reflections, a poem, and a serenade to the self

This is a long post. But, just like there is sometimes a monster at the end of a book, there is a poem at the end of this post. (Feel free to just jump ahead. Go on. You will find it in the third part of this post.)

Part I
Last night, I decided that teaching my evening yoga classes and chanting with the two students who came to my yoga, chanting, and meditation class was going to be my meditation for the day. So, I did not spend time in front of the mirror. I shared one of my favorite chants with them and the words and sound swirled around the studio. My teacher says the chant is said to turn the petals of the heart, and as we chanted together, I felt my heart fill with some of the joy I had been focusing on prior to yesterday. Then when I returned home last night and when I woke up this morning, I read the comments left and emails sent by some of you in response to yesterday’s post. Thank you for filling my heart with your support. I do recognize that there are things I need to look at based on my internal response to this doctor’s words…and like you…I do the best I can.

This is what I know. We never really know the frame of mind of the person to whom we are communicating. Where they are in their day, in their life, in their journey. And we will try to be gentle. And sometimes we will fail, not because we weren’t doing the best we could, but because they were in a place where they couldn’t hear it. And sometimes we will not be gentle, because our communication is more about ourselves than about them. And sometimes we will forget or be melodramatic or insensitive. What we can know is our own motivation, and we are in charge of the way that we react to others. But none of this means that communication is easy. Or that we don’t bruise one another every now and then. Because we just can’t know. You can’t know where I am in any given moment, even though it would seem I post about so many aspects of my journey here, and I cannot know where you are. We know pieces of one another. What we choose to share. This is true with all people we know. We know pieces.

Part II

Because I edit from home, I am able to listen to music throughout my day. And with the nano Jon gave me for my birthday, this music becomes portable as I move around when needed. When I stop to think for a moment or take a break, I notice how the sound is so clear it is as though it is inside me.

My breaks today were filled with music that pulled me out of the leftover bits of melancholy.

First, I got in touch with my inner country girl. And, of course, this meant time with Kenny. If you ever want to virtually take a break and join me, just start singing “Ruby” along with Kenny Rogers (make sure you really get the “Ruuuuuuubbeeeeeeee” and then start shaking your hips when the music changes toward the end). Then follow that with “80 Proof Bottle of Tearstopper” by George Strait. “Get a little loose and lose her memory” is one of my favorite phrases to sing. Wrap your tongue around those l’s.

Then, this afternoon, when Marc Broussard started singing “Home,” I jumped up and went to find Jon, who was listening to his ipod in the other room, and insisted we synchronize and dance (which we did after several attempts to start the song at the same time). Anyone watching us would have wondered what the heck we were doing. This was too much fun. Seriously. Silly, hilarious, and romantic in its own way.

This evening, I pulled a stool up to our mirror in the hallway annd I settled in with the Indigo Girls singing Virginia Woolf. I just looked at myself, taking in the reactions as I listened to the music.
“When the river eclipsed your life. And sent your soul like a message in a bottle to me and it was my rebirth.”
This is the line. The reason why I keep listening to this song over and over. Tears fill my eyes each time I hear it.

Then I turned to Deb Talan to listen to “Ashes on Your Eyes” (click here to read the lyrics). About two lines in, I started singing out loud. I suddenly realized I was singing to myself. It was one of the sweetest moments I have ever had. And I was alone. Looking in the mirror. I was reminded of the realization I had last week. That my eyes, the eyes that were staring back at me, were the only eyes that would ever see what I have seen and what I will see. (I want to expand on this is another post later this week.)

And as the song finished, I went to get up, not really thinking about what the next song on the playlist would be. As Stephanie Dosen started singing “Brave” (you can hear it here), I just stopped. And started singing right to the mirror again. I scooted closer and just looked at my reflection. Singing the words. Soaking them into my skin and mind and into the space around my heart. (Thank you for sharing this song with me Meg.)

And as I listened to her words, an idea for a series poem came to me; I think the poem below might be the first part of that series.

