Walking the Web January 29, 2012

fragile or strong?

Jeffrey is skiing with the kids today, which means that he took the car up to the mountain after he dropped me off at church (Point A).  I had plans to be picked up by a friend, driven to a three-woman hangout (Point B) with another friend, who would later drive me to my evening rehearsal downtown (Point C), after which I’d ask my director to drive me home (Point D).  Or call Jeffrey to pick me up.

Friend #1, my ride from point A to point B, fell through, leaving me stranded at church trying to figure out the rest of my plans for the day.  I scanned my options as folks walked out of the foyer… I know most of them well enough to expect that they’d be happy to give me a ride downtown, but I was hesitant to ask.  What was it?  Partially embarrassment… I want to be seen as a responsible adult who has my shit together enough to know how I’m getting from Point A to Point B.  Only irresponsible teenagers ask for rides at the last minute (my snarky mind says)…

At the same time, I have a deep commitment to INTERdependence, and I feel great joy when I walk the web of friends…tribe… community.  I think part of my reluctance comes from not wanting to make others uncomfortable, those people who I don’t yet know if they want to be part of my web.  But really, aren’t we all automatically part of the same web, whether we want it or not?  In some ways, asking for help is a form of activism, making the web apparent by stepping out onto it, demonstrating its ability to hold me.

It’s different than a tightrope, because when the strand of Friend #1 fell through, there was another strand nearby to step onto.  I asked Lea, a woman I know better than many others, if she’d drive me downtown, where I could drink tea for the 4 hours until my rehearsal.  As we drove away from church, I noticed my disappointment at spending the entire afternoon alone downtown.  She offered to drive me home, if I could find a ride to rehearsal later on.  An afternoon alone at home!  A gift, to a mom and stepmom of 3 kids!  So, I called a few people from the cast, and quickly found someone who was willing to get me (but again, the same anxiety about asking for help).

Lea had to stop at her house first to pack her car with stuff to take to her daughter at a nearby college, because dropping me off at home would be on her way out of town.  We worked together, and finished quickly.  She was just as appreciative for my help as I was for getting a ride home!  Walking the web together…

And now, I’m home, enjoying the peace and beauty of this cabin in the woods, ready for my ride to come get me in a bit.

Reflecting…  I felt SO FRUSTRATED this afternoon, to the point of tears welling up in my eyes!  Frustrated with my friend for bailing on me, with Jeffrey for taking the car away all day, with the layout of this town and the lack of extensive public transportation (especially on Sundays), and with myself for all my anxieties and hangups and insecurity.  It’s times like this when I really miss the commune, where everything is in walking distance, where I had 100 people supporting my life, where I could always find a close friend who I could ask to help me.  This crazy town life, living in a community of thousands, mostly people I don’t know…  Can I trust this web?  That’s the anxiety… wanting to believe in interdependence, and feeling afraid of walking out on the web only to have it fall away beneath my feet.  When I put it that way, I know it’s one of my jobs out here to walk the web, to show its strength, to live the example of an interdependent life.

And with that, my ride is here…

What 30 looks (and sounds) like! August 25, 2009

I failed to plan the 30th birthday party I had been hoping to throw for myself… lots of ideas, and not enough uumph to put them into action (it often happens like that with a baby around, it seems).  HOWEVER, the Universe stepped in and provided me with a kick-ass rite-of-passage into my Thirties.  I couldn't have planned a better one myself! 

Our second performance of Godspell was the evening of my birthday, and the show was going pretty well.  No one I knew was in the audience, and sometimes it's easier to relax and have fun when that's the case, because I'm not thinking about how/if they're enjoying the show.

The way that we performed the show, pretty much everyone had some solo singing.  I had one of the early songs in the first act, and I was always glad to get it over with because singing by myself historically terrifies me.  Throughout rehearsals for Godspell I had been proud of myself for singing fully, not hiding behind a soft, weak voice like I've been known to do.  I think I was more comfortable in this context because so many of us were/are amateurs… I didn't feel like I was out of my league or not up to par with other people in the cast.

On Saturday night, my song began as usual, but early in the song the CD we used as accompaniment started skipping.  And kept skipping as I tried to keep singing.

I had a moment of wondering if I should stop and let the sound guy re-start the CD, but instead I decided to just keep going.  The rest of the cast followed along as they joined in on harmony, and we sang the whole song a capella.

