Reflections

Truisms…

Love heals all wounds…

Not really, though I might be willing to concede that caring causes most…

Denial – not just a river in Egypt…

Funny. Ha ha! But not. At least not when it really matters…

Truth speaks for itself…

Perhaps the biggest lie of All, because it means nothing, if no one can actually hear it.

***. ***. ***

And in the end, what does it really matter? We will do what we will do, regardless of love, awareness or truth. We will believe what we want to believe, regardless of what wisdom, experience or knowledge we possess. We will trust ourselves before all others, even when we know that we are wrong…

Why?

I have no real idea other than the fact that truisms stand by themselves. Static little moments in a dynamic, ever-changing reality. Anchors in a stormy sea of unrelenting tides and passions…

Hope springs eternal…

Though only in a world where time is irrelevant.

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Poetry, Reflections, Visions

“Say My Name…”

A voice whispers nearby, though I cannot see its source

it speaks my name…

And there is love in every syllable

embracing shadow, light and shame…

And suddenly I’m not alone anymore

on this journey I have chosen…

I am not judged, for triumph or failure,

only acknowledged for my wholeness…

And there is peace beyond measurement

in that act of remembrance…

rectification, validation and atonement…

in the silence that once spoke my name.

Out of sight, but never out of mind

just say my name, and I will come…

Love…

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Poetry

A Cloak of Peace…

Peace descends like a cloak

to embrace and comfort me,

offering soft boundaries and a sense of safety

to my shattered psyche…

No bliss accompanies this shift in being

but neither can the agony

of sheer existence

reach me…

I am Whole for a time

though it may be only for a moment

contained

and cocooned

in this illusion…

Stepping forth to embrace this day

and whatever it might bring

wishing for each of you

to feel such peace (and the healing it promises) today…

‚̧ ūüėÄ

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Conversations, Reflections, Visions

Home…

I was out of form and exploring the lack of boundaries I felt, enchanted by the possibilities taking shape. I had reached out to an’Other I know very well, seeking connection in this formless state. But she hadn’t answered my call or responded in any way, and I knew time had passed in my world. So I reached out once again, more determined now to discover why she was avoiding me…

I felt my hand solidify, just a bit, as it touched something real somewhere, so I fed a bit more attention to it, and grasped at the object I’d found. Pulling it toward me with a jerk and a wish, I prepared to ask questions of my missing friend…

But the hand that emerged was not hers at all. It was large, and tattooed, and tinted slightly blue. I glanced up, quite startled, as the body came through – a tattooed man I’d never met, who stood there grinning like a fool. Acting like he’d achieved something wondrous that day, leaving me disoriented, and shy, with this stranger I’d nabbed…

“Uhh… you’re not Lea,” I pointed out, to cover my shame.

“Ummm… no,” he responded, though his grin never faded.

“Do I know you?,” I asked, unsure of myself. “Or should I?”

“‘Should’ is a word I don’t like to use; it’s weighted heavily with expectations, and leads too often to excuses.”

“Which doesn’t answer my question at all,” I pointed out. “So, tell me, my friend, who are you? And why are you here?”

“You brought me here. Quite insistently, I might add,” he answered with a wink, lifting our still joined hands into my field of vision.

It was then that I realized I was nothing more than mist, with a hand solidly attached to his. And as we moved silently across a sandy land, I thought to look back to see where we’d been. His footsteps were clear in the sandy soil, but my path was marked by a series of puddles. Remembering suddenly I was water without form, I focused more strongly on the hand that I held.

As I did so, a body began to take shape around me – lithe and tall and blue as a lake…

“You’re not even human!,” I suddenly exclaimed, aware in that moment of the size of the moon. For night was falling in that unfamiliar place, and the moon was rising to take her natural space. But she was huge, and purplish blue, and the stars that surrounded and worshipped her were all new…

“Neither are you,” he whispered close to my ear, and suddenly I knew it was true…

“I am now,” I said sadly. “Or mostly, anyway. And I have been for a very long time…”

***

“Welcome home, Lost One,” he continued softly. “You have been missed.”

Glancing around at the barren landscape, I felt bewildered. “But what happened here?,” I asked. “I don’t remember any of this…”

And suddenly a great noise arose, directly in front of us, as a crowd of like others came running to join us…

“You found her!,” exclaimed an old woman, leaning heavily upon a small child, while others babbled in laughter and other joyous sounds…

“More like she found me,” he reacted honestly, as our contact was broken by the crowd embracing me…

I was loved here. Completely. And joyously. And freely. And tears of happiness flowed easily from me. My heart felt full for the first time in forever, and I let it burst free to enjoy this phenomenon.

