VJ – Page 212 – One Woman's Quest

As a Tree

Confined for hours at a time to my bed, I cheer myself by contemplating the trees outside my windows. There is something in their stoic beauty that both calms and inspires me.

Be as the tree a former meditation instructor taught me.

If I were a tree
my roots would run deep into the earth
and spread in all directions
grounding me.

Present.

My trunk would be wide and solid
weathering all storms
supporting other life
a tower.

Strong.

My branches would reach up to the sky
and dance with the breezes
and bend with the changing seasons
and bow to Nature.

Flexible.

If I were a tree
I would be calm, yet strong;
have heightened awareness, yet be rooted in reality.

I would yield to change,
yet stand proud in my own existence,
growing with grace.

If I were a tree
I would live in harmony
with Nature.

Present, Strong. Flexible.

Fully alive.

(Image from: www.nbcdfw.com)

Day 209 “The Multiverse”

In innocence, I first encountered her;
I, a mere child of five:
wide-eyed, curious, and unafraid;
she a creature of Nature.

The woods where I wandered were hers,
densely populated, untamed.
She eyed me with bewilderment,
this unattended sapling in her path.

With feline instincts she stalked me,
considering her moves
I was hers, undefended –
and so she took her time,
waiting for me to ripen for the attack.

She followed me through the fields
of adolescence,
pacing the perimeters
patiently biding her time.
And I, with growing awareness
came to understand her threat.
And I picked up the pace.

Into adulthood I ran,
seeking safety in the concrete walls
of business life, and fast-paced living
and like a cat with a mouse
she toyed with me,
knowing I’d be hers in the end.

She shrank back into the shadows
when motherhood became my calling
no doubt a Mother herself,
and therefore compassionately courteous.
But she never gave up.

Into old age I run, but –
the cougar grows closer,
her senses fully alert;
she smells my fear, and
fully powered she leaps
towards me,
and even
though
I seek
the safety
of my home
she easily
penetrates
the ineffective
doorways
of my
mind
and
pounces…

The Tao says that we live in a universe
of multiple possibilities –
a multiverse –
but when your life is spent
in survival mode,
in constant flight,
always looking behind
It is difficult to see the vast horizon
that lies ahead,
or even dream of possibilities

Day 208 “Undivided Attention”

Undivided attention.

Two words that brought me hope as a parent and caused me a deep sense of guilt.

I just had to talk on the phone in the presence of my children to know that it was my attention they wanted, without any distractions, and I knew if I could deliver that, they would behave. It gave me hope.

In reality, I had three children, four and under, and a house to run, and a job on the side, and a husband that was never present, and a family who perpetuated drama – not to mention a desire for a life of my own- so giving the children my undivided attention seemed like an impossible task and caused me enormous guilt.

I was never good enough in those years. (Is this every mother’s lot?)

Then, as a teacher, I realized that my students, like my children, were starved to be seen and heard, and I strived to give each one my full attention, if only for moments at a time, but it was never enough and I felt inadequate.

Now, challenged with this illness and unable to give much of anything to anybody, I realize that it is I – my body/mind/spirit – that needs me to be fully present and aware.

It is no longer okay to feel not good enough.

Guilt, you have no place here.

I am learning all over again about the benefits of undivided attention.

Day 207 “Discovering Your Purpose”

Yesterday, my husband lost all of the contacts on his computer, frustrating him immensely as it represents decades of business contacts, all friends, family, and commonly accessed services. In their place was a list of contacts from someone in the New Orleans area. Late into the night, Thor worked to restore the list.

Then this morning, we were awoken by a phone call, checking to see if he was okay. An email had gone out to everyone, marked “Urgent” and asking for money as he was “stranded in Italy.”

By the time we figured out what was happening, the phone was ringing incessantly, and texts and emails were flooding both our cellphones. It was overwhelming to say the least.

In the midst of this calamity came an email from a former employee of Thor’s saying he had tried to get through to the number in Italy, but was having trouble. He sent his cell number so Thor could contact him. Our initial reaction was disbelief that people would fall for this sham. Especially John, who Thor had not seen for decades, but whom he described as extremely bright.

“Why would he even thing you would ask him for money?” I wanted to know.

Thor called John and thanked him for his concern. It had actually happened to his daughter, he explained. She had been stranded overseas and needed to put a call out for money, so he didn’t like to take chances. Then they caught up on life since the last time they’d talked.

