sounds of morning birds

they sing of redemption

they hint of opportunity

They lovingly remind me that I am at choice

I have been given this day

as a beautiful gift

wrapped in golden rays that, in this moment, rise to greet me

I am filled with gratitude and wonder!

What will I choose?

What will this gift, opening before me, hold?

Get Happy

I often get asked if I am “always this happy.”  Some people even make blanket (and most likely true) statements like “nobody can be that happy all the time.”  I’m not, and I can’t.  I am, however, joyful most of the time.  My internal “joyful” does not always translate as an outward expression of “happy.”  We will get to that in a minute.

My desire to "get happy" goes back to the MGM musicals I used to watch on the Big Money Movie with Bernie Calderwood in the formative years of my youth.  The good guys always won, the guy always got the girl, the show always went on, the day was always saved and everyone came out happy.  I will never forget the first time I saw the closing number from Summer Stock, where Judy Garland (in a hat and smoking jacket) implores us all to "shout hallelujah come on get happy!"  Find a lamp post, a wall, a staircase, a hat rack . . . and dance and sing and be happy!  Even in the rain.

For years I thought if I worked at staying happy, then life would be one big Busby Berkeley production number.  I became an actor, and a very good one.  People like being around happy people, I noticed.  I was the life of the party on the outside, but drowning in insecurities and confusion on the inside.  My acting became more akin to selling my soul. I will do your bidding if you will like me.  I will be anything you want me to be for your validation.  

Not a path I would recommend if you are looking for joy, but I happened to find it there.  I learned a lot of painful and powerful lessons, and I have no regrets.  Perhaps it was the only path for me to get to this moment.  Maybe I had to find my demon to see my divine. Perhaps the only way for me to find my compassion was through prostituting myself for approval.  

Through it all, I found that, while I might not always be happy, I can be joyful in the midst of struggle, hardship, poor health and even grief.  And I learned that the outward "happy" has much more to do with the inward peace I feel than anything else. 

I still watch old musicals and imagine myself as Esther Williams, and I still work at staying happy . . . but not for anyone else.  I like being around happy people, I noticed.  

Here's your one chance Fancy . . .

Those of you who don't connect with the title of this post - you are young and of good repute. Those of you quietly humming along with Reba in your head are older and have questionable taste in music.  And, frankly, this post has nothing to do with any of that.

We hosted a family holiday dinner party last night.  A party that we have known we were going to host for five years.  We attending four such dinner parties, each at a different siblings house, over the past four years.  This party has been in the back of my mind for five years, kept company by my training plan for swimming the channel, a few recipes, my questioning of the Mayan calendar and a patent idea for a pineapple slicer.  So, there in the back of my mind, it became a challenge . . . a summons to dream big, go bold, be fancy!

I planned.  I made lists.  I went shopping.  We planned.  We decorated.  We planned more.  We shopped more.  I made slide shows (I heard that.)  We planned even more.  And the day started off with a "curve ball" at 4:06 am.  And the hits just kept coming.  By about 9:00, I had found out that Anne Burrell was booted from the Next Iron Chef.  (Are you kidding me?!?) And the day of party preparation went the way of Chef Burrell, and I didn't see it coming.

The party we ended up having looked very little like it had looked in my mind for five years.  It could have gone a couple of ways . . . I could have fallen apart, like my plans, and agonized over the missing place cards, last minute menu changes, etc.; or I could trust that it was perfect the way it was happening and focus on what mattered.  When it comes down to it, no party is about the rolls (okay, some parties are,) or the place cards.  Parties are about the feeling, the connection, the sharing.  People figured out where to sit and the rolls were mostly edible . . .  not fancy . . .  perfect.

I absolutely LOVE that the Universe is lining up so many perfect scenarios for me to truly experience what it means to live in the moment.  The lesson of losing attachment to outcome has been playing out in the most beautiful ways.  When I trust - myself, the Universe, my support system - I am safe.  I have and feel the love and energetic support of my family and friends always.  It is a beautiful life, and I am a blessed woman.