And as tears fell from eyes that were never quite dry, I noticed the very landscape around me had shifted. For now things were growing in the desert of before, becoming lush forest in the non-time we wore. And when I looked back at our footprints once more, I saw flowers springing from puddles where I had stepped before…

Glancing back at the tattooed man, I noticed his smile again. Only this time I felt it within me as well… He took my hands in his, looked deep into me, and spoke gently to the deepest sense of my being…

“As I said, you’ve been missed… Welcome home, Le-hAn-Dre-Elise…”

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Reflections

Pushing Through…

Pushing through the pain, the frustrations, the trivial obstacles of everyday life. ¬†Not because I want to, necessarily, but because I feel I must. ¬†Yet I do not always identify with the one pushing anymore…

It’s almost as if I am living a dual existence today. ¬†There is a part of me going through the motions, because curling up and crying serves no purpose at all. ¬†Out there, I am in the thick of things, interacting (and sometimes connecting) with Others, and those brief encounters give the struggle some value or purpose…

But there is an’Other part of me standing still, rooted, watching, but not truly engaging. ¬†That part of me has roots intimately entangled with the trees and animals surrounding me. ¬†I feel the trees tightening their grip on me, wrapping tighter around me, as they settle into their winter sleep. ¬†I wonder if I should be afraid, knowing I will find it virtually impossible to escape? ¬†But I am not afraid. ¬†Instead I feel centered and grounded, strengthened and supported by the community we have created. ¬†I will stand witness over the coming months, while my “friends” heal and rejuvenate. ¬†And I’m quite ok with that…

The future is no longer some distant, vague, ephemeral goal, but a moment existing within and beside me, comingling with what I once called “past.” ¬†But Time itself has become irrelevant and meaningless, serving only as a tool for dissecting current thought. ¬†And, as such, failing to compel anything other than mild, vaguely tangible interest, as my consciousness reaches out to embrace single moments…

Pain…? ¬†Yes, there is a lot of that, though it hardly matters now.

Sorrow…? ¬†Yes, that fog envelopes me, though I choose not to succumb to its influence.

Hope…? ¬†Not so much, though there are instants and brilliant flashes caught in the periphery of my attention.

Patience…? ¬†Yes! ¬†Deeply grounded and totally lacking in urgency, though tiny frustrations frequently threaten the accompanying peace.

Love…? ¬†Yes! ¬†For family, friend and stranger, though I will not interefere with what they are personally struggling. ¬†I have learned boundaries, after all…

Pushing through… ¬†As though the river needs my strength, or the current needs my efforts to move inexorably toward its goal. ¬†How arrogant and humble have I become?

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Reflections

Fight, Flight or Surrender…? (Or a Whole New “Level” of Empathy?)

I’m sitting here this morning, experiencing… ¬†something. ¬†Knowing words (even my vast and deep aquaintance-ship with them) will fail to adequately capture, yet compelled to express what I can… ¬†Restless. ¬†Unable to sit still long enough to seek comfort in meditation or other focused activities. ¬†Too grounded in “what is” to escape, too flighty to “act” in any coherent or productive manner, too lost to feel secure, too beaten down to want to try, and yet…

And yet “I” still exist – empowered, connected, secure in my Self, certain of my ability to navigate and survive. ¬†Questioning, but not truly seeking answers, for the rhetorical seems to suffice. ¬†For behind the experience of everyday living is the echoing timbre, the consistent, measured heartbeat of single, simple words… ¬†What? ¬†Why? ¬†Where? ¬†Who? ¬†When? ¬†But not one of them sticks around long enough for a reply to form. ¬†It’s as if the answers themselves are pointless, and the questions a habit carried over from some other time…

I used to play a game at times like these (I started very young, my earliest memories of it around three years of age). ¬†I would sit quietly on the sidelines of life and watch others, then “make up” stories about their lives, based on what I “felt” when I looked at them. ¬†The stories took on more nuance and advanced plots as I aged, but the process was always the same. ¬†I would mostly never know if my “stories” reflected any truth about the people I observed, but the process itself helped me fine tune both my ability to identify and name feelings, and my understanding of people, relationships, and life in general. ¬†It also taught me a great deal about compassion, about putting myself in someone else’s shoes, about real “needs” versus stated “wants,” and about my self, as every such experience was tainted by my own expectations and desires…

