Since that last post I’ve felt gratitude, and I’ve felt not so much gratitude. For several moments I have been down on myself: I thought I was schizophrenic, or too moody. Was I really grateful, or what that a bunch of lip service? Where does being grateful go when it “goes away”?
I want to remind myself today that above all else, gratitude is a choice. And it’s a gift. And it’s closely related to the word grace, also a gift, also free. Both will get you back to feeling good in no time. And when things are looking bleak, it really helps to remember that we choose to be, or not to be, grateful.
There are two speeds in my life I’m interested in looking at this morning: the speed of my moods and emotional states, and the speed of the actual circumstances I encounter in my life. For the most part, and save the occasional drastic shift of life events, circumstances move slowly. They involve mass, inertia, other people; they are physical and dense and seem more or less “set”.
Circumstances can be things like a partner, a job, a home, mortgage payment schedule, your childrens’ personalities — and usually they don’t change, or not quickly at least. But moods do, and do again. My moods fly around fast like little birds, hopping from one tree to another, her feeder, his day-old bread, flitting from one neighborhood to the next, one view to the next. Does this sound familiar: I love my partner, I hate my partner. I am patient with my children, I am not patient with my children. I can afford to go out to lunch. No, no I shouldn’t go out to lunch. I am happy in my home, it’s perfect. I want to move; this place is too small for us. My moods migrate from one expansive emotional territory to another, and they’re as light — or as dark — as air. Quick. I move through them relatively fast, and I often don’t even know what causes, sustains or changes them.
I can (and have tried) to blame my crazy moods on my circumstances…but this logic is increasingly failing me, and this morning I’m getting hit over the head with this realization once again. Often times, the exact same circumstances that may piss me off on Tuesday can give offer peace and joy tomorrow morning. So it’s more and more clear to me that my moods and how I feel about things aren’t actually a direct by-product of my outer circumstances. The circumstances, remember, are SLOW, SAME. My moods are FAST, CHANGING. So what’s going on here?
This is the nature of the mind. The mind — maybe not yours, but mine — loves to get its panties in a wad about stuff. I remember how excited I was as a kid when I was allowed to get a soda at some fast food place. My favorite soda flavor was the suicide. Remember that? It was every flavor: Coke, Dr. Pepper, Sprite, Root Beer, Diet Coke (maybe), Lemonade. All in one cup. Totally gross, and yes: we called this a suicide. What an interesting name! A little of everything in one cup = suicide. This is what I feel like when I’m all over the place, spinning out, trying every flavor, compiling it all in one cup to drink. Enjoyable? Tasty? Not sure. Does feeling and thinking a hundred different thoughts which cancel themselves out and contradict one another taste delicious. I think not. The mind can make me feel crazy if I let it. To the inner state of peace that’s ever waiting just under the turbulence of my monkey monkey thoughts, it must feel a lot like a murder…
What I’m aware of, and what I’m practicing on any given day, is that I COULD, theoretically, choose to find something to be grateful for. No matter how my circumstances appear, no matter how they may compare to hers or his…I could choose to be grateful.
This morning, I’m grateful for an empty house. Some time to drink my coffee in silence. An allotted space in which to do my creative work, and get organized. The same things that put me into a black temper last evening, two afternoons ago, etc. haven’t gone away. But what were they again? Rather than feeling crazy, I will just assume that this is the mind’s play…the ongoing drama…that we’re all eventually going to see for what it’s worth. Mind stuff. Fluff. Ego. Me stepping out of the mystery, the miracle, and thinking that I’ve got how it “is” dialed.
God: let’s hope not.
I am grateful for perspective, choice and space today.
Peek up through something in your way and take a moment and ask yourself what you’re grateful for? Just one small thing can help turn the corner. It’s a choice, and a [FREE] gift.
Monday, November 28, 2011
Friday, November 25, 2011
Grateful
Yes: I have a belly full, some not much but some money, a loving husband, a nice dog who sheds too much, an old but functioning vacuum. I've got two door bell kids, and windchimes that are chiming outside my windows, open on this moonless, cold night, letting some fresh air inside and mingling with the heat coming off our new wood stove. One hard decision I made today was whether or not to continue with the iCal set-up, or move back to writing things down in the Quo Vadis. Analog, digital. Analog, digital. Really.