Gnawing at bones

"Do what you love.  Know your own bone; gnaw at it, bury it, unearth it, and gnaw at it still." - Henry David Thoreau

We are all born with gifts, talents, tastes, preferences, inclinations, tendencies, quirks, dreams and passions.  Some of us are fortunate to have these things recognized, respected and even encouraged by the adults and authority figures in our lives.  But even then, once enmeshed in the logic, common sense and conformity of mainstream society, it is not a priority or cause that is championed, to follow ones' heart and do what one loves.  We are persuaded to get a respectable job, prodded to go for an above average salary.  We are sold on the glamor and appeal of fame, power, money and possessions.  Our gifts, talents and dreams become "hobbies" at best, and are put off until later in life when we have more time.

I've said it before and I will say it again, the time we know we have is now.  I have spent so much time trying to measure up to my projection of someone else's standards.  Is my mother happy with the way I am living my life?  Is my father proud of me?  Does my brother respect me?  Does my high school English teacher think I succeeded as a writer?  Does my neighbor like the placement of my trash bin on Mondays?  Couple things here - first, it is quite egocentric of me to think any of these people spend time considering those matters.  Second, and most importantly, "what they think of me is none of my business."(Terry Cole-Whittaker)  "Stop the insanity!" (Never thought I'd squeeze in a Susan Powter quote.)

I am getting to know my own bone.  I have gnawed a few that didn't taste as good as I had hoped, but it beats trying to guess what others want from me and then endeavoring to give it to them.  I am grateful for the lessons my people-pleasing ways have brought me.  And, I am grateful to be moving toward the lessons my gifts and passions have on tap for me. 


My dream is to live in a world that looks like the all-you-can-eat rib night at Golden Corral - bones piled on plates, elbows on the tables and sauce dripping from chins.  Thoreau was a brilliant man.  Follow his advice and gnaw at a bone or two.  

He also said the following: "Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with a song still in them."  When you find your bone . . . sing about it!

Finding Joy

Follow your bliss.  Find joy.  Seems like very easy to follow sound advice.  However, it does not feel at all easy to follow when you are standing on the edge of an unnerving precipice or finding yourself firmly at rock bottom.  These are the times when I am most frantically searching for answers to the "big questions."  Find joy, so often is the answer I receive.  What does it mean to find joy?  If it were as simple as finding pleasure in the moment, how could I possibly find myself lost or alone ever?  And yet, I do.

The most recent time I found myself contemplating the question "what now" and it's resounding answer "find joy," I learned a great deal about the question, the answer and the person asking and answering.  I sat with my metaphoric feet dangling from the edge of a terrifying chasm . . . a fissure that lay ominously between reality and my attachment to having myself and my life look a certain way.  I realized that it was only me and my belief that things should be different than they are.  If I could, even for a moment, set that belief aside, I could see more clearly.

Breathing into the reality of any moment always brings clarity.  And so, I breathed in what was . . . what is . . . and I found that the rocky ledge I stood upon was where my greatest joy was waiting, not on a distant projection I could only hope to reach.  To start with gratitude and find joy in asking "am I enough?," to find elation in having the trials that bring that question to my lips . . . that is following my bliss.  That is finding joy.

Slow ride

I have been making myself (and those around me) pretty crazy by arguing with reality.  I think I should have more energy and be less tired.  As my good friend would ask, "how do you know that you should be tired?  You are!"  It is the way of it, at least for now.

So, I am putting my efforts into embracing what is and not only taking naps and slowing down, but working on really finding joy and peace in it.  It means finding and questioning old beliefs.  Beliefs like "taking naps means you are lazy."  And, "if I am not crossing things off of a to-do list, I am not contributing."  I had no idea how deeply engrained these beliefs were until I investigated them.

What I am learning is that being busy does not equate being useful, and being still does not equate being worthless.  I am finding that there is much to see and hear in the silence that waits for me to notice when I am able to quiet the critic and sink into awareness.  I am realizing that love and gratitude can be created and shared from any space at any time.  I'm learning that the things I think are so urgent in life, can wait.

So, with dishes in the sink and laundry waiting to be folded, I will take a nap.  And, when I wake up I might put on a Bonnie Raitt cd and take a slow ride . . . being sure to notice how much there is to see, hear, touch, love and learn in the quiet spaces between thought and action.