When we finished without a trainwreck, it felt wonderfully thrilling, the high that comes from doing what you're afraid to do.  As I drove home that night, I thought to myself, "Hell yeah — I'm 30, and I can keep singing when the music fails!" 

It's a ripe metaphor that I think is viscerally etched in the cells of my body, to hold as a reminder through this next stage of my life.

And if I ever forget, it's been preserved on video! 

More photos from the show can be seen here, as well.

Persistence July 31, 2009

I’ve been feeling the rewards of persistence lately — it’s a trait I think I embody well.  When I’m not coming from a clear place it manifests as stubbornness and control-freak tendencies, but lately I’ve been doing well at just sticking with what I believe in, holding on in rough waters, and just breathing when I don’t know what else to do.

And now I’m experiencing the beauty on the other side… the relief of experiencing what I believed was possible: the depth of connection with my husband, the utter joy of being a mama, the nourishment of social connections in town.

Tonight, I got to feel the reward of persistence in the context of my current theatrical pursuit: a community theater production of Godspell.  The process has been frustratingly slow and lonely.  Our rehearsals have been spaced so far apart that we forget what we’ve already blocked, and the cast is a group of people who all know everyone else but me… the outsider in all number of ways, it seems (socially, politically, spiritually, financially…)

We’ve been rehearsing twice a week since June, with multiple cast members absent each time for various vacations and other conflicts.  it’s felt scattered and incoherent — Godspell is such a nonsensical show anyways!  I think we’ve all been confused about the purpose of what we’re doing up till now… I’ve left rehearsals feeling lonely and unsure of how we’re going to pull it all together.  But with a show like this, there’s no choice but to keep going.  I made a commitment to the cast and the director when I joined the show, and I wouldn’t break it except in dire circumstances (I’ve only regretted not quitting a show once… a horrible production with a director who had no vision and tried to cover up that lack with sex humor).

Tonight at rehearsal, something clicked into place.  It was our first time ever having two rehearsals in a row, and our first week seeing each other more than twice.   We’re starting to know the songs and the dances well enough that we can really perform them, rather than be thinking about what comes next.  It lets us be in our bodies, fully in the physical experience of the moment — and being in the moment together is what deepens connections.  It was tangible, in our eye contact, in our joking with each other, in our comfort with physical contact (encouraging pats on the back, engaging more fully in partnered choreography…).  Maybe the change is just in me, and everyone else has been feeling this with other people all along, but I don’t think so.  It really feels like we’ve reached another level of group cohesiveness — what Edie Turner (a favorite professor in UVA’s Anthro Dept) would call communitas.  It’s that expansion of awareness beyond the self, to include awareness of the group as a whole.  It’s one of the key things I love about theater, this experience of collective intent and collective action, giving myself over to that.  I was worried we’d never get there with this show, and tonight I feel grateful for the familiar feeling filling my body and my heart.  This is what I live for…  and I’m reminded yet again that maybe the period of isolation and chaos and not knowing what comes next, maybe that is actually a necessary step in opening to a more fulfilling experience.  It seems a paraodx… and embracing paradox seems to be a major piece of being human.

Embracing Change April 18, 2009

We’re moving to town — today was really the tipping point, where the new house feels like it’s starting to be "home", while the old house releases that credential.  I guess it was the move of the big furniture, and taking a first pass at arranging it, that made the difference.  I’m still sleeping out at the old house, but Jeffrey and Ayden (his teenage son) are staying at the new house tonight, sleeping on couches.  I’m not ready to relinquish myself to the chaos of the new… I much prefer the chaos of what I know, even as it gets more chaotic in the dismantling process.  I know where to find the dishes here, and the dustpan.  I know the flow of this house, the angle at which to peek my head around the corner to check on Aurora when she walks out onto the back porch, how to balance the laundry basket on my hip to squeeze through the doorway, how to turn the shower knobs in the perfect combination of cold and hot…

I’m clinging to this place.  I’m noticing the things I love and grasping onto them, squeezing enjoyment out of them almost violently, and feeling reluctant to let go.

