Waiting for the Miracle

Every now and then, I think it's a good thing to stop and realize how far you've come.

In conversation, I suddenly realized that I have made some major progress, internally. 

Three years ago, I could never have considered myself doing and seeing some of the things I have done and seen this summer. I was so very lost in a world of anxiety and depression, and yet at the time I would have said I was coping okay.

I was medicated, overweight, terrorized by travel and dirt and had created a whole world of cats and television shows and doing what others wanted me to do.

In considering this, I also have a moment to wonder what the next three years will look like. Will I carry on this journey of freedoms? Will I think with my heart-brain instead of my egoic-brain? Will I travel this spiritual awakening all the way to the end? I sure hope so! 

Miracles big and small have wandered into my life. There was a time I was waiting for the miracle, and now I notice them every single day.

I am no longer seeking peace, for peace over flows me every time I take a minute to realize it's already there.

I am not always happy, and have found a soft sadness within myself. Yet at the same time, I am content and secure and steady in a joy that reminds me all is well. 

I have conquered some of my most major fears, and am still alive to talk about it. So that suggests to me all fears are possible to overcome. 

There are parts of myself that I have come to terms with, and in doing so, have realized that it's okay to be me. It's okay to be wrong, even about myself. I don't fear the lies I told myself. I don't even fear how they made or make me look to others. 

I have learned a new art, where I can be gently used. Taking things less personal, and opening up to be utilized on a tolerable level instead of martyring myself for a cause most beyond my means. 

In all things I am fine, safe and exactly where I need to be. This security makes it easier to accept the ups and downs.

I think I still have spin cycles. I am completely confident in knowing that I don't know it all. My limitations notify me that there is still a lot of wiggle room for growth.

But overall, I have to admit I have come so far. In doing so, I honour the journey, close that story, and carry on.

In a moment of gratitude, I take time to thank all the lives who have entered mine. I would like to send out love to those who have taught me, both in positives and negatives. They have equal value, and I recognize that. Thank you for helping me find myself, in whatever manner that was and is. Thank you for the support and the distance, both are valid and vital to my continued change. 

You are noticed, noted, important and loved. All of mine for yours. 

No matter how far we come, it can't be denied or overlooked how the lives of others brought us there. It's a good thing to notice, be humbled by and grateful for. Forgiving what we thought was ugly at the time by realizing that it serves so many purposes. To balance, to show contrast, to teach and to bless with better! Yes, never stop seeking. But at the same time, see with eyes of awe how many outside of us enrich just who we are. 

Do yourself a huge favour, and take a minute to see where you are. Consider where you have come from. If you are down, recognize how that could be launching you forward. If you are stuck, take a good look at where and why, what lesson are you learning from there? If you have made great progress, pat yourself on the back. Above all else, send out a little love to all the people, good and bad, in your life. I promise you, if you really do this, you will have a little smile tickle the corner of your mouth. For a moment or two, you will not be waiting for the miracle, it will be within you. 

Starting

Oh dark lit one, creating chasms of inky black trails in your wake. Swirling chaos with your stick and painting demons in the sky. Eyes as empty as the abyss you connect to and fingers grown strong from tearing. Gnash your razor teeth on the lives you rip asunder, watching as tears become oceans and wails create the symphony you sway to. 

Be silent now and watch as light weakens you. Stand still now as the sun leaves you limp and flaccid. Like blackened smoke you whisp away, becoming transparent and dispersing into nothing.

Oh enlightened one, to think with your heart-brain and travel spaces of ebony. Replacing each footstep with shimmering opal and lifting up what has been parted. Connecting from heart stem to mind hilt, healing the gaps and drying the dampened soul. Tread lightly on the frayed edges of eternity, returning stories and deeds to the keeper of records. Ever ready for the sunrise. Ever standing on feathers of downey white. 

Be still and know the journey has just begun. Be silent, and in awe watch humility take reign. We have only just started the network of unity. May we never tire, and find the source of all light unending. 

Thingamawhatsit

"Can you pass me the cutty thing?"

"The what?"

"You know, the thingamajigger cutter. Over there, black thingy with a sharp edge."

"Oh, this?"

"Yup, thanks."

"You got that doo-hickey over there?"

"The what?"

"The doo-hickey. You know, banger-ma-do"

"This?"

"Ya, thanks."

Could you imagine what a construction crew would sound like if they all talked woman-talk?