“It’s been way too long,” Thor told him as they ended the conversation. “Let’s do lunch soon.”

“Isn’t that nice that he would go out of his way after all these years.” We both agreed it was. More than nice. Heartwarming.

More messages came and a neighbour even came to the door, all checking that Thor was safe at home.

I know this post is supposed to be about “Discovering Your Purpose”, but purpose is that elusive promise that keeps our hearts and minds focused on anything but the here and now. I prefer, instead, to ask how can I live purposefully? How can I make each day count?

John did that today. He reached out to someone who once gave him a hand up in life, and risked appearing foolish, or worse, being defrauded, and brightened our day. He made a difference in someone’s life: small, but noticeable.

What if we all made that our purpose? To dare to help another, to extend a hand, and just say, “Are you okay?” To forget about ourselves for a moment, and the make the world a better place.

Day 206 “Heavenly Music”

Suddenly, with great clarity, I realized that this was the end. I was about to die.

Summer holidays, when I was a kid, always started with swimming lessons. Looking back I must have been a sight on those early mornings, trudging up the hill to the public pool in my swim suit, my long unwieldy curls half tucked under a bathing cap, my towel dragging behind me, and I skipping or chasing a stone, oblivious to the world around me. We had a pool in our backyard, so our mother insisted that we be trained in technique and safety.

As far as I can remember, those lessons involved a lot of time shivering outside the pool awaiting my turn to demonstrate a particular stroke or technique. The instructors were young, and often not very patient, especially as some of my peers protested at each step. What I do recall was watching the more experienced swimmers in the diving well next door. I was fascinated by their lack of fear as they twisted and flipped their way into the deep water below. Even after the lesson was over, I would stop and watch through the chain link fence enclosure, studying each move so that I could go home and practice.

At nine-years of age, I was a fish. Diving into the cool, refreshing water cleared my head and made me feel fully alive. I imagined myself as a dolphin, or seal, and was forever challenging myself to break new records: how long I could hold my breath under water, how many somersaults I could do, and so on. Sundays, when my father was home, he would goad us into racing him, which he always won, making me even more determined to improve. My younger sister and I had tea parties on the bottom of the pool and practiced talking to one another, emerging with great gulps of laughter.

Summer was my favourite time of the year, and water my element. It was only fitting that I should die here.

I didn’t have many friends in the neighbourhood, as the school I attended was on the other side of town, but occasionally a girl from across the road would accept my invitation to come for a swim. I only asked her when no one else was around, because my mother wouldn’t let us swim alone. One particularly hot summer day, I called her over. She obliged happlily.

Full of myself, and my newly practiced diving tricks, I decided to show off.

“Let’s dive!” I suggested, knowing full well I was breaking family rules. No diving without an adult present!

“I don’t know how.” Her mother had not forced her to take swimming lessons, it was obvious.

“I’ll show you!”

I demonstrated a simple stance and thrust into the dive, assuring her it was easy. She tried but didn’t tuck in enough and landed on her belly. Near tears, she stated that she wanted to go home.

“Just one more dive!” I insisted. “Watch this one!”

I turned my back to the pool and eased myself backwards, toes perched on the edge, then bending my knees slightly, I launched myself, but in that last second something went wrong and I didn’t have time to pull out of the plunge before hitting my head on the bottom of the pool and feeling my neck snap back.

The paralysis was instant and my body sunk, lifeless, and there I was lying on the bottom of the pool looking up towards and the surface and realizing that I wasn’t going to make it. This was it.

And, yet, I felt no panic. Instead, my eyes were drawn to a blinding white light that shone on me from above. Wow the sun looks really cool from here! my nine-year-old mind thought, and at the same instant I realized that this was not the sun, and a profound sense of peace filled me. I was not alone. In the stillness of the moment, I was surrounded by the most angelic music and the sudden awareness of voices that spoke as one: a heavenly chorus.

“You can stay or you can go” was the invitation offered, “but know that if you stay, you will have to be strong; it will not be easy.”

I am strong, I thought. I can do this.

“Remember that you are never alone,” was the parting message, and then the next thing I knew I was on the ladder, dragging myself out of the pool, with no one in sight. My “friend” had bolted when she thought I was dead.

Dripping wet, and smarting from the aftershock, I traipsed through the house to my parents’ bedroom where my mother had been bedridden for months.

“I need to go to the hospital,” I told her. “I think I just broke my neck.”