I note: if these are the kinds of things that are making me scratch my head what breed of fortunate am I not? It's easy to consider myself lucky a day after Thanksgiving. The gratitude pump is all primed and we're formally kicked into our season of abundance, overeating, extremes, intensity, socializing and -- ideally -- loving each other a little bit harder. For me, at least, it's a good time.
I've noticed, though, that my Thanksgiving seasons are getting longer, and longer and longer. They extend well into December and up until and through Christmas. I was at King Sooper's night before last and went up to greet all the cut down trees awaiting the crank down of dusty Christmas tree stands, dry heat, and neglectful watering. I inhaled their woodsy upbringing. I teared up and began laughing at the same time. I could try to explain, but I won't. Gratitude.
There's usually a little blip for me around December 25th where I'm American style psycho stressed and predictably straddling the love/hate line of the holiday season. Kids are helping me get over myself more and more. And then, after a lot of doing stuff, January comes and I'm grateful for the new evident longer days...detox, clean surfaces, new beginnings, that Quo Vadis I bought today. I have an intense invitation and impulse to de-clutter. I appreciate white walls, re-potted plants, simply steamed greens. I celebrate my birthday, I soak in hot springs with dear friends. And I reinvigorate my practices and good habits. January is a gentle, strange month. Somewhat of a let down, used to be, but actually quite welcome now.
And then comes pink and red and short snowy February. Valentine's Day is an easy target -- I used to detest it. But then I loved to hate it, I graduated to making fun of it, of lovers, of being a lover and calling myself "lover" and generally just overusing that word. But now I actually kind of love VD, and February, and making things your own -- that whole creative challenge. Feb 14 is my dad's anniversary and a day after my daughter Phoebe's birthday. It's such a short month, and wow: Black History month. Gotta love all of that. All months should be so lucky. And yes: OK. Here's March. Longer, dreary still, but crocuses start smiling nearby and my crappy hiking shoes are getting a breath of air, muddy soles, toe stank, some good fecund life stories.
School feels different for the kids, and there's usually a trip to take somewhere -- maybe this spring break we'll actually plan something? A little drive...a picnic somewhere new...at least sleep in regularly? Most people do this around now. I know what I'll be Googling tomorrow. In April, my other favorite month, Willoree will turn 6. It might rain some more. I love rain so much, maybe you do too?
I am beginning to plant rows of peas, Willoree will arrange them and sing to them. I am saving money for gardening things, cooking differently, and eventually I'll uproot (finally) last year's thick, neglected stalks of kale, collards, cauliflower. Weeds even seeming OK, welcome. If I have snow tires I might thing of taking them off, but that will be premature. I am grateful; life's running me at a pretty good clip. Where does the time go?
May is this harbinger of all things good, loud, yang to come. People are getting social, I notice. When I lived in NYC I called it boobie season. Warm weather comes and all the girls are wearing skimpy tank tops, and their breasts are bobbing all over the place as they walk, fast, all over the place. Probably more than 4 million girls = 8 millions boobies just out swaying in the springtime breeze. I guess I was one of them. Life's looking brighter. Days qualify as being long now, and we're all getting senior-itis in our own ways.
Perhaps Quella's shedding is under control. I am sleeping as well as ever, and eating and working and always feeling the balancing act that is my life. I am working out. I usually take out all the old Abraham recordings and give them a listen, a spring/early summer thing that has inadvertently become a regular thing with me. I am thrilled. Brewing. In love. Tilling. Planting.
Summer whirs, and I never know what summer will bring. It will pass too fast, but seem too slow while it's happening, much in the same way that parents I know have described their kids' childhoods. There will be teeth lost, words learned, miles traveled, new ideas let's hope and memories; aches and pains and a lot of laundry hanging on the line. Mosquito bites and fresh food, farmer's markets, small scrapes and overpowering heat and brown shoulders, more work, late nights, the sounds of box fans in the windows. Ben and I will paint the house, and read more chapters in more books...outloud, to each other, to ourselves. My practice is heavy and juicy and my hair is longer; I will wear new shoes that don't hurt my feet, throw the old ones out I've been wearing now for six years. I deserve some new shoes. I am so grateful. The whir of it all.