Watch two chicks cooking together, and you will know what I'm talking about.

Girls don't use technical terms. We just know. Words like "thing-a-ma-jig" "cutty cutty" " swirly thing" "holder-ma-do"... These are all legit words in our world. There are no technical terms like box-cutter, trowel, edge trimmer or hammer. No screw driver, it's a screwer-inner-thing. No tape measure, it's a stringy-counter-do-da. Forget this sanding block, it's a gritty-paper or smoother-outer-majig. 

C'mon guys...

Besides, ever seen a group of women bending over a stove with their butt crack hanging out? Didn't think so! 

So when I'm in the work crew, it's not a mudding palette, it's a flat-mud-holder-thingy...and I wave that with style!

Unity

"One day, she will ask him "am I pretty?" He will say no.

She will ask "do you want me?"

He will say no.

She will ask "should I stay?"

Again, he will answer no.

As she turns to leave, with tears in her eyes, he will grab hold of her. 

He will tell her she's not pretty, she's beautiful, that he doesn't want her, he needs her, and he doesn't want her to stay for him, but for her. He will whisper that she is all that makes him a whole, and by leaving, she is taking the heart he has given her."

Beset the mood, a cloudy day. Winds playing in gusty handfuls, with warmth enough to be relaxed, but cool enough to wrap a sweater ever tighter around.

Far off in the distance is a hazy figure. In profile, they are gazing out at something. Arm cocked, hand hovering above the eyes, as if straining to see something. 

The wind pushes you forward, though you are hesitant to break the concentration of this stranger. 

As you watch, they drop their arm and hunker down to write something in a notebook they drew from their back pocket. Intrigued, you watch as their pencil flies over the page, and you wonder what they could possibly be doing so intently.

As you get closer, you can tell that they are not writing, but drawing. 

Hesitantly, you walk close enough to take in the details of this stranger, and at once you feel as if you might know them. Yet you can't quite place who it is.

The stranger looks at you and smiles.

"Hello" you say.

They stand to face you. From the notebook they pull out a page, and reach out to hand it to you.

"I have been waiting for you." The stranger says.

On the page you now hold is a perfectly detailed sketch of your face. 

"How did you...." As you begin to speak, you have perfect clarity.

I have known you all along. In distance we have waited upon eachother. In passing we have recognized eachother. Time only brings us to this point for the magical meeting of what our souls have already decided. All confusion is silenced. All questions answered. For you are not of one, but two. In separation, you must find the path to unity, and in unity, the path to separation is but lessons learned. Be whole unto yourself and know that all you seek is waiting for you.

Come On In

Swiftly falls the twisted reason, forced unseen from sleet to hail.

Split-tongued hiss to summon season, ridged with jagged rusted nail.

First the Autumn hushed and heaving, lilting thusly hedge turned brown.

Next with wintry ice still leaving, springing from eternal wells.

Licked from entry way to exit, neither stifling nor in vain.

Taste of evermore in summer, shut to fingers deep in pain. 

Still in whisper, clasped in coatis, shudder, shiver, not quite there. 

Enter only once in longing, free to leave and stripped now bare. 

Amidst the racket of my hammer, come on in sir, if you dare.

Just Step Off

I am standing on a platform high above rushing water that is terribly shallow and huge rocks jutting out.

"You're okay to go." This pretty girl who has just completed an eight point check tells me.

I look at her in disbelief. You've got to be kidding me. A wire, some straps and a clippy thing are what will carry me? As if.

"Just step off." She points to where the platform ends.

Hah, I find myself shaking inside and I take a couple quick breaths. 

Alright then.

With a body bent on going backwards, I force myself forwards. Holding on to the strap, as if that might help somehow, I step, step, jump.

Eyes wide open, I am soaring across. 

I have lived contained, safe, for a very long time. I calculate risk and avoid adrenaline. These are things too big for me. And yet here I am, dangling on a wire over rocks and water, flying with my heart racing and my throat gasping for air. 

My helmet, I'm sure, is simply to keep the brain intact when I plummet to my watermelon death. Wouldn't want the tourists to see what's in there!

Today, I can honestly and proudly say I am not the same. I have faith that pushes beyond the boundaries of a safety net. I have trust that even in fear, I can overcome it. I have the courage to push my body to the breaking point, and go a little further. I have bruises that I am comfortable with. I will move slowly, but with the confidence that says "I will do it again, and again, and then some more!" 

