remembering to breathe ...

As a yoga teacher, I'm always counseling students remember to breathe.

The simplest yet most important practice I teach, the one I turn to repeatedly myself, is the full, three part breath. Relaxing and breathing into the belly at the beginning of the inhale; moving the breathing up into the side body and rib cage; ending with the expansion across the chest and collar bones at the very top of the breath.  The exhale reverses this pattern with the very last bits of stale air squeezed out by the action of the abdominal muscles pulling in towards the body.

A variation is full-body breathing.  The breathe we all knew as a baby ... spacious, full, vast, and effortless.

This is the relaxed, natural way our bodies were designed for respiration.  Unfortunately, it is rarely people's habitual way of breathing.  And this is why practice is so essential.

Most of the time, we breath without thinking.  It happens without our attention or effort.  But there are times when all of our energy is focused upon claiming that next breath. And the next ... and the next.

This past weekend, my elderly mother phoned me up,  complaining she was having trouble breathing.  I sat by her side, stroking her back, trying to coax her body to relax.  She was so panicked, she was taking short, shallow chest breaths, like a panting animal.  Her attempt to breath was exhausting her while also triggering the stress-response in her body and in her mind. 

I took her to the hospital and she was admitted immediately.  Even with oxygen on, she continued to struggle to breathe. I was powerless to help, understanding as I watched her utilizing just a fraction of her breath's capacity, that I could not undo decades of a habit.

This is why we practice.  There will come a time - possibly a multitude of times - when it will take all of our resources just to keep afloat.  The mind becomes agitated, clarity lost and we lapse into autopilot. Practice - whether it be a breathing practice, yoga asana practice, meditation, or mindfulness - has taught me to find the tiny sliver of space in which I can choose how I want to respond, rather than reflexively reacting.  

One explanation of the practice of yoga postures - asanas - is to consciously place oneself in awkward positions so we can learn to relax.

Standing in a hospital, watching a loved one struggling, is certainly one kind of awkward position.  Watching my mother grasping for each breathe, I had to remind myself to take full, deep breaths and to release my fear with each out breath.  It became a kind of mantra for me. Inhale - open to support, open to connection with source; exhale - release the fear, release tension and toxins. Each breath kept me anchored in the moment.  I was watching my mother die.

I don't know if one truly can be prepared to support a loved one through dying.  I certainly didn't feel ready.  I took my mother into the hospital on a Sunday morning and 48 hours later, she was gone.  There was little time to think.  All I had was the space and presence of each breath.  Mine and hers.  A crazy duet of contrasting tempos and rhythms. All I had was the gift of my years of practice, supporting me in staying focused, staying relaxed (as much as possible) and keeping my mind flexible and ready to respond with love and care. 


My mother brought me into this life, and it was my privilege to repay the favor and support her as she transitioned out of hers and into whatever transformation awaits us all.  We sang, I read her poems, we shared stories and remembrances, laughs and tears.  She was deeply afraid. So was I ... but I had to be strong for her. I had to draw upon my practice, my faith, and trust that the words and actions appropriate would flow from me to her. 

My mother rode each breath like a wave, through what appeared to me as choppy seas that brought pain and anxiety, but breath by breath, she made her way to the other shore.  As I held her, as I breathed deeply for her, I was grateful for all of the gifts and blessings she bestowed to me, not the least being this experience in calling upon all my guides, all the inner resources gained through practice and finding myself supported and held.  Her final gift to me was to show me I am stronger than I ever knew, that in love and through love I can endure anything ... including saying goodbye to my own mama.

I miss her.  I miss her hands holding mine, comforting me.  

I think about how as a small child, my daughter would reach out her hand knowing I would always reach down to receive it. I hold out my hand - which looks so much like my mother's - and I wonder "Who will comfort me now?  Who will hold me?" 

But I know - because my mama just taught me -  that a mother's love is a continuous circle flowing backwards and forwards across generations, across time, across any perceivable boundaries. It holds me, it holds her, it holds my daughter, my nieces, my spirit-sisters and the grandmothers in a huge embrace.  I just have to remember to relax, breathe, and surrender myself to that embrace.  I can let go ... for I know I am always held. 