Part III

The Sunday before the Wednesday I was to see you
the conversation played
on a stage in my mind.
Knowing you would pretend to be irritated that
I had flown across the country unannounced
because you did not
want me to see you like this,
I would pull the chair next to your bed,
see your emaciated body,
and my hand would brush
away the hair around your face
like I did twenty-five years ago
right before I would smear Pond’s cold cream
across your nose, cheeks, and forehead.
I would tell you that I finally understood.

But then you died on Tuesday.

In their need for reason,
people said you chose to die
the Tuesday before the Wednesday I was to see you
because you knew I was coming and
you wouldn’t have
wanted me to see you like that.
Infuriated, I turned my back
on the words that meant nothing
to the open wound you left behind
that people saw as me, and
I sat in the darkness,
my throat choked with silence,
my fingertips filled with regret that I
did not brush your hair away
from your face when I saw you on
the morning of the Thursday after the Wednesday I was to see you,
when I heard your voice say,
“It isn’t me.”

(read other poems, some also with the theme of unfinished conversations, at poetry thursday)

enclosed in my body week 2 {self-portrait challenge}

Today, I again feel like my body is enclosed in itself. My back pain is getting a little better each day, but today it is this constant dull ache. Yesterday, there was really no pain and I felt so free.

This morning, I went to the doctor because the ER insisted I have a follow-up with my primary care physician (even though I had never met him, he has been my PCP for two years—gotta love health care in this country). I wanted a referral for an acupuncturist, which I will receive after I pick one from a list of 10 not knowing anything about any of them.

The doctor acted like he wasn’t really sure why I was there and didn’t really know what he could do to help me. He dismissed what my yoga teacher (who was a PT before teaching yoga) and I thought about it being SI pain, thinking I was trying to diagnose myself with something called Piriformis Syndrome that I had never even heard of until today. He acted like doctors in the “know” don’t believe in it, which was fine by me since I had never heard of it but have to admit I wonder if it might be what is going on because of where the pain is. Anyway, after being treated like I didn’t really know my own body and that my yoga teacher doesn’t know anything (he didn’t give me a chance to explain that she knows EVERYTHING and that doctors in Seattle send their patients to her and that she was actually part of a health study done by my health insurance, the one that pays his bills because it is actually a healthcare network that he is a part of—the recent one in publication in papers across the country about how back pain is decreased by practicing yoga, especially viniyoga), he sat down and started typing all the information in the computer like they do now. Even though I wasn’t asked if I had any questions, I took that opportunity to ask if he thought this was something that would continue throughout my life or if stretches and taking care of myself would help me to avoid it. I guess I already knew the answer that one really can’t know and that stretching and keeping the body flexible is important because of our sedentary society and blah, blah, blah. But then he threw this one in “and maintaining proper body weight to avoid pressure on the back.”

And that was when the little tears that have been threatening to fall for the last six hours started to pinprick on the back of my eyeballs. He kept talking about other things and how he thought I would be fine based on how the pain had already significantly decreased, my desire to get better, and so on. He didn’t explain if he meant “lose weight you big tub” or if he just meant to keep that in mind. He, having never seen me before, didn’t take the time to notice that since I had my last appointment for my annual exam I had lost eight pounds. No. He just threw that little comment out into the world for my ears to hear and my heart to absorb.

So today, I am struggling with looking at any picture of myself, trying to crop out any bit of fat arm, yet forcing myself to look at the double chin that is a part of me. I can’t imagine how I will face the mirror to reflect on it all unless I actually allow myself to have the “sob fest” that is sitting on my heart, threatening to burst open at any minute.

This feeling of being trapped, enclosed in my body is about more than just my back pain this week. It is about all that “stuff” that sits inside my heart. That stuff about how I look and how much I weigh and how it feels to know that losing weight would be better for my health, my self esteem, my heart, my soul. That stuff that invites a feeling of emptiness around the heart instead of the understanding that the emptiness is space waiting to be filled with joy.

I am sure he is a fine doctor. And I know I am one of many patients. I just wish people would take the time to remember they are talking to a person. A person with feelings and a heart who is sitting in a robe feeling vulnerable and scared. A person who has to leave that little examine room and carry on with the tiny pieces of information shared in the least amount of time possible. That person. Today. That person was me.

see more self-portraits here.

finding the joy {a meditation}

At the end of this post there is a meditation...
but a couple of other things first.