I believe that it is possible, and I believe I can do anything I choose, no matter how messy or scary or hard. 

I have faith, not only in myself, but in the experiences and journeys that lie ahead. For I am the creator of my own possibilities. Yet those possibilities are beyond my control, all I need do is step off the platform. 

In My Cave

I actually don't have much to say these days...

The storm inside has subsided, and I find myself curled up in my cave with the great bear. It is quiet and peaceful in there. 

I hear things around me, and my body goes through the natural stages of daily movement. When someone asks how I am, I reply "fine", and it's true. I am fine. I am peaceful and unrocked by what goes on outside of me.

I wonder from time to time what event might come along to dislodge this sense of tranquility, but I do not dwell on it. I recognize the question as valid and dismiss it.

Misunderstandings are just that, and they do not cause a rise in my reactionary reflexes. Instead I sit and ponder for a second if I should do or say anything to clear them up. Some I have decided there is no point, that is an opinion or reaction outside of me, and it is not my job to put in effort to clear it. Others I simply say, "how did you get that from what I said?" Because it speaks to who they are, not me.

I don't exactly know how I got to this place. Was it the great grief and turmoil? Was it the act of staying with the hurt all the way through? Was it my refusal to medicate and deny? Was it the cleansing ceremony? I'm not sure, maybe it was all of the above. 

Whatever it was, I am thankful. I say my daily affirmation with true belief now, and write in my journal the things I am thankful for. I am truly blessed, my cup runneth over.

"Go where You'd have me go. Do what You'd have me do. Say what You'd have me say, to whom. In all things, guide me." 

Me and my Bear

I, without direction, lost amidst this seperation. I am here, an outsider. Not that fitting is a thing for me, distraction must and ever be, contained and I not one.

I hear this, I feel this, I am aware.

Within my cave I curl into my bear. 

"Show me." I whisper, and she will oblige. To be comfortably within and not of one.

So, I, be out and looking in on glass houses and us and them.

Not I, say we, my bear and me. For all is inclusive and unity prevails.

Of family, bear whispers, we choose and dismiss. Of patterns created we see what we miss. So on we weave gleefully oblivious, of what we have seen and we share.

I close my eyes to it. I don't want of it. I can deny and with eyes closed I do.

Open them, bear whispers, see that you're there too. A demon to them and to them just a ghost. Not nearly quite far enough, but come in. 

Do unto others as they'd have you do. Give of yourself and you pay. Pennies not good enough, diamonds too rough. Seal your mouth, open wide and come up just for air. 

Just now fold under, my bear and myself. Breathing not quite enough stolen and where. I'm only here but not welcome in there. To my cave with just me and my bear.

On Letting Go

I sit on a stoney beach, legs tucked sideways, pebbles digging into my legs.

Within the circle, with fire, water, earth and wind, asking for calmness to subside my sickened stomach. I crave a cigarette, but look down at the stack of neatly written letters in my lap. 

I ask my mind to calm, so I can visualize this experience and breathe in every nuance. I exhale agitation and nervousness. Inhale peace and acceptance.

Do I care at this moment that who I am is being challenged?

No, I don't think I really do, so I sit with my fears and hurt and let the salty water fill my senses. 

The first letter I burn, I visualize their face within the flames, and snip, my imaginary scissors cut our tie.

I patiently allow myself to feel this void.

As I speak the second name, I feel my tension turn into tiny tears that blur my vision. 

"I release you with lo...."

My nose is running and eyes watering quite out of control.

I remind myself to stay present.

"But I don't want to let you go." Is the devil on my shoulder. I think I might be sick.

I dig deep, willing myself to feel this, every part of what this is.

One after another, some in groups, others solo, my letters catch flame and burn up into nothing but ash.

I finally make it to the last one, and I am clinging. This one is an after-thought. This one hurt. This letter I only wrote a few short hours ago, and a little heart is drawn by the name it holds. 

My chest feels like a sucking wound and my nose has already been wiped on my knee a few times, so I discover a new wiping location.

Deep breathe, I can do this. 

Amidst the ashes of all the others, I lay the letter down. I am crushed, devastated and barely functioning. If I had to move for any reason, I am sure my knees would buckle and I would be out of luck. Fingers crossed, no sudden tsunami.

