We’re eating brunch: French toast and Sunday bacon. We’re running low on eggs and I just don’t want to keep running out to the store.
NY is supposed to be at our “peak” this week. There’s an uneasy, eerie, surreal feeling. Safe in our bubble, with our yard, and blooming daffodils. “All is well.” And yet, not far from here, tents line hospital parking lots to house the dead - like an episode of M.A.S.H. I’ve just messaged a friend to purchase some homemade cloth face masks, because there just aren’t enough. I’ve ordered industrial, roll-less, eco-toilet paper from Staples, because it’s all I could find. I was close to buying a bidet, instead, but I don’t live alone. And these folks insist on paper. Strange conversations at the table.
I’m wearing yoga pants, and I laugh - I’m a dress-your-best girl. I wear dresses in Spring and I haven’t been bothered to put on anything but soft pajama fabrics. Dress for what? There’s a strange sort of acceptance creeping in and around the house about what is happening - “out there.” In WWI, it was “over there.” And this isn’t a new thing - this feeling of dissociating. Distancing. Hovering above trauma - but we’ll all process through it later, that’s how trauma works.
In the age of gratitude and mantra and good vibes and the esoteric and Buddhism in the West, we’ve grown great at detaching from realities, as they happen, and probably for our own good. Stress is bad for our health, too. It does no good to worry over what I can’t control. But I can be present to it, acknowledge what is happening, without allowing it to cause me stress. Or so I’ve been taught.
But I let it in today.
This morning, after meditating, in my deep gaze and stillness, I wasn’t underwater or in outer space or OHMing in bliss or imagining future worlds - “show me” - I said. And then, I was in a hospital room.
With gowns and PPE and breathing machines and urgency and tubes and frustration and tears and desperation and so much skill and patience and “I’m tired. I’m tired. I’m so, so tired...” the crumpled and fatigued nurse practitioner said. Slow, tingling tears. But the dire need to compose herself, stand up, and keep doing her job.
And I consider my plight - low on eggs, should I risk a trip to Whole Foods?
And then, I feel hers, “I’m tired of all this death, I don’t know how to feel it anymore. What world is this? Please, help me get through one more day...please... please...” I see her in my mind and I shudder. Nothing about working in medicine is easy, it's a calling. But during times like these... it's above and beyond. Stressful, taxing, exhausting, unimaginable.
My problems are few and her struggle is great and could I be in her shoes? I don’t know.
And I decide that I’ll eat whatever is around the house to let my son and my Pop eat the good stuff, to avoid an extra trip out. It feels pathetic and silly, and like hardly anything in such a crisis, but it's something. And it gives me a moment's peace. I can get by on a variety of things, while my son and my father need the most nutritious foods. Because that’s what Moms do. (And because they're both so picky and stubborn.)
And I remember Mimi, my mother’s mother, the Italian side. I remember, suddenly, that she taught me this: at family dinners, after the table was set and everyone had eaten and everyone had their drinks refilled... only then, she’d sit and nibble on whatever was left. It’s something Italian ladies do, apparently, they feed you. And I'm not the best cook and I'm okay with that. I do other things. I have my own ways.
And truth be told, these are minor inconveniences that we’re suffering, in perspective. But they make huge impacts, just because of how we live our lives. What we’re accustomed to, what we rely on, day to day. We’re in new terrain...for us. But not for humanity, we’ve been through trouble before, historically.
And this is why I love history: one long, weaving tapestry of where we’ve been, who we’ve become, who we want to be, and where we’re going. And we’ll emerge better from this crisis, armed with more perspective and more wisdom, more courage, and more compassion. I believe that we will. We must.
I nibble on the last bits of soaked eggy-bread from my son’s plate, less than half a slice of bread’s worth. I sip my espresso with foamed almond milk and a dash of cinnamon (I'm really getting creative, these days.) And my heart feels heavy, yet expanded and cracking at the edges, even as it threatens to burst open. Again and again.