Thank you all for your kind comments about my Sunday Scribblings post. Your words fill my heart. I am so grateful that I can come here to this space and write and someone reads my words and a connection is made...
but I want to let you know that...

I do watch Project Runway, Survivor, and this last season of American Idol. My current favorite summer program is Entourage on HBO. Johnny Drama is the funniest character on television in my opinion.
I sometimes get really pissed off and say the worst kinds of words (my husband will nod his head when he reads this).
We subscribe to Entertainment Weekly and I often read it right before I go to sleep because I have found it helps me to avoid nightmares (and if you subscribe too, check out their article about Mr. Gibson this week...wow).
I recently spent way too much money on clothes and other stuff to try to measure up to my very cool, thin, beautiful friends.
I ate at McDonald's for dinner tonight. Ugh.
If I had to choose between a bowl of haagen daz ice cream and spending a day with a friend who only wants to talk about herself and not ask me how I am doing, I would choose the ice cream every time. (Wish someone would give me that choice sometimes.)

but I also...
Read poetry to feel grounded.
Organize my theology and philosophy and other spiritual books in a way that I hope the authors talk to one another while sitting on the shelf (I have probably already told you this but I have just moved a few and thought of it again). Maybe they will solve some of the world's problems and I will receive some of their energy.
Cry when my mom sends me a dishtowel she found that had a note attached to it from my grandmother to me. (Why is it that seeing the handwriting invites so much longing? Something tactile in front of you I guess.)
Am not talking about anyone who reads this blog in the ice cream comment. I am just sayin' some people suck the life out of you and ice cream, chocolate creamy ice cream, can simply be a better friend.
Believe blogging has reintroduced me to myself.
Drink daily mugs of woodsy green tea to feel a connection to the earth. 

*******

This is another meditation that could be used in conjunction with the daily mirror reflection some of us are participating in this month and next.

edited 1/24/11: There used to be an audio meditation here but the service I used to house the audio file no longer exists. The "space around your heart" (downloadable) audio meditation in the sidebar could be used with the mirror meditation I write about on my blog. You could keep your eyes open, looking in the mirror, during the meditation or you could do the meditation in front of the mirror with your eyes closed and then open then at the end, noticing how you feel.

i might have been... {sunday scribblings}

I might have been someone who watched television for hours each night, keeping a distance from the reality of her life while zoning out into the “reality” of the lives of others. Someone who would, every now and then, glance at the theology and philosophy books on her bookshelves and remember a time when there was a hunger to learn. I might have been someone who thought it would be easier to let go of needing friends in a new place. I might have been someone who avoided mirrors because she did not want to notice her body, her face, her soul. I might have been someone who never told her husband the truth of her needs and wants and desires. Someone who always said “yes” when she meant “no” and “I’m okay” when she meant “I am drowning.” I might have been someone who jumped up whenever the phone rang because she knew someone would need her because someone always needs her to solve their problems. I might have been someone who forgot to let people know when she needs support. Someone who spent a lot of time giving and receiving mostly guilt. Someone who ached inside but chose to ignore the pain.

I might have been someone who forgot herself.

Someone who one day would look in the mirror and resent all that had happened in her life. Resent the life she didn’t choose. Someone who chose what seemed like an easier path and allowed herself to get caught up in all of the distractions that life in this time and in this place can offer. Someone who chose sleep over wide open eyes.

I might have been someone who was so weighed down by baggage that the little girl inside her went to sleep for so long she never woke up.

But something intervened and shifted everything.

In one uncontrollable moment, my heart was broken. The sadness this caused, the waves of grief and the wonder that I could feel such pain invited this little girl inside me to awaken. As I started noticing her, she started singing. She reminded me of dreams and desires and hopes and beliefs. She sang of possibility. And as I listened to her, I knew I had only one choice. To live in my life.

And I began to live in my life by healing my heart.

During the last year, I have begun to heal by finding the creative in my life and challenging myself. Painting and writing and chanting and teaching yoga and sewing. Long conversations with friends about “real” things in life and learning from one another. Being validated and reminded I am not alone in this blog world. Erasing the lines of safety I drew around myself for protection and jumping into new adventures.