Saying good-bye is the hardest thing to do. The thing we must do the most is the thing we care to do the least, and so it keeps coming around the bend. It is, in the end, life's only lesson. 

- Karen Maezen Miller, Momma Zen

   

Learning as I go ...

"Gardens, like children, are forgiving; gardens grow. Love, even clumsy and unrefined, cultivates. Time, unhurried, is never wasted."

(Karen Maezen Miller, Hand Wash Cold: Care Instructions for an Ordinary Life)

I often tell my yoga students that the best way to understand a posture, especially the balancing poses, is through the struggle to attain them.  Attempting to balance on one leg, the act of falling out of balance teaches us what is missing and the process of returning again and again to the pose reinforces where our center is and what constitutes balance in our own body.  

So after the struggles of the previous few weeks, I am reminded once again that parenting isn't so much about getting it right, avoiding struggles or conflicts, but climbing back into the  arena with an open heart, fully present, open to new possibilities, and willing to risk falling down in order to learn how to stand up.

I find it curious I received several emails and private messages in response to my post on my mothering struggles.  I think so many of us hold this unexamined belief that others have a handle on this gig called parenting, whereas we somehow missed the class and are woefully ill equipped and in over our heads. But examined in the light of day and the light of reality and reasonableness, I recognize the absurdity of those assumptions.  Still, I know I am driven by irrational fear of exposure as a sham, as incompetent, a bad parent and that fear can silence me. Bravery is speaking my truth and listening yours; sharing our truths (the nitty gritty and the triumphant) is the means of liberation, hope and inspiration.

I am grateful for writers like Anne Lamott and Karen Maezen Miller who share with their readers their crooked journeys, missteps and misadventures if only to remind us we all are learning as we go.  And that's okay.  Maybe it is the best way, for then I am eternally responding to what is before me, rather than reacting to how I believe things ought to be, or how they were yesterday, last week, last year.  Because if there is one magically frustrating and inspiring thing I've experienced parenting my daughter, it is that she is always growing, changing, shifting, becoming.

Days after our family meltdown, I read this post which bumped me back on track.  As much as I want to make the journey easy for my girl, clearing out obstacles, bubble-wrapping the sharp edges, imparting to her the insights I've gain through heartache and suffering, that is not my role.  

"In hindsight, it seems to me that she has been waiting for me to stop imparting to her. To stop imposing on her, to stop judging, coercing, undermining, and second-guessing her, as if she were the proof of my able foresight and good intentions." (Karen Maezen Miller) 

This past week I've been subbing as a teacher's aide in the preschool class at Cowgirl's school.  I am learning so much from the teacher and the other aides who clearly love what they do and care deeply for each child and work hard to coax out his or her potential.  It has been reassuring for me to know Cowgirl is in this environment. (I know, not all teachers are equal, but we have been blessed by some truly saint-like in patience and enthusiasm teachers and I want to give a shout out for all those teachers - especially the ones in public schools - who do show up passionate and caring.  Because, my goddess, after a couple of days I am emptied and drained!)  Watching these teachers respond to the meltdowns was instructive.  They never coddled, never brushed away the incident.  What they did do was support the child to understand their accomplishments that day, to guide them to stretch a bit further in order to expand their abilities.  Taking small hands and redirecting them ... holding the scissors so they smile at you, guide the paper with the other hand  ... keep going ... look!  Look at what you just did!

Rushing in from my lunch break, I passed through the lunch room just as Cowgirl's lunch period begins.  She was sitting at the table, head down, face hidden.  My heart sank as a recognized the body language of "something's wrong."  I rushed over to her and sat down. Leaning my head in, I tried to coax from her what had happened.  Big, hot tears rolled down her cheeks.  She wouldn't answer me and she wouldn't take my comfort.  Finally, one of the lunchroom teachers noticed the distress and came over.  I reminded Cowgirl that in order for her to find a solution, she had to tell us what was wrong.  The teacher then stepped in and I realize this was my cue to step away.  For what mattered here was not my smoothing things out, but for her to know support is out there and waiting for her.  She just has to speak up and ask and by doing so, will discover she is the agent of her own solutions.


