Mist

I stepped out the sliding doors into my tiny back yard early this morning. My garden was shrouded in mist. Immediately I was brought into the moment, into my body, into awareness. Last night, as I was driving home from work, mist was materializing, softening the strip malls and industrial sites into mysterious, ancient ruins.

What is it about mist that so captures us and reframes our perspective? Perhaps we are so accustomed to the landscape around us and to our place within it that we stop seeing it altogether. We don't notice that the magnolia tree has produced a rare, purple fall blossom. We don't notice the enormous oaks and maples in the park slowly losing their leaves. We don't notice the massive fall clouds gathering above us. We don't notice the familiar. And, even the changing seasons are familiar after awhile.

Mist changes everything. It moves in unexpectedly and creates ghosts and medieval scenes from the ordinary. My neighbor's house becomes a castle. My garden becomes a silken shroud. The trees become silent giants watching over us.

And, mist moves. It's never the same from one moment to the next. It makes the landscape come alive. Mist is a shape changer, a messenger from the Big Dude and the ancient gods. It says, "Take notice. Be awake. I am here."

I love the mist. I love the mist at the edge of the ocean, the mist rising endlessly over Kentucky's hills, the mist sweeping in from the Great Lakes. It softens the sharp edges of what we think is reality; it softens our own edges. It invites us to merge into the landscape, to join the gods, the progression of history, the ruins and the castles. It makes us mythic for a moment. It's a kind of grace, a second sight, isn't it? Roxie

The Power of Very Much

So, I've come to realize that the great spiritual writers aren't kidding when they say "love yourself." Did you ever wonder how the heck you do that? It seems to me if you're trying to love yourself or if the need to do that even arises within, then you might not have a true understanding of love. In short, maybe you've not FELT the love of another.

This was brought home to me last week when I was talking to my shrink. I realized that I was cynical about love and praise. "People who say they love me WANT something from me," I told her. She said, "How about your dad?" At that moment, I couldn't remember loving words or acts from him. "How about your son?" she asked. "He wants something; he needs me," I said bitterly. "How about when you had your heart attack and he slept next to you for five days in the hospital? He didn't have to do that," she said.

I couldn't open to the specifics she was talking about but I did open to the possibility that I was CLOSED to the gifts and words of others. This week, I began stopping everytime anyone said something positive to me. I put my hand over my heart whenever this happened and tried to savor it.

That night, a student who had taken me previously said to the other students in one of my classes, "I LOVE Anne." Pause. Take it in. I had dinner with a good friend and I shared what was going on. She reached over to take my hand. Pause. Take that in. This morning I was video chatting with my son and he said, "I love you. I love you VERY MUCH."

Tears. Pause. I'm taking it in.

The other side of self-love is still the attitude we have within. I was watching "Days of Our Lives" and the female doctor in rehab was talking with her therapist. Her therapist said to her, "I'm hearing your children say the've forgiven you and they love you. You're not hearing it though." It was a big "aha" for me and I decided in that moment that not only was I going to "hear" and take the positive words of others at face value, but I was going to pause each time I felt distress of any kind and ask myself, "What would feel loving to me right now?"

I knew that I had found a path to self-love. Forget about tallying up how many "good" acts vs how many less good acts I did in a given day. Forget about gratitude journals, twelve-step programs, making enough money, having a clean enough house, being a good enough mom or teacher. Forget about everything, I said to myself. I will focus on only one thing--love right now. What nurtures me and touches me and heals me RIGHT NOW?

I didn't realize how VERY MUCH was being given to me and how I was totally discounting it. You taught a great class today! Big deal. Anyone can do that! (Stop. Seriously? Anyone? Taking it in.) I'm so pissed off at my dog (Stop. What would nurture you in this moment? I'm not walking the dog--I'm walking my heart so I don't have another heart attack. Taking it in--this commitment is to myself).

Nobody HAS to say anything positive to us. Nobody HAS to take our hand or hug us. Nobody HAS to help us out when we're down. Nobody HAS to say you did something well or that they appreciate something. We don't HAVE to say those thing to our self. But, we CAN!! It's time for this Thomas-the-Doubter to notice and, for the moment, accept the love of others. It's also time to pause and love myself through positive self-talk (as they say) or reframing or just by stroking my own soft face.

Mom, I love you. I love you VERY MUCH. (Stop. Did he say "very much"? He didn't have to say that. Taking it in.) With praise to the Big Dude for this grace, Roxie.

Yes, and No, Hell No!

So, my mind is awhirl with a spiritual book I'm reading and the sound of Train singing on the Today Show. The line from "Save Me San Francisco" which titles this blog sums it up. Yes AND no, hell no! That's life, isn't it?