So. Sending Love... out there. And patience. And encouragement to keep going. And wishing I could do more or give more or that I had sewing skills or that I had a medical background and that I could help someone, somewhere. To alleviate the suffering. I cannot.
But I remind myself: I am a Mother. And my job is here, in this house, with these people, in this moment. And right here, right now, we’re okay. And the little bit I have that flows over, the little bits of extra love and compassion, rests here, for now. In these simple words and memories and perspectives. It’s what I have; it's what I've got.
May they be of use. To someone. Somewhere.
Mangia, per favore. Don’t forget to eat.
A good night's rest. A morning meditation. A deep-dive into the unconscious and simmering Now, that lingers around and below and between...
I was wrought with tension yesterday. I felt quite like a percolating coffee pot, the old-school kind that my Grandmother would plug into the wall...and when it was done, I could see the brownish liquid bubbled-up into the glass knob on top of the lid. I was bubbling with impatience, unseen layers of doubt and worry and that desperate need to control through the Fear. Dark. And I didn't know it as I was in it. And when I finally did, I cried it out. And I called upon some friends to help me get grounded and see it all better - and through the night and into this morning I've been coming down from my anxious headspace and back into my heart.
Urgent concern needs to be expressed, for sure, but sometimes I get stuck in the energy of it. I think a lot of us do. Which is why it's great to nudge each other and I'm grateful for that.
I found myself needing time, solitude, space, a few moments... away. From all the busyness that crept back into my life: schoolwork, work-at-home work, laundry and chores and dishes and household wrangling. Wanting to go deep into the space inside - free - where it's quiet, simple, slow, peaceful, lush and green and harmonious and pure. To reconnect with something sacred.
And so I have this challenge: to carve out some peaceful, self-care/self-love, meditative, unencumbered, relaxation and simplicity...in the midst of many obligations and needs and concerns.
Usually, on nice days, I go into my oasis: the yard. Simple. Green. Grass and cedar trees and singing birds and fresh turned Earth, and growing bulbs and all of Nature dancing into Spring. A few moments does wonders...it's better than a bubble bath for me. But it's raining and chilly. I'm still in my Beans. I don't want to go out into the rain, I want to stay cozy.
So, I flip on the espresso machine. I set my son up with breakfast, and I gaze...into the yard. Into the space, just beyond the glass. I rest my head against the white wooden moulding around the doorframe. And I keep breathing there. Fresh air in, worry out. Air in, worry out. Over and over. Gazing. The world is all just fine behind me - hot water splashes and drips over ground coffee beans. My son watches one of his educational geography shows on a tablet and eats his breakfast, quietly. And there, at the back door, a window into another world, I breathe. Totally present and a part of my world, and yet, untethered and adrift and falling into places deeper within. And I allow it. Deeper breath. The fierce grip loosens. Tension fades and quiet calm returns.
And a story, from within... deeper into the waves...
Water represents emotion and this is where I found myself. Swimming, out at sea, far below the world as it is. Soft, fluid, flexible, yielding, undulating, clean, pure, flowing, and gentle. Cleansing. Another world. And I was submerged into it.
An Orca Whale... she was majestic. Slow. Imposing. Graceful, yet powerful. Reminding me...that we are here, in the Pause. In the Threshold. All of us, kept still in the fabric of time, awaiting rebirth and change. She swallowed a bunch of krill - and I was able to see them swept in, way deep into her stomach...and most of them swept back out, by the same current. The belly of the whale. Darkness. Unknown. Waiting. The abyss. The Raw Unconscious space, before something new exists.
Orca says, "it's all within you to Create." And she swam with me. And as I envisioned things in this watery-world, just as quickly, they appeared - my creative mind a paintbrush - my own soul a compass.