It is the most difficult Zen practice to leave people to their destiny, even though it's painful - just loving them, and breathing with them, and distracting them in a sweet way, and laughing with them . . . if something was not my problem, I probably did not have the solution.” (Anne Lamott, Some Assembly Required: A Journal of My Son's First Son)

 
I was witness to several situation where the teacher had supported the child in finding his or her strength, sense of power and possibility after a meltdown only to have the parent swoop in and undo that lesson.  It was a good reminder for me that as hard as it is to watch my girl suffer, fixing things for her is no solution.  She must find and craft her own tools, her own way and the most I can do is to hold the space for her to make her way. As my wise to-go mama friend recently counseled, perhaps we need to let them experience failing. Then she can discover her way back to her center, to her place of balance and strength. My role is not to stop the falling, but to cheer her on from the sidelines, reminding her that I believe in her ability to find her way.  And that I am finding my own way, learning by her side.

"I think the single best line of advice I ever heard on being a parent, a writer, a seeker, an anything, is something the great E. L. Doctorow said years and years ago, that writing is like driving at night with the headlights on: you can only see a little ways in front of you but you can make the whole journey this way. This may not be verbatim, but for me it has rung true in every area of my life." Anne Lamott

buoyant ...

I am such a creature of habit.  The thing is, I easily settle into routines and structures but quickly find myself squirming against the confines of self-imposed schedules.  Craving spontaneity and freedom, I bust free.  The wheel turns and I find myself longing for something to lean up against, some form of constancy and regularity.

In Ayurvedic terms, my Vata (wind element) and Pitta (fire element) are constantly in battle and adjusting, rearranging, and resetting.

This week I threw a monkey wrench into my system of daily writing, painting, and home-oriented tasks.  On Wednesday I spent the day (the.entire.day) at Cowgirl's school assisting in the preschool classroom as a teacher's aide.  In a fit of "I need more options" to generate income flow, I applied as a teacher's aide in my public school system and have presented myself as a substitute.  I've been dodging calls but finally was able to accept one assignment.

I actually enjoyed having the break to my routine.  The entire day was spent being focusing and present for the kids, but not in a stressful way.  In a "I can drop everything else and just do this" kind of way that felt like a good balance to all the time I've spent in my head.  

I just played (we went on a car trip to McDonalds - that is real imaginary play for me; I introduced them to soda - here it is known as pop - they thought me hilarious and odd), read stories, pushed kids on swings and attempted to decipher the language of 3 and 4 year old little people. The kids were very sweet.  We had a praying mantis hanging out on the window screen all morning and when it was time for recess I told them "Let's see if we can walk down the hall like a praying mantis."  They did the very best slow motion walking meditation possible for creatures designed with only off and high switches. 

I left feeling good, sorry that I didn't have another gig scheduled.  Once home, I hit a wall.  I was utterly, completely, fully exhausted.  I mean, draped-over-the-couch exhausted.  My brain incapable of doing anything but hard-wired action: cook dinner (if tossing frozen fries in the oven and a bag of green beans in the microwave constitutes cooking), walk the dog, brush teeth, read to Cowgirl and veg out with some Netflix.

Where am I going with this?  Well, I had hoped to slip back into some form of my previous routine today but ... I am on a 24-hour clear liquids only fast for a medical test and I feel like not only has the stuffing been taken out of me, but I am ready to devour it!  (Okay, so now you understand the genesis of this ramble ... my brain turning in upon itself out of lack of fuel ... I know, I am such a wimp!)

I've been pacing ... living from 8 ounce glass of clear beverage to bowl of broth to bathroom (and the fun hasn't even begun!) and feeling - gasp! - so sorry for myself.  Life feels overwhelming and unmanageable with a full bladder.  Unable to concentrate, questioning myself and probable-futility of my efforts.  I would cry but doing so would result in an accident.