I couldn’t see my mother’s response, because she had the curtains drawn as usual, but she did fumble for the light and tell me to get dressed, and we did go to emergency and I had x-rays, and then she sent me with my older sister to the movies to get my mind off of it, and when I got home she was all in a panic because the doctor had called with the results, and I was not to be moving around, and it was a miracle I hadn’t drowned.

I just smiled calmly and said, “It’s okay, Mom. Today wasn’t my day to die, the angels told me so.”

Day 205 “The Best of Times”

My dreams drag me back into my past; into lives and loves long forgotten, and my mind follows, driven by nostalgia, full of hope. Last night, it was my former husband, inviting me back to the marital home, needing my help, and I naively following, thinking all is forgiven; life moves on. We don’t make it past the local variety store, and a few old neighbours before I realize that I am mistaken. There is no innocent intent here, only an attempt to use me once again, and the rage surfaces propelling me out of the dream into the light of a new day.

Why do we always associate “the best of times” with the past? Is it easier to look back and gloss over the unpleasantness, focusing only on the good? Why can’t we then do that in the present?

I cannot remember a time when there was not some sort of stress in my life, and yet, undeniably, always an accompanying joy. Today is no different.

Struggling to come to terms with a chronic illness and the life changes that brings, on the back of a year of health hell for my husband, there is stress and times of frustration, however; our love for each other has grown proportionately, with a new depth of caring and compassion. There isn’t a day that goes by that I am not grateful for this man in my life, so that even in the darkest moments I know that I am blessed.

These are the best times, if I am truly honest. These very days in which we wish things were different: wistfully dreaming of another time, a brighter future. There are no better times than right now.

So today, as the sun shines through the window and blows off the nasty remnants of my dream, I sit at the edge of the bed and ponder the perfection of now (or the “perfect imperfection”, as the popular song says) and make a commitment to myself to embrace the day, whatever it brings.

Day 204 “The Element of Action”

I dug the business card out of a zippered pocket inside my purse, and straightened out its curling edges. Eight years I had carried this card, transferring it from purse to purse, telling myself that one day I would make the call.

Today was that day.

My kids were the ones who propelled me into action. They had come home unexpectedly Saturday night, their adolescent feet thumping on the stairs as they raced down to find me sprawled out on the couch, sipping a glass of wine and watching Trading Spaces.

“Mom!” they exclaimed in unison. “This is what you do every Saturday night! You need to get a life!”

I was quite content with my same ol’, same ol’, and they were the ones that were home a day earlier than expected, so this would not even be a conversation if they had stuck to schedule, and I told them so.

“Seriously, Mom!” my teenage daughter mustered a mother-like authority. “If you don’t start doing something else, we are going to stop coming home.”

“Yeah, Mom,” my son added. “It’s depressing.”

“Really?” And you’re Dad’s house isn’t even more depressing?, I wanted to say, but let it go.

So here I am, card in hand, about to make the phone call that could potentially change my life – or at least get me off the couch on Saturday nights. Admittedly, the last few weeks have been reruns anyway, so it wouldn’t be like I’d miss anything.

I dial the number and wait through several rings.

The thing is, as much as I have wanted to do this, I just kept telling myself I was too busy, it was silly, I’m too grown up, and so on.

“Mysteries R Us!”

“Hi. I got your number from…, er, I mean, I have your card… and I was wondering…do you need anyone…er, are you looking for actors?” Great! I’ve blown it from the outset.

“Yep! We’re holding auditions Thursday night. 7:00. Can you be there?”

“This Thursday! Yes! I mean, perfect!”

I jot down the address and hang up before the person on the other end is deafened by my the sound of my adrenaline rush.

I jump up and down and pirouette around and giggle like a little kid.

* * *

The audition room is everything I remember from community theater – stuffy, musty, and crammed with props. Six of us are auditioning, everyone but me, I assume, seasoned actors. Scripts are passed around, and I am invited to read the part of the Nurse.

The others jump in with emphasis and emotion, and I am looking at the lines and coming up with zero inspiration. The guy to my left is actually making the director laugh with his impromptu rendition of an Australian accent. The woman next to him makes her voice all sultry and seductive turning her character into a real killer. My lines come out monotonously, flat. Maybe this is why I hesitated for so long. I clearly don’t belong here.

“Alright,” the director calls. “Scripts down. We’re going to do some improv.”

For the next ninety minutes, the director throws words, occupations, and scenarios at us demanding we conjure characters and comedy. Certain I have already blown the audition I throw myself in, sparring wits and daring to be ridiculous.