And how quickly we could paint in harsh colors when in our Fear. And how quickly we can surrender our own power and gifts - in an effort to belong and blend in. When really, to Create is such a gift. And an Artist who succumbs to as-it-is-ness fails to Create and simply regurgitates. Follows the current, blindly. Casts doubt or apathy upon the canvas, instead of Love and beauty and possibility and promise. And how all of it is Sacred and to by-pass the present moment, skips over the lesson that waits beneath it. The dark, magical, chaotic, midst of Change. And there, below, glistening, the precious, shining gold at the bottom of the dark.
The Spark of Life.
There, at the bottom, sitting at the feet of thriving, growing, healthy coral beds. Schools of colorful fish and sea-life. Sparkling. A glimmer of Light.
And I scoop it back up, and I hold on to Orca's fin and we glide...back up top. And I tread water and return back into Now. And I look around, out at dry land, from our space in the ocean. I rest atop her back, my new Orca friend. And I see the kinder structures to come, laid like a transparent film, just behind the current ones. It's there. A world waiting, for us to step into. Built brick-by-brick for so long, alongside the current. And the Fear drops. And the Love returns. And I'm not alone. And Sun uncovers itself from behind clouds and seagulls soar and grasses grow and seeds take flight in the wind to be replanted, again. And Life regrows itself under our gaze. We are stewards, here.
We are in the womb of time, now. And we cannot see, physically, past the present moment.
But we can feel into it and envision it and empower it, in the present, with our art.
As dreamers do...
And the espresso machine spits hot air, and gadgets beep and sing and chime and little feet scurry close and ask for apple juice, please. Time to make a latte. And work.
And here we are again. But to see and remember and reconnect...so serenely. To be reminded.
Forward. Steady. With Love.
Every April for the past 3-4 years I devote my dreams, deep thoughts, and some creative work to Mother Earth - for Earth Day, Earth Month - which I feel should be honored all the time and not just in passing...
The other great thing about my new love for the garden and putting my hands into the earth...is the reminder, that she is our Mother. And working with her, knowing her rhythms, her responses, her preferences...is life-changing. How? Well, in honoring and showing reverence for Mother Earth, we are reminded about the feminine side of divine energy. And what came to me...out there in the soil...is how important that is. A mother nurtures, provides, loves, sustains, teaches, and heals us. And in return, she should be respected, cared for, tended to, valued, and appreciated. Do you see where I'm going with this? What does that say for how we treat our planet? Are we respecting our Mother, who has always sustained, fed, and nurtured us? And in the microcosm, are we respecting our women? Are we valuing, protecting, and caring for our women? And women...are we valuing and loving ourselves, setting healthy standards, are we celebrating our gifts, or hiding them? Are we respecting the feminine energy within all of us -- to nourish, nurture, emote, lift up, heal, inspire, and love each other?
"Let us dedicate this new era to mothers around the world, and also to the mother of all mothers -- Mother Earth. It is up to us to keep building bridges to bring the world closer together, and not destroy them to divide us further apart." - Suzy Kassem
This is why it always starts within. If we know who we are and value and cherish ourselves, as we are, and we are open, caring, generous, and nurturing with ourselves; we can then send that love out. To heal. Heal each other, lift each other up, empower each other, walk with each other...and maybe our dear old Mother Earth will get a spa day and some needed love.
The hard truth is...she will be fine. Our planet will do what it needs to do to heal, with or without us. But we need her: We must bring back the balance. Let's create a beautiful, nourished Earth. Where food is grown -- naturally, beautifully. Where each species, including humans, can co-exist in harmony. Where the power of God and Love is revered and honored, but religion doesn't divide and destroy us. Where the circle of life, the balance of all things, is respected, honored, and practiced. Not perfection, not utopia...but a healthy, sustainable balance. That's the best that any of us can ask for, and work toward. For ourselves, for our home. For tomorrow.
And oh... do I know the world is grappling with this virus, at present. It overshadows everything. And I feel all of it, but I let it through, it doesn't stay.
But I'm a writer. An observer. A pattern-noticer. A perspective person, a future thinker, a deep-feeler. Sensitive. I notice things, I pay attention to things. Subtle shifts, changes, details. Minutiae, to some. The pulse of Life on Earth, to me.
