a prayer

Tonight, I want to share a prayer in the form of a quote from a wise man from my favorite show, The West Wing:

“This guy’s walking down the street when he falls in a hole. The walls are so steep he can’t get out. A doctor passes by and the guy shouts up, ‘Hey you. Can you help me out?’ The doctor writes a prescription, throws it down in the hole and moves on. Then a priest comes along and the guy shouts up, ‘Father, I’m down in this hole can you help me out?’ The priest writes out a prayer, throws it down in the hole and moves on. Then a friend walks by, ‘Hey, Joe, it’s me can you help me out?’ And the friend jumps in the hole. Our guy says, ‘Are you stupid? Now we’re both down here.’ The friend says, ‘Yeah, but I’ve been down here before and I know the way out.’”

- John Spencer as Leo McGarry on The West Wing (Season 2, Episode 10)

May all people who feel as though they are in a hole realize they are not alone.

You are not alone.

just keep going

I wrote this earlier today, before I had a conversation that shifted my thinking a bit. Still, I want to share these thoughts…and then in another post or two or three, I will share the shift and some other stuff that happened in between last week and this moment right now…

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As I mentioned in a post last week, I lost a bracelet that meant a lot to me. Buying that bracelet was, for me, a way to buy myself a little gift that would remind me that I am on my path. A little talisman to say, “you are doing it girl.” And I wore it, literally all the time, for almost a year. I think I took it off once to show it to a friend and once as it didn’t quite go with a dress I wore to a wedding last summer. The bright colors reminded me of how I am inviting color, creativity, and awareness into my life. Wearing it all the time, it became a bit like a wedding ring to myself in bracelet form.

Last week, I wrote a letter directed “to the Universe” about this missing bracelet. I could have addressed this letter to myself, to God, to fate, and on and on. I actually don’t use the word universe when I think of a higher power. I usually use god, especially when I pray. Though I think of god as like the collective energy of all that is and was. I think of god as all that I know and all that I could never understand. In that moment though, universe seemed to be the word that fit. I tend not to specifically talk about religion on my blog, partly because I find that there are two topics that can invite people to quickly make assumptions about another person when discussed. These topics are, of course, politics and religion. My blog isn’t really a place for me to go on about these two topics, though I do bring them up occasionally.

That said, last week, when I wrote the letter to the Universe that I posted here, I was actually crying as I wrote it. Almost a week later, I have taken a breath, of course, and see that it was just a bracelet that I lost. At the same time, I know that I deeply understood that then.

However, last week was one of those dark weeks. A week when I wasn’t doing my practice and was feeling overwhelmed by a lot of stuff in my life. I was feeling a bit misunderstood. I wanted to pour out some of the guts of life that had been stuck in me a bit. I wanted to just feel sorry for myself even knowing it wasn’t going to get me anywhere. I wanted to feel sorry for myself about the last few years because I haven’t really let myself do that as much as I need to because most of the time I don’t see much point in that.

People often say, “God doesn’t give you more than you can handle.” I can hear an adult figure, can’t remember who, saying this about a friend from high school when she lost her brother in a car accident when she had already lost her mother to cancer. I remember thinking, “that is shit” but heard it so many times that I started to think maybe it could be true. But, right here, in this moment, hear me when I say, “I think that is shit.” I don’t think it is about how much you can handle. There is no “handling” of it all, there is only breathing. You just get up and breathe. You just go to sleep and breathe. You do what you do. You can only go on. That is your only choice.

This is what I have been doing. As we approach the second anniversary of Traveler’s death, which means we are approaching the second anniversary of my grandmother’s death, which means it has been almost three years since I saw my grandmother alive, which means I will never see her alive again because she is dead, I know my only choice is to just keep on going.

I don’t mean this in a melodramatic way. I mean this as truth. And some of you are nodding as you read this and know what I mean. I don’t mean that I don’t see the beauty of my world. Hell, I find gratitude in my day, every single day, as part of my personal practice now. I see it. I know it is there. But the fact is, my life is different because I have been in the middle of this big fucking wide hole that is grief. I have sat in the middle of it, pitched a tent in it some days, chosen to take a walk around it on other days. This is how it goes. You just keep going, but that doesn’t mean that life isn’t different. You just keep going, but that doesn’t mean you have forgotten. You just keep going, but that doesn’t mean you don’t also see all the good stuff.

Last week, I was having one of those moments when I wanted to simply say, “I need to take a little rest here. This is getting too hard.” But, of course, it isn’t too hard; it is what it is.

You take another breath.

I do get that all I lost was one little piece of materialism. Yes, it is replaceable. I get it.