The fall comes and I breathe it in deeply. I think to myself: yes, fall is really my favorite season (even though spring comes and I wonder whether spring is actually my favorite season) and we celebrate Ben's birthday, our wedding anniversary, the little NM sunflowers that bloom for Ben and the splay of gnarly fucking 9" long grasshoppers are grossing me out hourly. I use Ben's September 5th birthday as a New Year's Day of sorts: a time to count my blessings, love him better, forgive myself all my asshole moments. I adore our setting, glowing and rich and flowers everywhere...colorful and abundant and home. I am aware and appreciative of the simplicity with which we operate and the complexities I can't seem to escape. I get the sheer retardation of my plodding. I drink some coffee, or tea, or a beer. Definitely good water. I stay curious about peak foods. I am uplifted, renewed, growing; I am still alive. And I'm grateful.
I moved to CO late October years and years ago and October's face -- a first snow, the smell of leaves against that impossibly blue sky, all the nuance of brown and tan around here, pumpkins lying around -- makes me twirl in my heart and head. I delight in the feelings of being in a new place, hopeful of a new relationship, living in a new home, another new beginning. October has become petting zoos, corn mazes, fundraisers at school and (by the way dear god please don't let me NOT buy a butter braid for Willoree next year or she'll be so, so sad) and going inside. I will head to Rebecca's more often. I crave sushi, retreat, and appreciate all over again the yoga retreat I was attending last year with my BBBBBBFs. I sell some of Angela's CDs and DVDs.
I will prepare for another November, as if it just happened yesterday -- and will not have lost sight of the "importance" of things like iCal vs. Quo Vadis. The ludicrous, sweet nature of being a human with planning and organization needs in the 21st century. The spirit underlying all of it, unchanging, unchanging. I sweep up dog hair. On my best days I am truly, deeply grateful. On my worst: I am overwhelmed, and forgetful of the shakti animating all, every, now. Even my lapses of awareness. The dog hair, like my soul, goes on. The CD is on repeat.
I might complain about clutter, have pant in wad when I'm running late. I have spent hours obsessing about which snow tires to put on my car. Dumb shit, life kind of shit. I peep down occasionally and realize that I'm a wealth of OK-ness. I'm one bad ass little boo bunny puja. Gratitude will not let up.
We can time travel as needed. We do it all the time. We might try the Mexican-themed Thanksgiving next year, and we hope to see you there. Hott. I am hoping that you all are doing OK, and if you're not, you probably will be again. Not to make light of any of us. Maybe a little.
I am grateful right now for this doing pretty well state I find myself in, and I know that it won't last. I'll hit some more walls, fall down, hate and curse and feel oceans of self-pity again, probably. And I'll probably dear diary about that, too.
PS Ira Glass: thanks for bringing a cheer, again, to my hour.
I've noticed, though, that my Thanksgiving seasons are getting longer, and longer and longer. They extend well into December and up until and through Christmas. I was at King Sooper's night before last and went up to greet all the cut down trees awaiting the crank down of dusty Christmas tree stands, dry heat, and neglectful watering. I inhaled their woodsy upbringing. I teared up and began laughing at the same time. I could try to explain, but I won't. Gratitude.
There's usually a little blip for me around December 25th where I'm American style psycho stressed and predictably straddling the love/hate line of the holiday season. Kids are helping me get over myself more and more. And then, after a lot of doing stuff, January comes and I'm grateful for the new evident longer days...detox, clean surfaces, new beginnings, that Quo Vadis I bought today. I have an intense invitation and impulse to de-clutter. I appreciate white walls, re-potted plants, simply steamed greens. I celebrate my birthday, I soak in hot springs with dear friends. And I reinvigorate my practices and good habits. January is a gentle, strange month. Somewhat of a let down, used to be, but actually quite welcome now.
And then comes pink and red and short snowy February. Valentine's Day is an easy target -- I used to detest it. But then I loved to hate it, I graduated to making fun of it, of lovers, of being a lover and calling myself "lover" and generally just overusing that word. But now I actually kind of love VD, and February, and making things your own -- that whole creative challenge. Feb 14 is my dad's anniversary and a day after my daughter Phoebe's birthday. It's such a short month, and wow: Black History month. Gotta love all of that. All months should be so lucky. And yes: OK. Here's March. Longer, dreary still, but crocuses start smiling nearby and my crappy hiking shoes are getting a breath of air, muddy soles, toe stank, some good fecund life stories.