Fear not my friends! In the middle of all this fruitless teeth gnashing (how many times have I almost and inadvertently stuffed something in my gob?) bubbles of wonder, sun beams of hope showered down upon me.  If you've ever doubted the value of your words, your attentions I am here to tell you: YOU MATTER.  Each gesture of kindness, of love and acknowledge matters.  Hugely.  A short email from a friend saying she was excited to be joining in on my mandala play offering was the life-saver tossed out to me and now my head is above water.  I am floating ... in many ways ... and trusting I am moving towards shore. 
 
As I explained to another of my regular life-savers, at times it can feel like I am preparing an elaborate meal: I am filling each dish with love and care, preparing my home to be welcoming and restful, an oasis from overwhelm and overdoing.  The fear - always that gremlin of fear! - is that no one will show up.  There is huge vulnerability in holding out my hands and saying "here, I made this ...this is my heart ... what I love ... I hope it will feed you well."  There is vulnerability and uncertainty as I shift from defining myself as a contribution in the form of a monthly direct deposit (not that I could ever really explain what my salaried job was) to something more intangible: a welcoming space, a source of permission and possibility, a keeper of the small moments that weave together into a life celebrated rather than survived.  

Each of us matters.  No act is too small.  Take this moment to turn to the person next to you and tell them why they matter to you.  Tell them what you love about them - what you admire, how they inspire you.  And be prepared to receive from them similar sentiments.  You.matter.  We all matter. This moment matters.

reframing "significant"

I found myself writing to some friends:

Life inside a mix master blender: the Universe hits puree randomly and unexpectedly.  Such is my life! 

I admit, I foolishly imagined this summer - and my time unencumbered by a day job - as a fertile period of creative work bursting the seams of my life.  Today I realized I needed to let go of the notion that any significant work would take place while home with husband and child underfoot (the dog at least sleeps quietly and comfortingly at my feet.)

But maybe my attitude is wrong; perhaps a chance of perspective is all that is required.  Summer time is crazy with spontaneity: lady bugs hatching, fire flies beckoning, swimming pools, bike rides and patio time all vying for attention.  Much of significance is happening, just not in the manner that I had expected which is par for the course and far more exciting, enlightening and nourishing when I can remember to adopt a more spacious attitude.  

One thing that keeps me riding the waves of my life is the structure of practice.  It is a huge concept for me.  It began with my yoga practice and has spilled out into life off the mat.  It is how I connect with growth, learning, change and insight.  Practice frames my relationship with living:  I want to be learning, expanding, connecting and embracing my life and I see all my action as effort expended towards that intention.  I don't think it is so much about Practice make Perfect; I think it is Practice makes me more attention and aware.  Practice makes me more flexible, and not just bendy in body but in mind, attitude, heart and soul.

I am working on an offering to share this fall entitled The Gift of Practice: Nurturing & Nourishing Creativity. I am curious to delve into the role of practice in creative expression and a significant part of what I want to explore is the way practice is experienced by other creatives in various expressive forms. (There is significant again!) Of course my hidden agenda is to strengthen my own unique expression of creative practice!

I am excited that one of my favorite creative lights -  mentor, sister, guide and friend - Pixie Campbell has created an online version of her Shamanic Painting Program to launch July 29.  Visual Quest is a five week course running through August 31 although course content will remain available until March 20, 2014 (yeah!) so while it is perfectly timed to coincide with the fiery energy of summer, inspiration and action, there will be plenty of time to snuggle in with the material and squeeze all the juicy goodness that Pixie always provides in any of her programs.

Visual Quest is a five-week online art workshop that integrates
the creative process with profound spiritual discovery
and healing through the unique, holistic and shamanic approach
developed by artist and modern medicine woman,
Pixie Campbell.

Imagine a painting class that goes far beyond teaching mere
technique, delving into the inner realms of the psyche to
forge powerful links between you and the canvas—and then
imagine that intuitive richness spilling out to transform and
enhance every aspect of your life. This wild, transcendent
creativity is at the heart of Visual Quest. Utilizing the millennia-
old practice of shamanism, Pixie will guide you on a journey
into your deepest Self, enabling you to connect with the
Source of Creation within you, and interpret it artistically.