The book I'm reading is Spiritual Longing and although it IS making me think about the sorry state of my soul, it is also totally exhausting me. There's NO WAY I can live up to even one of the four principles he claims Jesus says are non-negotiable (I'm pretty sure Jesus doesn't talk like that!).

I don't remember all four of these buggers, but I do remember the last two: mellowness of spirit (don't worry; be happy--my translation) and the requirement that you actively belong to a church, preferably a Roman Catholic one. I know I don't have a mellow spirit--it's a tangled web of doubt, fear, and occasional laughter (usually ironic!). But, to my amazement, I know it when I see it (and when I occasionally experience it). My son's mentor is a woman of seventy with the most delighted heart I've ever encountered. Although she has a fierce and relentless intelligence, she has a lightness of being that touches me every time. Interestingly, she posts a lot of haiku type statements on Facebook and I read them and "like" them regularly. Even mediated by technology, her mellowness of soul comes through. Thank you, Mariah!

I remember the last "principle" because I hate it!! It's so old-school Catholic--yeah, we're tolerant of all faiths and catholic really means universal so we're ok. NOT!!! I don't mean Catholic people are not ok. I mean the reqirement that we all must join a church is not ok. And then, according to this guy, what we must DO in that church is overwhelming! Truthfully, the only element I seek for myself is mellowness of soul (making me immediately suspect in the author's scheme of things).

That said, the guy made me think! The entire time I was walking the dog yesterday, I was reflecting on what I see as imbalance in my spirituality. I DO need/want to meditate/pray/read more (hence, my reading of this book for a couple of hours yesterday!). I DO need to impose some kind of discipline on the ever-encroaching chaos of things (just look at my kitchen--time to clean up!). If I had a discipled structure to my life, I wouldn't have as much encroaching choas, right? That's what I'm thinking.

I decided to try to establish discipline around playing slots. In the boredom of my summer,I've been doing that more than usual. I said to myself: "Self, what if you held to a structure of going out one night a week to play slots?" That seems reasonable. Dateless, I like to go out on Friday or Saturday nights--have a glass of wine, eat dinner, and play slots for a few hours. What a good idea, right?

Well, as I pulled up to the casino a few hours later, I decided to start that plan once I'm back in the academic groove a few weeks from now (LOL). Oddly, the universe gave me several gifts that night at the casino. I walked in and went to my favorite game and there was a guy sitting there who looked familiar. I played for awhile and then gingerly I said, "Chris?" He looked at me and said, "Yeah. Are you . . .?"

"I'm Anne," I said back. We both started laughing. We had met at this same machine a couple of months ago and, although he's half my age, we hit it off and had such a good time that we exchanged names and work addresses. I felt really blessed to see Chris again as something about him touches my heart. We played and talked at a deeper level this time and when he left, he hugged me and said, "Same time next week?" Yes, hell yes!

I don't know but I'm thinking God or the universe or the Big Dude works in REALLY mysterious ways, defying the intellectual categories that Spiritual Longing and other books have tried to impose. Despite that, I'm grateful for the reflection this book annoyed me into!!! So, "Yes, and no, hell no!" Roxie

What's Your Relationship Status?

What's our relationship status when it comes to the Big Dude, God, or the universal power? If there were a divine Facebook and you put up your profile, would you list yourself as single, it's complicated, or in a relationship? I woke up at 5:30 this morning and it hit me: Of course, I'm in a relationship with the Big Dude!

Think about it. I live in the context of this relationship. Sometimes, I bask in oneness with the universe; sometimes I wonder if we have any connection at all. Sometimes I'm yelling at god; sometimes I'm begging for attention. Sometimes I fight him for the remote (if you think about it)! Doesn't this sound like relationships you know?

It's exactly like it. Not only that, it's the longest relationship I've had, possibly stretching over seveal lifetimes. I ignore it; I hate it; I miss it; I long for it. Sometimes, I forget that I have a partner--that's how familiar and intimate it is.

I really can't imagine my socio/cultural fabric without the concept of a diving being. Whether I'm feeling agnostic or atheistic, theistic, or pagan on a given day, the concept of God is fundamental to my identity.

Happening at 5:30 a.m., this "aha" was literally a wake-up moment. This god that I like to call my "big dude" lives in and around me. How do you think of/feel about your god? What do you call him/her/it? What's YOUR relationship status with the divine? Think about it and write something in the comments box. What you say might touch someone forever. Roxie

Finding the Center When the Edges Are Frayed

Life is such a rush! How do you find that still, quiet center amidst the onslaught of social media, TV, email, relationships, pets, messy kitchens, and gardens that must be maintained despite droughts.