This little girl who sings to me about truth and possibility has saved me. This little girl, who is really me.

I am someone who has realized that I choose in every single moment of my life. What to say, how to react, the next step, these are all choices I can make. And even though I do sometimes need to sleep in a bit, when I am a bit exhausted from it all, I know that living, truly living in my life is the only path for me.

(read more sunday scribblings here)

show and tell

this past year, i have been finding the little creative girl that lives inside me. and i am having so much fun! now that i have a sewing machine i have a new found LOVE of fabric. i mean really, who knew there was so many wonderful patterns out there?

i am excited because the ArtFest brochure is out. as i looked through the workshops and talked to a friend on the phone about it today, i realized that creating a schedule that includes time for creating is really important to me.

in the spirit of ArtFest, i also want to share that Kelly has opened up an etsy shop! (finally!) go check it out and show her some love. she is selling her originals and a little bird told me that she is going to have some prints up for sale soon!

also, i just learned that another ArtFest friend has started a blog and she will be teaching at ArtFest as well. check out Tracie Lyn Huskamp's blog and her art. i bought one of her pieces at vendor night and i enjoy looking at it every single day. it reminds me of what is important in life...home...friends...love.

here are pictures of the purses i have been making with my new sewing machine. (forgive the lighting...i finished the last one this evening and just wanted to finally share them. if you click on them you can learn a little more info and see a bit more detail.)

hope you are feeling some creative energy this weekend.
(and the computer is still sick. but i have installed the camera software onto my laptop. and i will be backing up pictures from now on. i promise.)

having a bit of a moment and hoping the deity of computers reads my blog

last week, an odd message appeared out of no where on my desktop computer. i shut down. restarted. all was fine. i am one of those wacky people blessed with a laptop and a desktop. i use my desktop for scanning, downloading my pictures from my rebel, printing, and some work and my work-related email. so a whole lotta stuff is on that thing. my laptop is a new purchase (well, in the last few months) so now i am not attached to a desk all the time and can work from the couch or take off for a cafe in the middle of the day and work from there.
but.
the message appeared again today. and now nothing is working. jon spent an hour on the phone with dell and we thought all was right again. it worked for a few minutes (of course we had hung up with ravi the nice guy from dell who just might be in india). until i tried to check my email. same error message. the computer is not working. at all. i can restart in safe mode and it will work for a few minutes. then the same error message.
here is the kicker. (and how i know some of you relate to this next part.)
all of my pictures taken in the last two years are on that damn computer.
(yes. you. yes. you. nodding at this screen. yes. you are right. i did not back them up.)
so this means that the last pictures of my grandmother and me and the last pictures of my golden traveler. these last pictures are stuck on this computer.

so this comes up...

a few weeks ago a friend and i were talking about her big move. the stress that comes with moving period. let alone moving to a new state. it is scary. and she and her husband were feeling the pressure. she said that the three biggest stresses in a person's life are (in order):
losing a loved one
losing a pet
moving

then she looked at me and said, "you had all three didn't you?"
yes. in a nine month time period i moved across the country from the only place i had ever lived (and this means i "changed" jobs), my dog died, and then my grandmother died.
no wonder i felt lost in the midst of it all.

and all the pictures taken during this time of being lost are stuck on my computer. i know there are lessons. don't i always find those darn lessons.
but right now i just want to cry. i feel a deep hole in my chest. i know it isn't about the pictures really it is about all that other stuff. about not having control. about missing loved ones. and i just want to curl up in a little ball.

instead i am crawling into bed with my three uglydolls (we welcomed two new ones into the family this week so jeero is no longer alone) and jon and i'm gonna watch another episode of making fiends.

we'll call ravi the dell guy again tomorrow and hope he can work a miracle. if he can't, then the geek squad may be making a stop by this house.

finally getting a little sexy with poetry {poetry thursday}

A few weeks ago, the prompt at Poetry Thursday was sex. And I happily shared two poems written by others on that day. Because, well, ahem, my parents sometimes read my blog. And my friends who may not talk about such things also stop by. And a friend I also work with might be reading it right now (hi). So writing about sex is something...ahem...that doesn't quite come easily to me. Except that isn't really true. It is more writing about sex and then posting it for others to read (anyone out there in all the world), well, that is the part that gets me in a bit of a tizzy.