I am a person trying to, struggling to learn the lessons all the time. Last week, I was feeling dizzy from trying to learn all the lessons. I had spent quite a bit of time upset about how I can’t seem to learn them. How I think I am trying too hard. How I get that the lessons are there for a reason. I was finding my way back to that place where the words feel stuck in my throat because I can’t just be honest about something; instead, I have to try to package it in a way that I think will protect other people because I am so busy thinking about them and not thinking about me that when I try to say it, the words only confuse instead of explain. Last week, I was trying to work my way through it. To move forward. To find my way instead to a place where I can speak about what I really need, feel, and so on. I felt like I was spinning, spinning in circles. Sharing some of this today is an invitation to myself to stop letting the words get stuck…

As several people hoped I woud see, I, of course, see the lesson. I see the irony of losing a superhero bracelet and that, as Andrea told me when I ordered it, I had the superhero power in me before buying the bracelet. I so get it.

But really, I also get this: Sometimes something isn’t a lesson you have to learn in one specific moment in time or just because someone else really wants you to see it. Sometimes you just lose a bracelet that meant a lot to you during a week when you were already feeling really bad. Sometimes you just need to feel bad about losing that bracelet and let go of the need for a lesson in that moment. To let go of the need to please someone else who wants you to see the lesson. Sometimes you need to realize that every single moment of your life isn’t a lesson. Otherwise, someone like me, might become completely paralyzed, unable to move because of all the lessons I am trying to learn in a single moment.

Sometimes you just lose a bracelet that means a lot to you, sometimes people die, sometimes life is confusing, sometimes it gets a little dark until you find the light…and you just keep going and going.

You just keep finding your breath, breathing in and out, and you just keep going.

And you just keep seeing the lessons even when it looks like something isn’t a lesson, even when you have to admit that you know it is one.

You just keep doing the best you can.

note to self. ten years later.

(found tucked into succulent wild woman. written at the end of my junior year in college.)

take a breath

The Buddha says, "Praise and blame, gain and loss, pleasure and sorrow come and go like the wind. To be happy, rest like a giant tree in the midst of them all."

[updated to add: my talented husband snapped this photo in our backyard a couple weeks ago. a buddha wrapped in snow.]

dear universe:

i think you already know that i do the best i can. even when the best i can is not that great, it is still the best i can do. i didn’t rage at you when four loved ones were diagnosed with cancer in one month a two years ago. i didn’t rage at you when i sat at the dining room table staring at the phone after the vet told me traveler had cancer and became the fifth loved one. i didn’t rage at you when, even though we put him through chemo and got into debt and prayed and prayed that he would get better, traveler died less than three months after his diagnosis. i didn’t rage at you when my grandmother got sick and the doctors couldn’t diagnose her. i didn’t rage at you when she died the day before i was supposed to visit her. i didn’t rage at you when my good friend lost her husband who had also been my dear friend. i didn’t rage at you when all this was happening when i had just moved all the way across from the country from my family and i didn’t know anyone and i didn’t have full-time work. i didn’t rage at you when i felt sad, misunderstood, and confused. i didn’t rage at you when things didn’t meet my expectations. i didn’t rage at you when other people hurt my feelings. i didn’t rage at you when i hurt others. i didn’t rage at you when i found myself suddenly sick and scared. i didn’t rage at you when the doctor told me it might be cancer. i didn’t rage at you when i had the icky procedure that scared me. i didn’t rage at you when we couldn’t go and see my family for Thanksgiving because of that procedure. i didn’t rage at you when other people in my life were diagnosed with cancer. i didn’t rage at you when we couldn’t see our family for Christmas because of the snow in Colorado. i didn’t rage at you when both my computers died. i didn’t rage at you when life just generally felt sucky.
nope.

i either raged at me or just felt sad.

over the last few years, especially in the last few months, i am trying to shift my way of looking at things for real this time. i am trying to seek out the good stuff and not be so negative. i know that i am changing and growing into someone i want to be. and i think that you might have taken the time to notice that. but even if you don’t notice, i am going to do it anyway.

but yesterday, yesterday was the last straw as they say. yesterday, i lost my superhero bracelet. the one i have been wearing every single day for a year. the one i don’t take off. ever. not ever. ever. yesterday, i lost it. i have looked everywhere in, around, and inside my car and house. i even drove 25 miles back to the mall where i think i lost it yesterday. i even walked all around the parking lot looking for it and talked to the lost and found and went to Nordstrom and looked in their lost and found.

so universe, here is the deal. if someone needed it more than me. if someone found it and saw it and its beauty and super special powers. okay. i get it. that is great. but still, i am just a little over this “liz will be fine” shit. i am a little over this “liz can handle it” shit. yep.

so if you could show me where it might be, that would be great.
otherwise, let in some light okay.
it is getting dark in here.

sincere regards,
liz

a proud sister or a little cd release party right here on my blog

my brother (my baby brother. my "oh my goodness i am really realizing he is totally an adult" brother. my incredibly talented brother. my kind hearted brother. my brother matthew.), along with three of his pretty darn incredible friends, who together are daytime volume, have just had their first CD released.

it is called: the day we transposed

it is available: on amazon and at itunes

when he called me last year to tell me he had really finished it (not only did he play the drums and various other instruments, but he recorded all of it, produced all of it, engineered all of it, and did all the other things that happen when an album is made), it was clear he knew he had helped create something incredible. he talked about a life's work represented in eleven songs. of course, he is only 25, so he has a lot more life's work ahead of him. still, it is pretty amazing to realize all that you know and all that you hope to say and show people about what you love is contained in a little package that someone you don't even know can buy on amazon.com.

so pass the cheese tray, little stuffed mushrooms, fruit, and the cabernet (these are just some of the things i would be serving if i actually could have you over for a cd release party) and settle in and listen to some wicked cool songs.