I have so many doubts about this move… it’s hard to wrap my mind around all the benefits when I’m mourning the loss of the garden, and the stars, and the trees, and the well water.  The persistent thought tonight has been about wanting to live in a way that’s deeply connected to natural cycles, aware of and dependent on the Earth.  I want this to be more a part of my life than it is now… will this move give me that at all?

Here’s what it gives me: A great stream running through our backyard — we don’t have any water immediately accessible at the old place.  Two fantastic parks within walking and biking distance.  Community gardening opportunities in abundance — gardening with other people, just like I’ve been yearning for as I worked alone for the past 2 years.  Walking places, and taking public transportation — getting away from driving!

Will there be places to swim in natural, unchlorinated bodies of water?

So many changes… and they’re because this life out here in the isolation of the countryside didn’t work for me.  We’re making this move largely at my request/demand, and maybe that’s why i’m feeling consumed with doubt right now.  Is it the "right" choice?

It’s change, and change is opportunity.

So little has been fulfilling for me over the past few years, I think I’m just finding it hard to let go of the things that have given me pleasure.  The fear is that nothing will take their place, and I’ll be left without anything to enjoy.  Jeez… what a dismal, fatalistic thought. I actually have a lot of excitement about moving… tonight I’m just mourning what I’m leaving behind, feeling afraid of change.

It all comes back to FAITH again… believing that we’ll survive and even flourish as we meet the unknown, instead of fearing that it’ll be our demise.  Stepping forward trusting that we’re in collaboration with the deeper flow of the Universe, instead of at its mercy.  I know the feeling, and as I feel myself on the edge of falling into fear, I can instead breathe into the center of faith, and feel the strength that stirs in me.  Just keep doing that… breathing… and step forward into the chance to create a better (healthy, meaningful, beautiful, playful, creative) life.

faithful love: an open letter to my partner March 26, 2009

hi you,

This morning I remembered being with you at Ethan and Veeka’s wedding, the combination of feeling strong and independent AND completely connected with you.  I remember how it felt in my body and my heart… the electric magic of the spiritual balance.  I remember coming together periodically to check in, needing nothing from each other except to hear wants and desires, and then figure out how they fit together.  We walked by the river that night, exploring the unknown city and each other in tandem — excited about being in the world together.

THIS is what I want to cultivate more in us.  It’s a different sort of balance now that our lives our intertwined with interdependence of money, children, home, car… it’s the work of marriage, I think, to keep finding the balance in ever-increasing interdependence.  Most couples get to do it gradually as the children grow up — but we leaped right in.  Sometimes I get stuck in resentment that it’s so hard, that our situation is so complex… and those are the times I get caught in despair and blame.  I want to remember that we’re both exceptionally strong, smart, and creative, and that we have all that we need to work with the complexity of our lives.

I see us exploring the world, exploring what it is to be US… from that strong balanced place of independent connectedness.  I know I’m more able to relax into my independence when I have total faith in the strength of our connection — and I imagine that you’re more able to relax into our connection when you feel strong in your independence.  I get clingy to reassure myself, and you withdraw to reassure yourself.  (That’s oversimplifying it, I know — but there seems to be a general truth to it, yes?)

I want to step more fully into my faith in our connection so that I can meet you from a place of strong independence.  It’s tricky with a baby — independence — because I AM dependent on you now in ways I wasn’t before we had a baby together.  Grrr… fucking nuclear family structure!  That’s a big part of our move to the city, I think… stepping more into "community" life, finding ways to get my needs met by a larger collective, not just you.

(Another piece of it that I just realized is that I have a fear that you are loving me less as you see more of who I am.  I’m not as bright and shining as I was 4 years ago.  I’m darker, sadder, more confused.  I get angry more easily, and I’m not treating you as lovingly as I used to.  My fear that you don’t love me as much increases my clingyness, decreasing my independence.)

So — FAITHFUL LOVE is the phrase I’m using to describe this balance that I’m seeking.  The FAITH is the lack of neediness, the trust that the other is going to meet me with their truth, and faith in the truth of love between all people, at the core — that faith keeps me centered in myself.  The LOVE, of course, is the connectedness, giving ourselves over to the experience of "us".  I want to give myself over to love AND be strong in myself — it’s the paradox of orgasm yet again… seeking without attachment, being active and surrendered… the same lessons again and again!  Ah, life.