As I say the name, an then the words to follow, my shoulder devil is screaming no, no, no! What kind of fool am I? Can I take it back?

Flames devour the name, and the little drawn heart. With a deep breath, I am done. 

The moments that follow are a calm collection of thanks. Thank you for not backing down. Thank you for staying present. Thank you for releasing these ties. I am not dead, and as the experience settles, I realize my hollowness is slowly evaporating.

I live a state of hollowness, but I don't have to any more. All of these things that made me feel small, invisible, useless, dehumanized, stupid for wanting, thinking or being....they are lost in ash. Yes I loved each and every name attached to those letters. I will not love them any less. 

The act created this space that says "I will not live by your standards, or accept being your leftovers" 

I am indeed my own person, with my own dreams and thoughts, hopes and fears. I know that others know this, I'm not an idiot...generally...but this is my signal to be done.

I wrote a letter to my future husband, and even though I forgot to mention that I would prefer he be straight...I covered all the bases. 

So back to the beach, as I exit the safety of that space, and face the inevitable ups and downs life has in store for me: 

I feel lighter. Safer. Calmer.

I still have leaky eyes, after I wash the soot from my arms. But I think that slow bleed is one of patient acceptance. The storm in my belly has died, and I can swallow without a lump in the way.

One step closer to being my authentic self. Baby steps, but still moving.

K Bye Love You

I look up and smile. 

My hands are covered in flour and and grease, so I give him a quick wave. "Hey bud, how was your day?" I call out.

My son, his curls all sticking this way and that, red t-shirt hanging out of his jeans slides next to me in front of the sink. Like instinct, he reaches out and turns the hot water tap on for me. 

"It was a day mum, whatcha makin?"

My son towers over me. With a broad chest and scruffy chin, it is hard for me to imagine he was once the tiny bundle in my arms. 

"Biscuits." I answer him. He grins and makes a chuck-chuck noise, signalling his approval.

"How was school?" 

"Alright. Got 98 on my test...."

"...as usual" I finished for him. We grin at eachother.

"Anything for me to do?" He asks.

"Not really, you can take the garbage out later." Is my reply.

"K-bye-love-you" he says as he leaves the kitchen.

"Love you" I yell out to a slamming door.

I look up. I realize these times are not going to last forever. From the toddler, jutting his chin out at me in defiance. To this amazingly funny, talented, brilliantly gifted man. I have watched in one fashion or another, the making of a human life. 

I have four that I brought into the world. Through struggles, bad choices, laughter, tears, boo-boos, heart breaks and so much more, I have played a major role in the formation of life. And yet it is so much bigger then me. 

I have no control over who will hurt my boy, what situations he will find himself in or even how his adulthood will unfold. I can't protect him from the cruelty of others or even his own poor judgement.

All I can do is spend those moments with him shaping his view on the world, letting him know he is loved without question.

I am the kind of mother that tells my second son, after he was caught stealing, that I will visit him in jail. I won't bail him out...but I will still love him and visit him and help him get back on his feet.

I'm the kind that sits on the end of my boys bed and listens while he pours his heart out about a girl that is spreading rumours about him. I ask him "is what she saying true?" When his answer is no, I give him a hug and tell him girls suck. Just keep being you and life will prove she's wrong.

My mothering covers religion, telling them to find out for themself. Ask questions, and believe what you know to be true. Politics, they are all lies, turn off the media and do the best you can with your knowledge.

Modern medicine, question narcotics and choose natural remedies over poison every time.

Sex, be careful and don't make me a gramma with a hood rat. If you lay down and make a baby, you'd best be prepared to care for it because no son of mine is going to be a dead beat.

And life....you can do it, be it, live it. Never let a fear stop you. Never let a no cripple you. Laugh loudly, joke freely and love with all your might.

Do I know how my children will face life?

No I don't....

But I know that I will be there cheering them on, wiping their tears and listening to their troubles. No matter what. No matter why. No matter when.

I look up. My boy wobbles across the floor, taking his first proud steps. He beams at me with that "look what I can do" face. I open my arms wide to him and say "come to mummy", and with determination he stumbled forward and launches into my embrace. 

"I'm so proud of you" I tell him and kiss his dirty-blonde-baby-soft curls. 

"Ya" he says, wiping his nose on my shirt.

As he climbs back down to try again, I release him. 

"K-bye-love-you" I say.