I like that last metaphor. How do I maintain my spiritual garden when I don't feel like it (drought) or when I'm overwhelmed by the onslaughts of physical life? The Bible addresses this in the story of the person who built a home on sand (and other things). To apply that story to our inner garden, think about this.

If your garden has too much sand, the water you pour on it will run right through it and your plants won't be sustained. If your garden has too little sand, then the water will be maintained so much that plant roots will rot. So, you need to keep working on the soil in order to maintain a spiritual garden. Yes, you need to plant and fertilize and weed, but most of all you need to take a long-term view and consider the soil.

What IS spiritual soil? It's the inner gunk (the sacred shit)--the compost of life events, the soil you inherited (is it littered with rocks, clay, sandy, what?) in the spiritual practices you were taught, and the little bit of effort you put in everyday to enrich and stabilize the dirt. Every morning, I get up early and water my lawn and garden. Every night, I do the same. Every year, I add some fresh soil and nutrients. These are the daily and long-term efforts that create and sustain strong soil over time.

To sustain and create my spiritual soil, I should get up and meditate for a few moments; I should do the same at night. At least once a year, I should take stock of my spiritual status and see what the overall sacred shit needs. Maybe I need to go to a workshop or retreat. Maybe I need to read or study a spiritual work.

If I did that work regularly, it wouldn't take much. With a rich, well-balanced soil full of nutrients, the garden would maintain itself despite multiple onslaughts. In the spiritual world, if I maintain my center in little and regular ways, the times when frayed edges are eating away at me won't have as much effect. And so it is. Roxie

Our Fathers

Father is a word fraught with political and spiritual peril. For most of human history, patriarchal cultures idolized the term. We spoke of God the Father, Zeus (the father of all gods), forefathers, Father Time. Civil and human property passed through the father's line (with some exceptions in the Judaic tradition). Women were owned by their fathers and then their husbands. We, feminists of old, fought hard to contain the powers of the patriarchy. To a large extent, we were successful.

So, perhaps we need to move away from the word "father" and move towards Dad. Dad is an intimate term, generally a loving one. It means the man who raised me. It includes step-dads, today's absent dads, caretaker dads, and sometimes biological dads. While "father" is more of a political and spiritual concept, "dad" is a title we choose to bestow. How moving it is when a child calls this man who tosses him in the air and sometimes changes his diaper, da-da! How special it is when a son-in-law stops calling his father-in-law Mr. So and So and one day calls him "dad." Dad is an earned name, a name given by not just a family, but by each individual in the family.

Father is a concept. Dad is a choice. I remember when one of my sons was angry with his dad and spent three month refusing to call himself by his dad's surname. He wasn't rejecting the concept of father; he was temporarily rejecting his dad.

With that said, I had a good dad. He loved and nurtured me. He taught me survival skills and how to navigate the larger world. He also taught me to clean a kitchen and mow a lawn. He was the one who noticed my feelings and had the perfect words to comfort me. When I was in high school, I was taller than the boys and came home from a dance crying because no one danced with me. My dad listened and then put his hand on my knee. He said quietly, "I like my women tall." Another time, it was the first Christmas after my divorce. My children were with their dad. My dad called and, hearing the tears in my voice, said, "What's wrong?" I told him and he invited me to jump in the car and come home for Christmas. I told him that I was too upset. He paused and said, "Yes, you always were a bit of a wolf. Even as a little girl, you would go off by yourself and lick your wounds." That feedback helped me put my experience in a life-long context.

So, here's to Dads. I like to think that the divine spark is more dad than father. Roxie

Vessel of Clay

It's amazing to think that this human frame can serve as a chalice for the divine inspiration that transcends time as well as the numbness that fritters away our human days.

Case in point. Last weekend, I was at the northern Atlantic sitting on jagged rocks and watching powerful, rhythmic waves wash over them. At the edge of my consciousness were the foghorn from Portland headlight and the sounds of sea birds. Watching the ocean come and go, I felt in tune with the heartbeat of the universe. I felt serene bliss. God.

The next day I went to a casino and played slot machines. Divine inspiration and frittering numbness. Both within this vessel of clay we call human life.

The voice of our humanity speaks loudly, calling us to both extremes of our reality. That voice asks us to love the gambler and sloth in ourselves as much as we love the poet and the god. They are different faces of the same child. In loving all of ourselves and the tension between our extremes, we grow into our wisdom and maybe our divinity.

Roxie