School feels different for the kids, and there's usually a trip to take somewhere -- maybe this spring break we'll actually plan something? A little drive...a picnic somewhere new...at least sleep in regularly? Most people do this around now. I know what I'll be Googling tomorrow. In April, my other favorite month, Willoree will turn 6. It might rain some more. I love rain so much, maybe you do too?
I am beginning to plant rows of peas, Willoree will arrange them and sing to them. I am saving money for gardening things, cooking differently, and eventually I'll uproot (finally) last year's thick, neglected stalks of kale, collards, cauliflower. Weeds even seeming OK, welcome. If I have snow tires I might thing of taking them off, but that will be premature. I am grateful; life's running me at a pretty good clip. Where does the time go?
May is this harbinger of all things good, loud, yang to come. People are getting social, I notice. When I lived in NYC I called it boobie season. Warm weather comes and all the girls are wearing skimpy tank tops, and their breasts are bobbing all over the place as they walk, fast, all over the place. Probably more than 4 million girls = 8 millions boobies just out swaying in the springtime breeze. I guess I was one of them. Life's looking brighter. Days qualify as being long now, and we're all getting senior-itis in our own ways.
Perhaps Quella's shedding is under control. I am sleeping as well as ever, and eating and working and always feeling the balancing act that is my life. I am working out. I usually take out all the old Abraham recordings and give them a listen, a spring/early summer thing that has inadvertently become a regular thing with me. I am thrilled. Brewing. In love. Tilling. Planting.
Summer whirs, and I never know what summer will bring. It will pass too fast, but seem too slow while it's happening, much in the same way that parents I know have described their kids' childhoods. There will be teeth lost, words learned, miles traveled, new ideas let's hope and memories; aches and pains and a lot of laundry hanging on the line. Mosquito bites and fresh food, farmer's markets, small scrapes and overpowering heat and brown shoulders, more work, late nights, the sounds of box fans in the windows. Ben and I will paint the house, and read more chapters in more books...outloud, to each other, to ourselves. My practice is heavy and juicy and my hair is longer; I will wear new shoes that don't hurt my feet, throw the old ones out I've been wearing now for six years. I deserve some new shoes. I am so grateful. The whir of it all.
The fall comes and I breathe it in deeply. I think to myself: yes, fall is really my favorite season (even though spring comes and I wonder whether spring is actually my favorite season) and we celebrate Ben's birthday, our wedding anniversary, the little NM sunflowers that bloom for Ben and the splay of gnarly fucking 9" long grasshoppers are grossing me out hourly. I use Ben's September 5th birthday as a New Year's Day of sorts: a time to count my blessings, love him better, forgive myself all my asshole moments. I adore our setting, glowing and rich and flowers everywhere...colorful and abundant and home. I am aware and appreciative of the simplicity with which we operate and the complexities I can't seem to escape. I get the sheer retardation of my plodding. I drink some coffee, or tea, or a beer. Definitely good water. I stay curious about peak foods. I am uplifted, renewed, growing; I am still alive. And I'm grateful.
I moved to CO late October years and years ago and October's face -- a first snow, the smell of leaves against that impossibly blue sky, all the nuance of brown and tan around here, pumpkins lying around -- makes me twirl in my heart and head. I delight in the feelings of being in a new place, hopeful of a new relationship, living in a new home, another new beginning. October has become petting zoos, corn mazes, fundraisers at school and (by the way dear god please don't let me NOT buy a butter braid for Willoree next year or she'll be so, so sad) and going inside. I will head to Rebecca's more often. I crave sushi, retreat, and appreciate all over again the yoga retreat I was attending last year with my BBBBBBFs. I sell some of Angela's CDs and DVDs.
I will prepare for another November, as if it just happened yesterday -- and will not have lost sight of the "importance" of things like iCal vs. Quo Vadis. The ludicrous, sweet nature of being a human with planning and organization needs in the 21st century. The spirit underlying all of it, unchanging, unchanging. I sweep up dog hair. On my best days I am truly, deeply grateful. On my worst: I am overwhelmed, and forgetful of the shakti animating all, every, now. Even my lapses of awareness. The dog hair, like my soul, goes on. The CD is on repeat.