And when industry stops and the skies clear and the natural world breathes in a deep fresh breath, without pollutants... it's awe-inspiring to me. It's a gift. A sacred perspective, a flashback, to how it always, always ought to be. And the contrast that rises up...when we see what we've done.
In the micro - it's in our behavior when fear hits - national toilet paper shortage. <--- this is insanity. But really, it's greed, brought on by unchecked fear. Personal fear - will I get stuck in a quarantine? I'll need toilet paper. Big fear - can I trust that I'll get the information about this? I'm all alone on this, it's conspiracy, better prepare for doomsday. Or worse, simple greed - buy it all up and try to flip it. Let others suffer, so I can be rich.
And that's it. That's the worst of humanity, in a nutshell. It's all for me, and none for you, unless you buy it..from me. Even if you need it more than me; I bought it first, pay me. Greed. Personal gain, up and down and sideways. I'd want to be out of the way of that karma-boomerang.
But not all. No, also, is humanity rising up into its finest, most generous, most breathtaking magic. Giving, sharing, singing, loving, shining, caring deeply for others, for the greater good, for those who can't do for themselves. People..are mostly kind and compassionate. If we encourage it.
But zooming out, as I do...
The virus is real, down here on the ground, close-up. In our lives and homes and psyches. It's debilitating, it's scary, it's sad and mournful, it's tragic.
Perhaps, it's a physical, tangible manifestation of what we refuse to see and act upon, collectively. Our climate crisis is the wider and more pressing reality - and it's just as real and just as terrifying, and it's been swept under the rug like it doesn't matter, by too many influential people. For far too long.
I started writing in earnest about Gaia/Mother Earth years ago, after I woke up in cold, shivering sweat one night - absolutely nauseous, trembling, my heart palpitating, my mouth parched and dry, my lungs burning with dry heat... I woke from a dream - I stumbled on dry dirt, all desert, in a barren landscape, with no vegetation left, and very little clean water. No wildlife; maybe insects were left. The air was so toxic and hot that it hurt me, physically. And it felt like a warning of what was to come if we didn't get out of our own way. An image that's hasn't left me, since. (I'm in a serious mood, today.)
And I've been in Her service, ever since. Craziness? Maybe. I'm okay with that, it gives my life meaning and purpose and helps me do good and eat the right things (most of the time.) I'm in it for my son - for a clean, healthy, vibrant Earth for our children and their children's children.
We've known for decades that we over consume and over pollute and that we have to change. And we do nothing. Over and over and over again. We remain stagnant, like...a virus. And Nature protects itself, just as we do.
I just don't know what we're waiting for anymore. It's nonsensical, at this point. The technology is there, the science is there. It's nearly suicide, now - if we know that we'll lose our breathable air and drinkable water to our waste and pollution... and do nothing to change... well... it's a sad state of affairs. It's like injecting yourself with a vicious virus and waiting for the worst.
But is it hopeless?
We have guidelines, we have science, we have tests, we have precautions and safeguards. To stay home, to create distance, to rest, to take care of ourselves, to stay healthy. We can prepare for and try to manage our exposure. And our planet, our environment - we can plan, prepare, use guidelines, safeguards, and science... keep her healthy, let her rest, take care of her.
It seems like a no-brainer to me. Yet, we resist. Perhaps, when we fully learn to care for ourselves - stay out of harm's way, follow guidelines that protect us, trust science and data and facts - maybe we'll be ready to extend it to our world, as well.
This is a great training ground, a long game, and it looks like, here? In the states? We're running out of quarters. Fast. And it has to change. I think we've been dreaming the wrong dream for too long, and I think we should wake up now, and get on the ground, and do the right thing. With this virus and how it relates to our public health...and with our planet, which also concerns our public health.
“We have become great because of the lavish use of our resources. But the time has come to inquire seriously what will happen when our forests are gone, when the coal, the iron, the oil, and the gas are exhausted, when the soils have still further impoverished and washed into the streams, polluting the rivers, denuding the fields and obstructing navigation.”