Sounds and Sights

The sound of glass hitting the pavement and splintering off in a cascade of shards, echoing down the empty street.

A bird flopping on the ground, awkwardly trying to find her balance with only one wing. Struggling against nature and confusion in a horrific dance.

The cataclysmic crunch of metal on metal, twisting and screaming as it smashes together, majestically wrenching and reforming at the point of impact.

The blind stumble through a strange room in the dark. Hand extended only to step on a block and slam a knee into the corner table, followed by the crunch of a stubbed toe.

What sound does confusion make?

To what sound does a heart break?

What does loss look like?

What form is created by grief?

Maybe nothing at all. A sandal long forgotten on a bench. 

Speed bumps

There at these bumps in the road that come along. Speed bumps, that make you slow right down, pumping the brakes. While you are going over them, you wonder, when I'm back on the road will it be the same? What will be different? Am I wasting my time? And yet, once back on your way, you realize it was only just a little bump after all.

So much of what we do is so caught up in missed moments. We are so focused on the destination, what comes next, and all that surrounds the journey, that we miss the subtle beauty of right now. 

I figure speed bumps are just that, a reminder to slow down. A reminder to breathe easy. A sign that says "hey, right now is what is most important". 

So much is missed because of our unwavering focus on what's next. Those moments caught in embrace, the setting sun, the hints dropped by the shore or whispered in the dark...all missed because the noise in our head, or the thoughts of what next drown them all out. Now and then those chances are the missed ones that will never come back. Sometimes they are only just a warning, that tell us to be more mindful next time. Yet we will never know until we notice that they were ever there, or that we even missed them. And yet always, these things are the speed bumps we go over and continue on our way. It's always up to us whether we pay any attention or whether we simply carry on our way, cursing the bump for slowing us down. 

Hear Me Roar

I am most often fearful. This is a truth. I am fearful of many many things...too many to actually be reasonable.
Some of these fears are easy to recognize, and I have even conquered some. Things like spiders, dirty floors, drowning, cobwebs and getting into a car accident, I have mostly kicked. They are easy fears to admit to, and easy fears to over come.

However, there are many fears that get me all twisted inside and out. These are the ones I have been trying hard to face and stay with. I think of them as walls, and instead of running from the wall, or letting the wall push me...I picture myself facing the wall and pushing through it. Probably not the best description, but it works for me.

Number one on the list is the fear of fear itself. Crazy I know, but thems be the facts. I am afraid of being afraid, or more to the point, I am afraid that the fear will be bigger than I can handle.
I am afraid of admitting my fears. Scared that by speaking of them, it might give them life. Knock on wood.

I'm not going to list all my fears, that'd be lame. Instead, I am going to speak to and of it.
Switching gears...this is another truth:

I am a true warrior. A fighter, both fair and unfair, in body and in spirit. I refuse to become silent and give in. I refuse to go backwards, no matter the cost. Only forwards, even if only by faith at times.
Every time I fall, and I do and will, I get back up. Scars heal. Time passes.
I will not back down, I will not choke or become stagnant. Even in my cave, licking my wounds. Or under my willow tree in thought, I am only gathering strength to carry on another day.
I think of a lion, a sword, a bear. This is who I am when I need to be.

A friend of mine once said I was a strong person, and at the time I disagreed. However, since then I have changed my tune. Just because I don't feel like I'm strong doesn't mean I'm not. When I give my word, it is in stone. When I fall down, I get back up. When I slip up, I fix it.
Even in my darkest hours and my weakest moments, I am aware of the fact that I will rise again and again until I fall dead.

One of my biggest challenges at this juncture is accepting that strong or not, fearful or not, people are people and I am who I am. I can't wave a magic wand or wish my fears away. One by one, I have to face off with them and be victorious.

To quote Fiona Apple- "If there was a better way to go then it would find me. I can't help the road just rolls out behind me. Be kind to me, or treat me mean. I'll make the most of it, I'm an extraordinary machine."

I have no good way to end this blog. One of my many fears is the exposure of my personal sketches, and yet here are two. I have also been using them on Facebook...why? Because it is a fear that I can face. It is one that I can conquer, one sketch at a time. My son David would say-"nailed it"...and I say all the time currently-"so worth it".....
Love me or hate me, this is me, fears and all. I will tell you the truth, whether you like it or not, and when I'm choking on my terror of your disdain...know that I am in that moment battling a fear, and winning.