Visual Quest is a sacred, nurturing space where you can
meet yourself—and be met—where you are right now. It is
authentic growth and revelation, the convergence of passion,
art, and the divine feminine. Allow Pixie to show you how to
access Nature’s symbolic teachings and gain a deeper understanding
of the song within you as you explore artistic
mediums and express your soul’s truth
 

Once again, the Universe shakes me up so I can see with fresh eyes the gifts and opportunities extended towards me.  I asked to do significant work and fertile ground appears. My brushes are ready, how about yours?  

 

Visual Quest: An Online Shamanic Painting Exploration from Pixie Campbell on Vimeo.

when surrender is the only option ...

I have no idea whether the Groundhog saw his shadow, but I am certain that should I be standing in full sunlight I would not cast one myself.  I'm not sure if I am living this or dreaming ... I have been in bed for a week and reality is  a rather tenuous thing at the moment.  Cowgirl has been by my side so either we're dreaming together or warped Doublemint twins with  hacking coughs, runny noses and insulated steins of Powerade moving to our lips in unison.  

(remember those ads?  I digress ... but I feel I need to explain: my father was an Ad Man ... yes, a Mad Man on Madison Avenue, NYC ... and my childhood was consumed by commercials and jingles.  We didn't watch t.v. shows, we watched the ads.  So lurking deep within this gray matter is a vast vault of 1960s and 70s catch phrases, songs and slogans. Oddly enough, Cowgirl seems to have inherited this trait and at an early age was recounting the wonders of Kaboom Cleaner products to our amazed and disbelieving ears.)

Four days of fevers and gut twisting coughs, cocooned in one family bed with tissues between us and an endless drone of the television with a few highlight moments of Wallace and Gromit movies and coloring book sessions.  Then back to Spongebob or cooking shows.  (Ask Cowgirl who she wants to win Chopped Champions or Top Chef  ... although she is more of an Iron Chef kind of gal.) 

Oddly enough, I could watch cooking shows even though I had absolutely no appetite for 7 days?

I will say, if you're going to be ill (we had some respiratory virus that is powering through our city like a ravenous swarm of locusts) it helps to have a buddy.  But as a mom, there is nothing harder than wanting to care for your cub and feeling so ill you can barely stagger over with bucket and washcloth (yes, one of those moments.)  I remembered the year I was 10 and my mother was in bed with a flu bug and she moaned that she was too ill to prepare Christmas dinner.  Our family did what I'm sure others would have  done in the same situation: stepped back, gasped in horror and disbelief, proclaiming "NO Christmas dinner?!"  Yes, my mother dragged herself from her sickbed, and in her pink quilted robe made the usual holiday feast and no, none of us felt the least bit of guilt or remorse for it.

Until now.  

I'm sorry mom.  I understand now how we played the worst card possible: the mommy guilt card. 

I think that karmic debt has been paid.  I think.  But in the worst moments - when my exhaustion and Cowgirl's fever seemed to never end, I turned to the only source of comfort I had left: my goddess in-box.

 It's something I've adapted from the writer Anne Lamott (she uses a God in-box).  When things seem overwhelming and are beyond my control, the only thing left for me to do is to surrender those worries and concerns to a force greater than myself.  I surrender myself and the messy, tangled yarn ball situation over to the more capable (and multiple)  hands of my goddesses.

I mean, if I'm calling for help, I want some fierce mama-love devouring-everything-in-her-way kind of help.  I write my pleas on a slip of paper and offer it into the box and to a force greater than thee and me. 

Then I breathe and settle back into the pillows, turning my attention to matters I can control: how many paper hearts does one need for a suitably festive Valentine's Day?

 

Cowgirl's fever broke and we both are emerging slowly slowly back into the world of the living, albeit one lacking the excitement and sparkle of kitchen stadium or the underwater charm of Bikini Bottom.  Wow ... I think I could eat a crabby patty about now. If only my goddess in-box could handle dinner orders. 

what am i really holding onto?