“Defenders of the short-sighted men who in their greed and selfishness will, if permitted, rob our country of half its charm by their reckless extermination of all useful and beautiful wild things ... sometimes seek to champion them by saying the ‘the game belongs to the people.’ So it does; and not merely to the people now alive, but to the unborn people.
The ‘greatest good for the greatest number’ applies to the number within the womb of time, compared to which those now alive form but an insignificant fraction. Our duty to the whole, including the unborn generations, bids us restrain an unprincipled present-day minority from wasting the heritage of these unborn generations. The movement for the conservation of wild life and the larger movement for the conservation of all our natural resources are essentially democratic in spirit, purpose, and method.”
- Theodore Roosevelt
He knew then; it's been over 100 years.
And I'm mad, a little. About these patterns. About how selfish we can get in a crisis - protecting narrow, personal greed and convenience over the greater good and our collective health:
Can you see how this health crisis is showing us to ourselves, in black and white?
As above, so below. As within, so without.
I worry about it. A lot. We've got to take better care of each other, still.
On the flip-side, we gather with new technology, alone-together... singing, performing, speaking, giving sermons, offering prayer services, entertaining each other, lifting up spirits, creating hope and beauty and joy and lightness...even as we suffer and struggle. And I know we are also benevolent and kind and compassionate and loving creatures. We are lights...in darkness. We are rainbows in storms and fresh blooms in abandoned concrete.
We're all of it, at once, somehow. But we're going to need a bit more light than dark, going forward. A bit more kindness, than greed. A lot more Love than Fear.
And if energy is contagious, then let us Love...even more. And I just hope that we - that so many of us - notice, too. What our world feels like... when it's clean and healthy.
How interconnected it all is... you and me and everything else... from the noetic and arcane to the commonplace and basic.
But it begs the question....humans...
Who are we? What do we want? And what the hell are we waiting for?
I've learned to complete a number of tasks at home, for my job. Online ordering, social media communication, staying in contact with our public, stocking digital materials, watching some webinars to stay current, all sorts of things. We do our best.
I'm learning to stretch meals and not waste food and be very aware of what we're doing, eating, how we're staying hygienic, and all the rest. I get to stay at home, and stay safe, and avoid shopping centers - and order things online for home delivery.
We're adjusting well, all considered.
Some days are great, some days are beyond challenging, and I begin to doubt myself as a parent, I'll be honest. Today, he sat for an hour, writing as slowly as possible, writing his letters backwards, on purpose. Easily distracted, giggling, scribbling out his math problems. My patience gets thin, he picks it up and gets irritable, and it snowballs from there.
"I can't, I'm too tired..." he said. "This isn't how we do it in school..." Our kids are smart and they're sensitive and they pick up on the changes. On all the grown-up talk. On the anxiety in the air - they feel it too.
This isn't easy, and he's napping in a cool room now, as I type.
"Okay, you're allowed to be tired. But no toys or games or YouTube shows if you're tired, right? Just sleep..."
"Yes, I really am tired," he said.
So, he's napping. And he really was tired. Or at least overwhelmed and distracted and not-himself. And sometimes, I have to pull back from the frantic round of activity around here... to notice. To tune-in. If he's not seated and breezing along like usual, there's a reason. He's a great reader, ahead of the curve. He's a STEM kid, he loves science, he's a brain. He loves work, he often requests extra work.
I don't know how much he slept, really. But for a good fifteen minutes, he laid there, quietly, in the dark. He whispered to himself, he tossed and turned. He bundled up in the covers. And he reset himself.
I did the same, as I wrote out this little blog about our afternoon.
Most days, for the first two weeks, we followed a structure:
9 - 10 am (roughly) - Breakfast, potty break, wash hands, brush teeth
10 am - schoolwork assignments
11 am - snack break, dance party
11:30 am - reading
NOON - lunch and playing outside or a game inside, if it's yucky out (sometimes we even play in rain)
1 pm - schoolwork assignments or interactive science activity/cooking/gardening, etc...