Then it is over.

“Anything else I should know about you?” the Director asks.

“I did theater in High School, and for a few years after,” I offer pathetically. “Oh, and I don’t do accents.”

“I’ll call you in a couple of weeks when auditioning is complete” the director advises us at the door.

Shamed, I drive home wondering if they would let me try again now that I know the procedure. I contemplate throwing out the card.

When the call comes, I have forgotten my night of misadventure and am immersed in my job.

“You’re in!” says the voice on the other end as if this is the continuation of an ongoing conversation.

“Excuse me?”

“Friday night. We’ll need you here at 4:00 to fill out some paperwork. You’re playing Ivana BeBuff, a millionaire heiress. You can find a costume here. We’re on a 6:00.”

* * *

Six years, and nineteen characters later, I spent very few boring nights in front of the television. All because of one little phone call.

Oh, and I still don’t do accents….at least very well. But that just adds to the comedic effect.

* * *

Life is full of many wonderful surprises, if we are only willing to make the first move.

Self-Delusion

I am driven,
a woman obsessed.
feet digging in,
body pressed forward,
the sweat on my brow
blackened by the relentless dust
whipping around me
in the prairie heat.
I drive on,
fatherless,
husbandless,
solely responsible
for my cargo
the horses heeding my commands,
everything, everyone
I treasure
on board.
I am a pioneer
delivering us
to the promised land.

I am wounded,
bleeding,
my prone body
curled on a mat of straw
back towards the others
teeth clenched
in silent pain
determined
not to show my need.
I will not be a burden.
so I feign sleep
and brace myself
against the jolts
and try not to gasp.
Lie still,
Be brave,
the journey is necessary
and soon we will arrive
and all will be well
and I will stop,
bleeding.

We children
are both afraid and
joyous
The ride is bumpy
and never-ending
and we try to be good
and not complain
but our spirits long
to play
to get out of this wagon
and find cool water to
splash in
or play hopscotch
in the sand.
But we are obedient
and so instead
find laughter
in the moments
in our own company.
Believing,
trusting,
that all is for a reason,
and the end is near.

I am a young man,
and I have goals,
and dreams
beyond the confines of these wagon walls.
I have a vision
of a life fulfilling,
of purpose,
and gold,
and I am ready
and able
to fight
I am willing
to strive,
fearless
into the unknown
yet I am trapped
held captive
by my elders.
overlooked.

I am the faithful,
God-inspired
all-believing,
hopeful,
prayerful,
trusting in higher power
caught in a web
of pleading, asking, forgiving,
accepting, and wondering.
What can I give of myself?
What does God need?
Am I not good enough?
Have we sinned?
Are we being punished?
Are our needs only trite,
and we selfish?
Must we bear this cross
to be received
in Heaven?
Is there a reason
I pray for strength
so that I may be more worthy,
more deserving,
when the judgment day comes.

I am a mother,
worried,
caring,
hoping for the best
catering to all,
barely a child myself,
bearing each experience
with borrowed strength,
selflessly focused
outward
drawing, drawing,
from a well
seldom replenished.
Tired,
oh so, tired.

I am an old woman,
frail yet wise,
enduring the rough ride,
surrendering to the knocks
knowing that as in all things
this too shall pass.
I am silent,
guarding my wisdom
for the imploring only,
acknowledging the value
in each journey
in each interpretation,
knowing that in the end
we are all deluded
and that the destination
is in the here and now
not tomorrow
not at the end of some dusty trail.
In each moment we have arrived
and so have I.
Patient and accepting.
Life is as it is.
Amen.

Day 202 “Must-Have”

Rain pelts against my window
cheered on by the relentless wind
inside I lie motionless
on my once-yearned-for
now resigned-to
bed.

Target has those things you’re looking for
texts my daughter
pic attached.
Exactly what I’m looking for
but millions of miles away
when energy fails me

Instead I give in to the fingers
of sleep
that pull me in;
blessed unconsciousness
oblivion.

Ping! another message
Starbucks has Oprah’s chai tea!
I can taste the sweet cinnamony warmth
and dream of the day
when I get out of this bed
and go for tea

the rain outside persists
the light fading
another day of suspended animation
in this gloom of isolated
silence

A door opens below me
footsteps, a voice
Do you need anything?
I don’t respond,
too weak for words.
Do I need anything?