Thanks for being with me on the journey.  I know I can be stubborn and heavy-headed sometimes.  Thanks for your compassionate patience and your insistent challenges.

see you in the forest of faithful love,

tickledspirit

December 20, 2008

Yesterday Jeffrey and I woke up stressed and anxious.  "What are we going to get the kids? We have no presents, and no money, and Solstice is tomorrow!"  We took turns calming each other down by listing the few presents we had acquired already, and the ideas we had for other gifts.  One day loomed before us — to drive an hour and a half away for a good deal on a ping pong table, to come up with better ideas for smaller presents, to see if last-minute online purchases actually got delivered, to get treats for stockings… not to mention attending a school play, making mashed potatoes for the class party, and wrapping all the gifts (whatever they might be).  We spent the early morning tense and frustrated with ourselves for not having it all together ahead of time.

At one point, I asked him, "What do we need to do to be less stressed about this?  Should we just move Solstice?  Celebrate on Sunday?  Or Christmas Eve?  Or really buckle down and do it today, just figure it out and go with it?"  We decided to go for it, to make the best of it and stop being stressed about what we hadn’t done beforehand.  We talked by phone every hour, bouncing ideas off of each other and me searching Craigslist while he drove around town.  And it worked!  This morning was full of suprises for the kids (including a ping pong ball wrapped in a big box… just enough of a clue to send them running to find the table in the back room, where we had forbidden them from entering all yesterday evening).  Best of all, Jeffrey and I worked as a team to make it happen, stepping out of blame and anger ("Why didn’t you think of that earlier?") and into acceptance of the reality we were dealing with… and dealing with it together.

Today I’m resting in the awareness that marriage and family are about persistence and patience, not perfection.  It matters less what our lives look like right now — instead, it’s the direction we’re headed in together.  This is my training ground for keeping faith, for stepping forward even when I feel lazy or scared, for breathing through challenges with the belief that deeper strength and connection lie on the other side.  These life partners (Jeffrey and all the kids) are the perfect motivation to push myself to be more loving, more patient, more understanding, more aware.  And then I’m more of who I want to be.

a new way December 1, 2008

A lot of my friends these days are focused on “old ways” of doing things, “primitive” skills like hunting and skinning their own meat, making fires without matches or lighters, wild food and medicine, living in wigwams… I’ve found myself attracted to a lot of this, especially collecting wild edible and medicinal plants.  I love being sustained by the earth, instead of by an exploitative system (exploitative of people and the planet).  “Primitive skills” also came into my world of childraising, through the book “The Continuum Concept”, a popular book about one woman’s observations of childraising practices of a South American indigenous tribe.  I read it while I was pregnant, on my self-imposed retreat in the Smoky Mountains last January.  Curled up in a cozy cabin outside of Gatlinburg with an ever-expanding belly, I earnestly read about the ways the Yequana Indians nurtured their children, who never yelled, cried, or peed on the floor.

The book is a convincing argument, and I’ve spent these first seven months of Rora’s life looking to the “old ways” for guidance in parenting my daughter.  I joined the “CC” email group, but the daily digests quickly piled up, as I’m spending less time in front of the computer than I have since the internet became widely available (my junior year of high school, for the record).  I’ve found alot of insight and useful perspective from asking myself, “what would the Yequana do?”, and a lot of frustration as well.  I don’t live in a tribe — nothing close to it.  We are at home, Rora and I, quite often by ourselves.  Our home is modern, with tables and electrical outlets and flush toilets.  I’ve found myself sometimes caught up in an anxious critique of my life, thinking “this isn’t how it’s SUPPOSED to be!” and “if we lived in a tribe, <current challenge> wouldn’t even be an issue!”

Jeffrey and I had a conversation today that went something like this:

me: I’ve been noticing that Rora likes it better when I’m doing things on her level, like when I fold clothes on the floor, better than when I do things up on counters and tables, like chop veggies in the kitchen.  If I were working around a fire pit, I’d always be on her level and she wouldn’t get frustrated!

him: A lot of tribes had fire pits built on mounds so they could work standing up.

me: No, they didn’t.

him: Yes, they did.

me: unh uh!

him: unh huh!