One of the more daunting tasks I face on a semi-regular basis is the sorting and clearing of Cowgirl's clutter. Make no mistake about it, this girl's a hoarder-in-training. She has gone through phases of saving bottle caps, the plastic packaging from her Hot Wheels cars, pictures from magazines or newspapers (yes, I created this habit - "Mom, we can put it in my art journal!" Of course little makes it into said journal) and now piles upon piles of cut out dragons, sharks, and monster truck drawings.








And I haven't even gotten to her room and the squirreled away plastic gee gaws masquerading as party favors and "rewards" for Caught Being Good. I find these items in boxes, baskets, in drawers and scattered throughout the many grottos of treasure in her closet. I curse you Oriental Trading Company and your cheap plastic junk!

I have no problems shedding these items - of course I must do my dirty work whilest the girl is at school. So far, she hasn't noticed anything missing. She must have some Squirrel-with-memory-loss as a totem.

No, for me the difficult task is shifting through old clothes and toys. Each little outfit seems to have one memory per stitch and I find myself tucking things back into boxes. I mean, clothes don't take up that much room, right? Toys are a bit easier probably because Cowgirl really didn't have that many toys when she was little. We seemed to have exercised some restraint which now that I think about it, was probably due to the fact that Cowgirl didn't express much interest in specific toys. So I was surprised by my reaction when it came time to part with this item:








This plastic Noah's ark was the very first toy I got for Cowgirl. I bought while we were waiting to receive our referral so I didn't even have a specific child in mind when I picked it out. I think it was the first time I had read online reviews and actively researched this toy deciding it would be the perfect toy for my child. Well, for the child who would become my child.

And there is the clue as to why this little Noah carries so much upon his tiny plastic shoulders: for while this toy does hold memories of early days with Cowgirl, she played with it sporadically and found it far more enjoyable as a target for the many sticky stickers mysteriously deemed appropriate for small children (yes, there were stickers on furniture, car seats, walls ...) than as an object to exercise her imagination.








Weeping as I washed each tiny elephant, leopard and zebra I realized my attachment to this object was due only in a small part to the memories it held about Cowgirl. No, the bulk of its meaning for me centers upon the dreams I held for myself and the kind of mother I hoped I would be and the relationship I would have with my girl. You know, dreams of abundant patience, attention and love; golden afternoons spent baking cookies (I don't bake), playing tea party with stuff animals, dancing, singing and in general just floating happily about my clean, cozy, love-soaked home with my happy child.

We do have wonderful times together painting, playing board games, drinking cocoa, snuggling at night and reading Harry Potter out loud with all the proper voices and accents. But the sense of myself as always confident, always generous and loving with the right words, the right advice and solution to any problem - no, that ghost up and left long ago. Yeah, I bought into the whole Buddha Mom ideal for myself and Noah and his ark full of peaceable animals reminds me of the hope-filled if not naive ideas I so ardently believed in.

Not that I understood all of that as I bravely pushed on, packing up the ark and each animal to send on to a dear friend whose little boy is the appropriate age to enjoy this toy. In the back of my mind I knew I could always change my mind even while waiting in line at the post office to ship it off. I even debated holding onto one pair of animals as a memento but my inability to choose one couple suggested I needed to send the whole lot off.

Once it was mailed off, I felt better. With its absence I came to understand what it really represented and somehow the act of letting it go has allowed me to face what it was I was holding on to but had not confronted. I recognize my ideals for myself as a mother are not going to magically manifest, but require awareness, effort and a willingness to keep trying. If I've learned nothing else from years of yoga practice it is this: there are our aspirations, our intentions and then there is the action of attempting again and again to bring who we are into alignment with who we want to become. And just like any balancing posture, we come into and then fall out of the pose. Perhaps holding it for just a split second which is all we need to have a taste for how such balance feels. But that is all we need to inspire us to try again. And again. And again. Hopefully each time staying in our center a little longer, until it is no longer a practice but a way of being.