The question reverberates
through mind
emotion
body
and comes up empty
what could I need?
too much
nothing

Rain abates, wind subsides
and a brief ray of sun
brightens the room
a promise
of spring
new beginnings
and I think
I need clothes

but clothes means shopping
and shopping means energy
and the cycle continues
and still I lay
unmoved

Then you enter
an offering of tea
and a gentle word
and with renewed momentum
I shift to make room for you.
and it all comes clear
You are what I need.

You are my must-have.

Day 201 “Mental Balance”

I am travelling in the South with my son and one of his friends. We stop at a roadside restaurant and after being seated and ordering drinks, realize there is nothing that I can eat, so we decide to leave. John and his friend go to get the car while I settle up with the waitress. I spend a bit too much time talking and explaining and when I emerge from the restaurant, John, friend, and car are gone. My son has grown impatient with me and moved on. I am in a state of disbelief, rage, and then deep concern for my baby.

When I wake up, I can’t shake the emotions. Usually I dream that it is Thor that abandons me, but now it is my son? Obviously the dream is about more than being abandoned by my loved ones. So what does it mean?

I think back over my day leading up to the dream. Even though my new regimen requires that I sandwich exertion between periods of rest, I decided yesterday to proceed as if I wasn’t sick. I rolled from one activity into another and ignored the growing state of dis-ease. I pushed through, without pacing myself.

I’d always thought my abandonment dreams about Thor were related to his illness and my fear of losing him. John is a steady and loyal son, and never gives me reason to fear. Clearly the dream source is trying to tell me to revisit this particular theme. Who is abandoning whom? What if the dream is telling me that a part of me is neglecting another part of me? What part of self does Thor and my son represent? What part of me is always left feeling angry and forgotten?

John is typically patient and compassionate with me. He loves me like a son loves a mother: wholeheartedly. He laughs at my foibles, and shares with me his concerns. It would be totally out of character for him to drive away and leave me stranded in some strange, isolated place. So what part of me that is typically patient and compassionate, left me out in the cold yesterday? That is easy. It was the part that makes sure I am setting boundaries and taking care of myself. That part was definitely missing in action! I even went to Costco, even though I was overextended before I left the house, and walked the store despite my immediate recognition that all systems were overtaxed by the crowds and overabundance of stimuli. Then I came home and ignored my need to retreat into restful silence and chose to socialize with my family, staying out of bed for the remainder of the evening. I was like a pouting two and a half-old-year refusing to go for a nap even though I was well past my limitations.

Another idea starts taking shape in my mind. There is something else that I have been ignoring, and “leaving behind”. It is my creative self. I spent the greater part of the weekend in Toronto visiting Ester and her family. As I usually do, I packed a notebook for writing and my ipad, and while I had several inspiring thoughts, I did not stop to jot them down. Not even on the train ride home, when I had more than ample opportunity. My mind was so ripe with creativity that I lay awake for hours last night, despite my fatigue, replaying my storylines, and still I did not venture to record it.

“I know what the abandonment dreams are about,” I tell Thor. “It is about the many ways I sabotage my writing. It is my writer self that is so disappointed, enraged, and heart-broken.”

“You have always wanted to write,” Thor agrees. “And I can’t imagine that writing takes too much energy in comparison with everything else. Wouldn’t it actually recharge you?”

I cannot argue with him. So why do I deprive myself so? Why have I been unable to commit to this innate, and eternal passion of mine?

Derek Linn suggests that in order to manifest we need mental balance: a state of harmony between the outer ego self and the inner wounded self (my words). The ego thrives on accomplishment, but the inner sense of unworthiness sabotages by pulling back. I have long recognized in myself the ability to be brave and courageous when what I stand to lose has little value, but highly resistant to put myself out there when the outcome means the world to me.

Writing, being a writer, means the world to me. To write, and be published, and acknowledged would be the ultimate life accomplishment. It feels so risky, so vulnerable, so potentially disastrous that there is no wonder I abandon it time and again; writing anonymous blogs, like taking that part of me on a trip, and then leaving it there – somewhere far away from home – where it can’t hurt me.

I love my writer self. I adore her with all the emotion of a tender spouse or loving child, but I just can’t seem to make that commitment. So I leave her behind, telling myself that one day I will give her what she needs – make her a priority.

And in the meantime, she wanders the unfamiliar corridors of my mind, alone on the dark streets of my fearful psyche, wondering what she has done to be so blatantly ostracized: abandoned and deeply pained.