So the conversation about how we should design our lives hinges on an argument of what other people did in the past.  I woke up tonight with a shift in perspective — not sure where it came from, but it hit me hard, right in the center of my chest.  Now as I sit in front of the screen it seems simple, but here it is: instead of looking to the “old ways”, or to the newest child development literature, I want to look to my deepest self for the answers to the questions of how to raise my daughter.  I want to ask myself “what do I want to do?” instead of “what should I do?”.  My perspective is informed by that “old way” wisdom, and also by the things I learn about “cutting-edge” parenting techniques (which don’t actually seem so different)… but I look for answers within instead of from the outside. This will keep me working with what is, the raw material of our lives, instead of longing for what isn’t, some ideal I’m trying to hold myself to.  I want to be constantly asking myself “what resonates with my spirit?”, having faith in the answers that come, and in my ability to live by them.

letting death come October 31, 2008

I started working on my first few doula training assignments after Rora went to sleep last night (and after I woke up 2 hours later, after falling asleep nursing her).

One of the first assignments was to write about an experience of someone dying, and look for similarities with the process of birth.  After writing until 2am, I realized that it’s Halloween today!  What a treat, to be exploring death on the day we honor the spirits that have crossed over!

Here’s what I wrote:

I was able to be with my maternal Grandma in the last two days of her life, through her death, and afterwards with my family as we processed the experience.  Being with her as she transitioned out of her body brought me to a deeper awareness of that sacred time between the spirit world and the physical world – and in fact, taught me tangibly that there isn’t such a clear distinction!

She was in a bed provided by hospice, set up in the living room of my aunt’s house.  We tried to make that space quiet and focused, but too often we became chatty and irreverent – and she clearly let us know that it was “TOO MUCH!”.  She didn’t like people casually talking or moving too quickly.  She wanted things done to her slowly, ever slower.  She wanted water, right up to her last hours, after she had refused food and medicine for days.  She wanted sunshine, and fresh air in the room.  Over the last two days, she wanted less and less restricting her body – first the pillows around her had to be a certain way, then no blankets covering her legs, then her shirt needed to be unbuttoned, then it came off altogether.  The oxygen tube around her neck was a constant irritation, and we finally removed it so she could be more comfortable.  She was adamant that she didn’t want anything to prolong her death – “Why is it taking so LONG?”

She often seemed frustrated when we didn’t understand what she was talking about, when she spoke out in the midst of a trance/sleep state.  She was experiencing something that none of the rest of us were experiencing, and we could often only guess at what she meant.  When we “got it”, she was clearly relieved and grateful.  She liked to be sung to, and gently touched.  She didn’t want to be alone.  She wanted to make sure she wasn’t being a burden to any of us, and at the same time, she clearly asked for what she wanted and needed.  “I might never taste carrot juice again if I don’t get some now!” Her social inhibitions mostly evaporated, making clear requests without politeness.  “I’m being myself for the first time.”

The day she died, the energetic shift in the hours beforehand was tangible to all of us on some level, though I don’t know how consciously.  We didn’t know she was going to die that day, but we all made significant changes that, looking back, indicated some awareness that everything was changing.  We spoke more softly, moved cellphones out of the room, and cleared the bedside clutter that had accumulated, replacing it with a few photographs and flowers.  We hung a blue curtain in the window, to soften the light.  Two of my aunts spent the day finding peace with each other, and were honoring each other over my grandma’s body when she took her last breath.

In the moments immediately after her heart stopped beating, we gathered in the room and celebrated her transition.  One aunt yelled “Hallelujah!” in a loving mimic of my faith-filled grandma.  I felt her spirit throughout the room, filling the space in a slow expansion.  I felt her on my body, in my body, and growing to encompass and permeate the whole house, then the city and the mountains and the globe and the stars and eventually the Whole Universe.  As I felt her spirit, I felt a taste of that Wholeness, an awareness that the only difference between the physical world and the spirit world is a perceived experience of the limitations of space and time.

I see clear parallels between death and birth after being with Grandma through her journey: the absolute need for sacred space, the slowing of time, the need for us to let her do and be and say whatever she needed and wanted to.  We were there to serve her, to honor her, and to witness her journey.  We responded to her requests and tried to intuit what she might want, but never forced her to do something that we thought she should do.  I guess the big difference between birth and death is that once you know someone is dying, there’s no need to fear death, or work to prevent it.  With birth, there remains the possibility (and thus the fear?) that the mother or baby could die, so we walk the balance between pursuing life and accepting death… while with someone ready to die, it’s just about surrender.