But, as soon as I read this week's completely and totally optional Monday idea, this poem began to dance in my head. And it continued to dance throughout these last few days. So tonight, as I listened to Itzhak Perlman's violin play "Tango (Por Una Cabeza) "on repeat, this poem took shape. A little blending of PT's sex and music prompts.

tango on a hot july night

the click of the record player
needle skids
as the first notes play
a sigh

her hands move to the roundness of her belly

a woman in a black dress,
pink rose tucked in her hair
eyes dark
fierceness on her face
his hand splayed across her back
they stare at one another
quick turn
long step
look away
her leg kicks
and slides across the floor
then his
long step
slow turn
bodies collide
skirt twirls
long step
quick quick quick
turn

ba boom
ba boom

her hand moves to her breast

the woman turns her face away
he pulls her in
a violence that invites no fear
quick turn
long step
long step
her foot slides
then his
slow turn
knees bend
pivot
pull closer
anticipate every move
breath
turn

ba ba boom
ba ba boom boom boom

fingertips to lips as another sigh escapes

sweat begins to form
the small of her back
his forehead
quick turn
long step
he thrusts her closer
pause
long step
quick quick quick
bodies lean in
never letting go
feet know
her foot slides
then his
quick turn
skirt twirls
slow slow
quick quick
turn
breath to breath

hands roam where needed
soft sighs
the music quiets
a whisper until the final moment

one hand to her forehead, the other below her belly

ba boom
ba boom

********

Poetry Thursday was a weekly poetry project that I created and then co-hosted back in 2006-2007. The site is no longer online.

looking at the outside becomes a peek inside

Yesterday, as I sat looking at myself on the first day of the reflection meditation, I had three distinct thoughts.
The first came as I tried to get comfortable. Last week, I decided I was going to use the mirror that is on the back of our bedroom door. This way I could close the door and create a little cocoon for myself between the wall and my bedside table. A place where I could sit and look directly into my own face, without holding a mirror, and also have some privacy. And because I can be stubborn, I tried to get comfortable in this same place even though my back and right leg hurt. I tried sitting on my knees, so I did not have to rotate my right hip. But of course, this hurt my knees. I finally "stood" on my knees, all the time wanting to just say, "okay, my five seconds are up." Then the thought came, "You are going to have to do this. You can't just talk about it. This can't be another thing you talk about but do not do."

As I looked into my face, I concentrated on my eyes. I like my eyes. I even think they are kind of pretty. But then I forced myself to take in the rest of my face. The second thought arrived like a car slamming into a telephone poll, "I am going to have to look at you for the next two months. Every single day?"
After another minute or so, I found myself feeling somewhat amused at my state. Back aching, standing on my knees looking in the mirror, feeling a bit pouty, and when this amused expression crossed my face, I noticed how much my face seemed to change. I let myself find my breath and just look at me. As a few moments passed, it was almost as though my face became flat and I could see every corner of it. I began to turn to look at the left side of my face, then the right. And I discovered that I have four moles/freckles on my right cheek that I had never really noticed. And the third thought came, "what else don't you know about yourself?"

A deep sigh within.

What do we not know about ourselves? What are we hiding from the world, from ourselves? We are the only ones who can truly know us; yet, somehow we are afraid to peek inside and see what is there. No one will ever know you as well as you know yourself. Do not be afraid. Take a peek. See yourself.

********

I want to thank you for the emails and comments you all have sent/left about this meditation. Some of you have even posted about your experience on your blogs this week; we are all thankful for your words. This is already a powerful journey and we are on only the second day.

Later today I am going to send out an email (keeping the email addresses private) to those of you who have indicated you are participating in the reflection meditation. If you do not receive one and would like to be included (this means that 1) I don't have your email, 2) I didn't know you were participating, or 3) between my trip and the pain medication I somehow forgot to add you), please email me (don't just leave a comment though because sometimes emails aren't included in the comments - thanks). I will send these emails out every now and then over the next two months.