And now Noah and his friends have found a new home and my friend's boy apparently loves playing with his new toy. Which means one day my friend will have to face the dilemma: does Noah stay? Or does he go now?

today (easter prep)

today I sit, coffee cup between my palms seeking some warmth on yet another cold, drizzly day.

(I don't mean to sound bitter, but everyone's images of Spring in full throttle are depressing me; I seem to have developed an unrequited love for the sun. I call my girlfriend up on the phone, she says "hello?" and I simply sigh. She always knows it is me.)

today I walked the dog and tried to imagine myself in Ireland, the soggy greens of Spring that deep, that moist ...

however, this stale cup of coffee is not refreshing me like a good cup of tea, luv.

today I long for a day outside of time luxurious space to dream, think, remember and then play.

today I must:
-take the dog to the vet's
-grocery shop
-buy eggs and dye
-jelly beans and peeps
-make a card for a baby shower







and god, cook another dinner.

(It is not the cooking I find overwhelming; it is determining what to cook, the weekly meal planning and trips to the store a stone I repeatedly roll up hill. It seems I've misplaced my gusto, the joie in my vivre.)


today I receive unexpected guests, memories descending upon me, snippets of songs clouded by time: Easter services, family dinners, pastel print dress and buster brown shoes, my godmother singing "Hey Jude" on the organ with a samba beat.






today I awoke longing for a respite, a mini-vacation if you will, not an escape, but a bubble of time suspended - allowing the emotional snow fall within my snowglobe to settle.

today I want to luxuriate in books and words - yours and mine
today I feel closer to my truth, fingertips brushing the velvety surface
my senses know what my mind can never grasp.

today I sit here and dream while one eye keeps tabs on the clock; my morning slipping away

Time
a cat stalking me through the high grass.

my list grows, preparations must get underway:
a bunny village to erect
details tidied
life, reorganized.

today I will remember this weekend is about hope, birth after death, rabbits and resurrection, creativity reanimating the world

another chance to align myself with my expanding heart, each beat, a mantra

i am i am i am ...

the seeds of my salvation reside within me; within the simple truth of goodness - mine and yours -

and innocence







seeing the world through wide eyes alert, open, receptive to magic and miracles and a heart willing to take it all in.

today I step gingerly over the wet dog, wrap a sweater about me and take in the wonder of robins fat from the bounty of worms

and await the return of the sun.

Dismantling old habits and the power of platform shoes

Habit is necessary; it is the habit of having habits, of turning a trail into a rut, that must be incessantly fought against if one is to remain alive. - Edith Wharton

I’ve been working with Surrender in my fearless painting practice. Surrendering to whatever comes up while I’m painting, which is usually those nasty gremlins trying to derail me. “You just messed things up!” they will taunt. And so I surrender to the fact that maybe I did make a mess. “Oh, you are painting a cutesy, dull painting.” Okay, that’s what I’m doing. It is interesting because each time I surrender to that moment’s reality, a new one manifests. The pretty picture quickly becomes one in danger of being screwed up; the ugly piece suddenly is precious and not be be messed with any more.

What I am discovering through a practice – or more accurately, devotion – of surrender in my painting is how I need to apply it to my whole life. I am noticing how resistance is my default setting. Dinner needs to be made and I am thinking about how I would rather be outside taking pictures rather than standing over the cutting board chopping veggies. I have to grocery shop and I drag myself there, thinking about the valuable writing time I am missing out on. I feel like a fish thrashing around in a net: caught and struggling against being where I am in that moment.

Yesterday I was walking the dog and it was a gloriously sunny day. After days of bitter wind chills, gray skies and snow showers, it was a welcome treat. Except I wasn’t paying attention; I was thinking about what I would do when I got home and whether we needed to do our full walk or if I could get away with the abbreviated version. Thankfully, I caught myself. I mean, the sun was warming my face, it felt good to move my body and feel the blood pumping (it is a cardio workout given the extra 50 pounds of winter clothing I am lugging around) and Moose’s tail was wagging away. It was a moment to lean into, not resist.