I might complain about clutter, have pant in wad when I'm running late. I have spent hours obsessing about which snow tires to put on my car. Dumb shit, life kind of shit. I peep down occasionally and realize that I'm a wealth of OK-ness. I'm one bad ass little boo bunny puja. Gratitude will not let up.
We can time travel as needed. We do it all the time. We might try the Mexican-themed Thanksgiving next year, and we hope to see you there. Hott. I am hoping that you all are doing OK, and if you're not, you probably will be again. Not to make light of any of us. Maybe a little.
I am grateful right now for this doing pretty well state I find myself in, and I know that it won't last. I'll hit some more walls, fall down, hate and curse and feel oceans of self-pity again, probably. And I'll probably dear diary about that, too.
PS Ira Glass: thanks for bringing a cheer, again, to my hour.
Wednesday, November 02, 2011
Mothering Source
I'm just busy, like you are. And I yearn to find a single, juicy place in which to pour myself...although I know that's impossible. I'm the multi-spout. But.
I'm AM trying to reconcile the books, however. I'm trying make good with the flavor of God I've got. As much as I think on some days that I want to, I'm not leaving Longmont (with my fleece and down for a quiet adventure into inner space somewhere near Tibet.) Not at least while the babes are young and my commitment seems so obvious here.
So, GOD, LOVE, SPIRITUAL LIFE, all of that? It's got to unfold here, now. What I'm feeling is the the illusion of tomorrow, elsewhere, that setting, this class crashing down on my jam hands and dirty laundry and the sad, somewhat defeated AHA knowing (!!!) that oh. This is what she/he/they mean when they say start where you are.
My Mothering Source vision is to combine, write about and perhaps eventually teach about integrating seemingly opposing forces in my (and I'm guessing your) life: the desire for slowing down mashed up with life that seems to be speeding up. Meditation and silence with constant noise in the home. Simplifying alongside the complications of managing money, stuff, vacations, work, and self-care. I think it can be done.
While getting information at the click of a button is exciting to no end (repeat: to NO END) I actually find it annoying and overwhelming and, sometime, more hassle than help. It's like one of those loud ass toys that won't turn off. The lines indicating where to quit, when to turn down, how to unplug, etc. are really blurry these days. And we -- still human in most every cell I guess -- are pretty much fucking confused and freaking out. If you don't think you are, I would maybe want to argue with you...at least a little bit. Really, there's nothing that's making you hit overwhelm?
It's OK to go inside and be in the dark. It's delightful. And kind of hard when life presents this strange and perpetually sunny face of go-get-it ness. Not much of anywhere in modern culture do we support turning away from it all, though. Churches are weird for some of us, meditation and yoga can offer quick fixes, but once we get back to normal and the retreats/classes end we're back to crazy. And, mamas, are you noticing how your kids are doing in this situation? All good? If you're anything like me you may feel like you hanging on for dear life some days, or sad that your kids are being bombarded with marketing shit for a funner life from every angle. And you might want to sleep a lot. It's OK. Sleep is so good. It's actually quite natural to rest, retreat, go inside, play alone, participate less...can you recall what "natural" means? I do. I think.
The whole "householder" yoga speaks to this, but I think that term was created a long time ago. Among my shining lights? Well, who among them was living in 2012, with all this shit to deal with?
There are guides out here for us, though. And no guide is better than that little quiet, knowing place you call YOU. Make time for her today. Get still, be quiet, make some room. Her silence is really smart. It'll make you smarter. And it might make you cry, too.
Truly the desire to settle into the things that matter most is stronger than ever. This is something that calls me and I am doing it...I am figuring this all out in my own strange and unique ways. I borrow and get inspired from people like Maple Tree and Angela Farmer. Herbalists and people who smile and say hello to me vs. text someone else. It's a constant choice I'm making, and it gets so much easier the more I choose it. Truly: dropping the bs is self-resolving. It's like dumping abad boyfriend you are sure you're going to miss. But then you realize you actually so much happier without him. And so the decision is sustained.
Mamas: let's talk...
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