But then again, maybe birth is a different kind of surrender — surrendering to life.

Fund SWAP, continued October 12, 2008

If you’re here to donate to the Doula Training fund, you can scroll down to Saturday’s post for the “Donate” button.  Or read on, anyways!

This experiment in voluntary resource-sharing is exciting to me.  In some ways it feels like Indiana Jones stepping out onto the invisible bridge (which movie was that? The Last Crusade?)… I *believe* that people want to support each other in pursuing their passions, the things that make them come alive.  I’d even be willing to say that I believe it’s part of “human nature” to want to support each other.  The “invisible” part of this bridge is that there aren’t many practical, established practices to do this.  Beyond Christmas and birthdays, American culture doesn’t encourage “gifting”… quite the opposite, in fact!  “Pull yourself up by your bootstraps!”

And asking for help is discouraged, a sign of weakness.  After sending out the request for donations on Friday night, I had moments of doubt and insecurity.  “Am I being greedy?”  “Am I being lazy?”  I settled on a decided “NO”.  I’m stepping out onto the web of connectedness to show that it is strong, ready to support people who need it — and not just in moments of crisis, but also in moments of opportunity.  And the moments in between, too, the mundane moments when a hug or a smile just feels good.

Life update… March 31, 2008

Thanks to Howard for the nudge of encouragement to write again! Here’s the latest update:

My “by the calendar” due date is April 29th, and my belly is growing bigger each day. Rounder and rounder… though my belly button has yet to pop out. I’ve been feeling sad about loosing my beloved innie, but I just realized a few days ago that I’m going to get to see a part of my body that I’ve NEVER seen before — the inside of my navel! What a treat!

Early in my pregnancy I bought a ring from an antique store (the same place Free and I found our wedding rings). I couldn’t choose between two rings: one had a vine with leaves on it, and I thought about it as a celebration of life and growth. The other one had a black onyx sphere in the center, round, like I knew my belly would become! I ended up buying both of them, thinking that maybe Free would wear one and I’d wear the other. I ended up choosing to wear the black onyx, because it was the one that I felt some resistance to, some fear. I wore it everyday, not really knowing the significance, but trusting it was there. One day (a few months ago) I asked myself about it while writing in my journal. “What’s the significance of the ring?” The answer came flowing through me clearly: it’s about embracing the unknown, the Great Mystery, limitless possibility. The stark blackness can be scary, and it can also be rich and alive. I still wear it everyday — my plan is to wear it until the baby comes, and then ??? Eventually I’ll give it to the child, as part of a rite of passage. Maybe I’ll wear it all through its childhood? I don’t really know. I still have the other ring sitting on my altar, waiting for its purpose.

I don’t have much of a specific sense of the baby… whenever I direct my focus to the being inside me, I just get a sense of its total wisdom, its connection to ultimate Oneness, and an energy of a trickster hiding from me, only showing a Cheshire cat smile in the darkness of the unknown.

In another (related) area of my life, I recently decided not to complete my Master’s Degree. I journaled about this for several days before letting myself admit that I really don’t WANT a Master’s Degree. I don’t want that mark of “superior knowledge” or “being worth more” to an employer. I don’t want to receive recognition from a system I don’t believe in. And beyond the degree itself, I don’t care about the research and writing papers that no one will ever read but one professor, and then perhaps a few more academics if I actually get published. I want to do meaningful, tangible work. I want to teach, but in innovative, experiential ways — not in a college classroom. The choice not to continue is freeing, a burden lifted. But I still haven’t told my parents…

So now I’m teaching part time at the alternative high school in town, Math and World History (Revolutions around the world!). This week is the last week I’ll be there until next fall. I’m also working diligently in our garden, planting seeds that will help feed the family this summer, and hopefully — with abundance of harvest and energy for canning — into the fall and winter. THIS is the work I want to be doing, pursuing alternatives to participating in the capitalist market, working hard to live in a way that makes sense. I still deeply believe it’s not sustainable unless done collectively — so we’re seeking community, both informal local networks and a more long-term group to share land and labor with.

That’s the news on the homefront! So much more, as well, perhaps for other posts…