If Shine is my word for 2011, I am realizing Surrender is the path that will lead me there. I need to rewire my thinking to move beyond resistance. Because resistance is merely keeping the veils of fear, confusion and doubt in place. When I practice surrender and allow myself to experience what is before me - rather than focusing upon what I desire or what I am pulling away from - then I experience a fuller sense of myself and my world.

This brings me to another habit of mind I have been trying to dismantle. I’ve mentioned before the book Mindset which presents two models of thinking: a fixed mindset that views talents and abilities as static and set and our experiences as confirmation of that stasis; and a growth mindset that believes in the possibility of growth and development and responds to challenges as opportunities to develop one’s skills and from which to learn and expand.

As a parent, I am mindful of promoting a growth mindset to my daughter. We talk a lot about working hard, learning from our challenges and enjoying the process. Recently, I had a chance to walk my talk and I failed the pop quiz. Okay, so here is my shameful secret: remember my plea for support for a video I created as part of a contest to win money for a charity? Well, I wasn’t selected. Sure there were 196 entries for 40 prizes and yes, I had very short notice and went into it telling myself I didn’t stand much of a chance and what was important was my willingness to try.

But seriously, I wanted to win. I wanted to win not only for the prize money for my charity, but because winning would have been a confirmation of my creativity. It would have been the ultimate form of Authority granting me permission to call myself an artist. And let’s be clear: I put myself out there. I solicited support from my Creative Art Mamas, Muses and Mentors and I asked a lot of people to look at my work.

I felt like I was back in junior high school. Back when I was painfully aware of myself as outsider; previous friends had morphed into the Cool Girls and I was left by the roadside. I was desperate to be accepted by them, but I knew I shouldn't dare dream to be cool. It was my buffalo sandal moment. These were The Hip Shoes to wear when I was growing up (similar but different from the "Woody" platform sandals sold at Thom McAnn.) They were the shoes Linda Ronstadt wore with rainbow socks in a Rolling Stone Magazine spread and every girl had them. I convinced my mother to buy me a pair and then I too self-conscious to wear them. I think I feared teetering off the platform bases and falling in front of the cool girls but the reality is, I doubted my right to wear them, to lay claim to any part of that coolness. That was the ridicule I feared: the voices mocking me "You dare to believe you are something more? You are and always will be a geek!"

So yeah, I felt called out when I learned my video was not selected. I was stunned not to have at least made it to the second round of interviews. Of the videos I watched, I was certain mine was more compelling, more thoughtful, more emotionally inspiring. I figured I had a chance. So when I got the email “thank you for participating but unfortunately ... “ I wanted to tuck tail and hide. I retreated into the fixed mindset reaction of this being confirmation of my not-having-what-it-takes. I told no one for days and I carried within me the attitude “I’ll never do that again!” And I retreated into my wounded preteen shame.

But I caught myself. I recognized my habitual pattern of reacting and decided to consider things from a different perspective. First, I entered to prove to myself I could do it. While making the video, I returned again and again to the notion of staying true to myself, true to the whisperings of my heart. I tried to make what I wanted to make and not be swayed by doubt and notions of "ought to." I realize now I still held back. The angle of the contest was innovation and “a fresh start.” They wanted to know what new project you would create with the prize money and that is where I betrayed myself. I had an idea, but felt it was too raw to present just yet. I didn’t feel ready to share it. So I went with a fully baked idea – the current projects already in place by the charity – and believed my passion would carry me to success.

I had passion, but I lacked total trust in my original idea. Now I know. Now I see that next time I will put it all out there, playing my best game and surrendering myself to not having it all perfect. I will not hold back out of doubt or insecurity. I will certainly still question myself and my vision but I will try to surrender to the uncertainty of it all. The only certainty is playing it safe never allows for growth or for learning. Nor does it allow for pure joy.

my fearless painting which Cowgirl declared to be "A Swirl of Love"

I will wear those platform sandals AND the rainbow socks and kick up my heels in the pleasure finally participating fully in my life.

(and for those of you who somehow missed out on my pleading and cajoling, here is the video which I am very proud to have made. I am laughing now at the notion Ford Motor Company assumed any kind of cool status. They had their agenda, and I have mine.)