Over the past few weeks, I have delved deeper into my emotional cauldron than I have in recent years; there has not been the option of skating across the surface of things, simply naming, ruminating, and letting go. ¬†I find myself immersed, drowning, yet easily able to breathe when the panic subsides. ¬†I have known a rage so real (my own, no less), that the “beast” within me quivers with the need to lash out and devour all within range – friend, foe and stranger indistinguishable in the red haze. ¬†I find myself commiserating with those who act out in seemingly senseless acts of violence, wishing that I, too, could find some relief that way. ¬†But I cannot separate myself enough from the victims of such acts to make such an outcry possible for me…

I have felt so completely defeated that I wished for nothing more than to curl up in a ball and cease to exist in this present time and place. ¬†But I cannot “give up” on my Self, or abandon those others with whom I have so deeply bonded (people, animals, and trees alike)…

So I walk through each day, head spinning, feet stumbling forward, simply trying to acknowledge each new wave or experience as it happens, reeling from the onslaught of sensory and emotional data. ¬†Shielding does not appeal to me, as dulling the experience does not nullify it or erase it; it merely minimizes its intellectual impact, driving my thoughts ever further from my feelings about life. ¬†Such distancing is not true detachment, after all, just a dilution of the poison that will allow me to “suffer” longer…

A few days ago my 17 month old granddaughter visited me in my dreams, just as we were both awakening. ¬†She stood there as her baby self (not the spirit self with whom I have so far interacted), and babbled baby talk at me. ¬†When I acknowledged her by name, and asked if she had come to visit Grandma Lisa, she smiled. ¬†I told her I loved her, and she giggled. ¬†And when I mentioned I needed to wake up, and waved good-bye to her, she waved back…

I found this encounter significant for a couple reasons. ¬†One, it was the first time she projected into my dreams, and she did so as her current, chosen form; that seemed huge to me, that she now has such a strongly developed sense of self. ¬†Two, it seems to take our bond to a whole new level. ¬†If she is expressing such an ability in dreamwalking, at this age, I can only feel excitement about where it might lead…

Yesterday I attended a kids Halloween party with my daughter and grandchildren. ¬†It was noisy, chaotic… frantic almost, as if the need to “celebrate” something, anything had long since overwhelmed the significance of form; it didn’t matter why we were all there, just that we were. ¬†My granddaughter appeared shell-shocked through most of it, her usual curiosity and fearlessness swamped by the immensity of the experience. ¬†I could relate, and yet I found myself eager to engage.

We wandered around, aimlessly, while my grandson played, and I found the “stories” seeking me, rather than the other way around. ¬†I saw smiles and laughter, intense enjoyment, plastered on faces beneath vacant eyes, as though the masks on everyday faces had long since lost touch with the reality of individual lives. ¬†I saw surprise, and glimpses of presence, when I reached out to acknowledge individual beings, complimenting costumes, praising performances, or thanking them for being there. ¬†That first moment of shock in those vacant eyes when they realized I was speaking to them was… I don’t know… ¬†heartwarming and heartbreaking, all at the same time…

There was a young boy who no doubt practiced for weeks to get on that stage and sing for a crowd that never even looked his way. ¬†He and his father walked away dejectedly from the stage. ¬†When I caught up to them to shake the boy’s hand, and tell him I thought his performance was amazing and to thank him for performing, neither he nor his father knew how to respond…

Then there was the man I was suspicious of. ¬†No reason, no overt acts that appeared irregular, inappropriate, or threatening, and still… ¬†I actually warned my daughter to be aware of him. ¬†I found myself stalking his presence through the crowd. ¬†I even had my daughter pose for a picture so I could capture his image in the background, just in case… ¬†In case of what? ¬†I have no idea. ¬†But my feelings were real. ¬†And whenever my eyes crossed paths with him, I felt this tension, this certainty that a breaking point was near, and that certainty triggered fear… ¬†More than once he locked eyes with me, and though I “felt” calm, nonjudgmental peace toward him, I could not deny the desperation that shone back at me. ¬†His eyes were not vacant, and he was clearly in pain…

A friend recently suggested that perhaps this is just the way things are now. ¬†The past is no longer an adequate map for navigating the present, because its rules no longer apply. ¬†The future can no longer guide us because our goals cannot align with the way things are developing; it is too unpredictable, unstable and unstoppable to shift. ¬†There is only now – fight or flight in each moment, and radical “surrender” to what is, forfeiting all hope of wants being met, and most cases of need…

But I cannot help but wonder if this is all just a reflection of a whole new level of empathy… ¬†Which would actually represent “progress” would it not?

Hmm…

 

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