"stop taking my picture, you are acting like a groupie"

(so i might have walked right up to him when he was playing with another band last week and taken his picture...he was just setting up and testing out the sound of the drums before they got started. i mean if i was a groupie he wouldn't have been annoyed...it was just because i am his sister...and that is what sisters do. take photos to show mom.)

why I love poetry…in 153 words or less by me {poetry thursday}

Whittling the long list down, as I have been trying to shape my own poems lately, I found this list…

I love poetry because:
it envelopes me in language
it frees me from fear
it gives me the space to grieve
it cracks me open
it swirls thoughts together into truth
it doesn’t put up with bullshit
it can be a wicked dance of memory and fiction
it assaults the senses
it breathes

(visit poetry thursday to read more responses to this assignment and other good things)

bringing in ritual: laughter {self-portrait challenge}

Throughout my 30 years, I have been poked, elbowed, pointed at, and told that I am too serious. In grade school, I remember hearing kids repeat jokes about the Challenger disaster and they were annoyed with me when I didn’t laugh; I went home and cried as I told my mom about them. When I was even younger, I can hear my parents telling people, “we think she was born 35.” Of course, I don’t even think they were 35 then. But, I agree that it was pretty true sometimes. My first words were a sentence in response to the question my mom asked me every day. “How are you doing Elizabeth?” She would usually then say, “Are you doing fine?” On that day, I guess I looked at her and said, “I’m doing fine, Mom.” Or something along those lines. I guess in a few years I will be catching up to myself.

Being told you are too serious, even by close friends, is something that can wear on a person. “Yes, I know” I want to say, “but I don’t know how else to be.” I have also realized that there were dynamics within my family that invited me to take on this role of being serious a lot of the time, of being “adult” when I was a child. But, I wouldn’t change any of it. Nope. I am growing into a person who really likes herself.

I am also someone who finds a lot of joy in my life. I like to smile. I have been accused of smiling too much. Which means, of course, that those people haven’t met the serious side of me who was born 35. In new situations, I often smile. If you find me smiling a lot but aren’t sure why, chances are I am slightly unsure of myself. Smiling makes people feel better, including me.

When I was ill at the end of last year, I told my friend Heather and my husband on several occasions that all I wanted to do was go to Disney World. I was having a lot of trouble finding the joy in my life. I honestly thought that if someone would just call and say, “you are leaving for The World tomorrow” everything would magically get better. The emotional drama I was experiencing, the health confusion, the fear, the anger…all of it. If I could just go to Disney World. To explain, I don’t mean I think Disney World takes it all away. (Never fear, I get the people who think the commercialism there is pretty crazy, not to mention the prices.) Nope. I mean I wanted to give my brain a rest. I wanted my senses to just get enveloped by the smell of chocolate chip cookies on Main Street USA, the music that fills the air, the sushi at the Matsu No Ma Lounge…and on and on. I just wanted a vacation from my life. But a vacation where I wouldn’t have time to think about it all. My friend Heather said something about how the reason I love Disney World so much is because someone else takes care of me there. The hotels, the people who work there…and I get to stand in line to hug a big monster named Sully (yep, you really get to hug him there – it is the best!). I get to giggle with glee like I did when I suddenly found myself surrounded by Chip, Dale, and Goofy at the MGM Studios. I get to peer with eyes of wonder at the landscape of France in the 360-degree movie at Epcot. I get to have high tea at the Grand Floridian Hotel. I get to see giraffes right outside my hotel room when I stay at the Animal Kingdom Lodge. I don’t have to drive; I just take a bus or the monorail. The soap has Mickey Mouse on it. I am given a break from all that thinking, from the lessons that need to be learned, from the many serious thoughts that invade my space all the time.

But in this desire to escape from the lessons, I find another lesson. What is it that I love? I love the laughter. I get to feel like a kid. That is why I love Disney World. I get to be an 8 year old. Finally.

So this year, I know I probably won’t make it to Disney World, but I plan to invite more laughter into my life. I want to read books filled with humor and watch funny movies. I want to sit with friends and tell funny stories. I want to go and hear comedians. I want to laugh until my cheeks hurt. I want to laugh until I cry.

I extend the invitation to bring laughter into my life.

Here I am giggling with Chip, Dale, and Goofy...

visit more people who are taking self-portraits at self-portrait challenge.