2 pm - school's out, go play
5 pm - dinner
7 pm - bath, books, games
8 pm - bedtime
Now, this worked well at first, it was a dream, I felt like Supermom. And this week, it's become a fantasy. He doesn't want to go to sleep at night, he stays up, he knows that he's not going anywhere the next day. A lot of things contribute to it. It's not easy. And some days, it's easier to not do schoolwork, and just do other fun things. I let him watch educational videos, so Mommy can get some work done. Some days, I have to. And it's all okay. It's become more and more challenging for my son to focus independently, and that's okay, for now.
But I'm looking at why. What's different now, then in Weeks 1 and 2?
More tension, more changes, more pressures, more anxiety. All around. In the house, on the news. In all of us, mostly. Unease. And I forget how sensitive we all are: how we respond to energy and how contagious it all is. Yesterday, he had a virtual play-date and it was like a miracle how he lit up. CONNECTION. Friendship. Joy and laughter! Essential in turbulent times. Not only allowed, but highly encouraged. Just as we need to reach out and keep in touch with our friends and simpatico folks... so do our kids. My son was missing his very best friend so much - and was different after little Facetime session. We plan to do it more.
So, steady as she goes.
We're trying to re-focus and get back into a loose - but structured - routine. We work best when we feel good and rested and loved. So, each morning now...we have together-time. Just me and him. After breakfast, we snuggle up and talk - any fears, worries, questions? How did we sleep? Do you miss anyone, who should we call? We get all the niggling yucky stuff out...so it doesn't fester. We meditate (he learned this in school, from his first daycare and up...) steady easy breathing, in and out. We say the Pledge of Allegiance, just like in school. He does guide meditations with me, he's getting to be like a guru. (See Cosmic Kids yoga on YouTube, for an example. Simple kids yoga, imagery, imagination, relaxation. It's wonderful.) We...reset. Calm, focused, loved. Ready to do our best (we hope.)
I finish up this post, he emerges from his nap, plays in solitude for a bit...and we have lunch.
And he's alert and open and ready-ish to do his schoolwork - kind, warm, more receptive, and listening... for now.
So. Good luck out there. None of it is easy. But just a reminder that our littles need mental health breaks, too. And nothing is perfect. And no one knows what they're doing, we just do our best. We work hard, we take breaks, we love love love each other through it.
And love and acceptance are paramount - for kids of all ages.
Take care of yourselves. (And each other.)
Something funny happened last night. My little one was with his Dad, doing fun stuff with cousins, I presume. I had every opportunity to go out and be reckless, or even just...cozy and lush and jazzy with bourbon in hand. To go a-drinkin. Hangin' out. To mix and meet and mingle in loud and numbing, pulsating rooms. I could’ve. I had places in mind. Venues. Some money in the bank. I’ve done it so much, so many times. Free! And I’m not one of those who are introverted and shy about strolling into a restaurant, club, bar, venue alone and chatting up who’s there. I used to joke that: “after two drinks, we’re all best friends anyway!” Ay... :cheers:
And I do still enjoy a nice bourbon cocktail, or a glass of wine, or a cold beer, here and there, every few months or so with family and close friends. I'm not a big drinker by any means, it's never been a drink-to-get-drunk thing for me. And no judgment, always do you.
But I just hadn’t the desire last night. I wanted peace. I wanted easy and lazy and yoga pants. I had nothing to prove and had no interest in pretense or small talk or overpriced plates. And I wanted to wake up rested and ready and feeling good for another day off. So, I watched Gone with the Wind, had veggies and yogurt ranch dip, a few chocolate covered strawberries, one indulgent piece of tiramisu (so worth it), and later on did some blissful rocking-chanting-sageburning-beadholding-mantra singing-soulpartying for all the Peace and Love on Earth.
It’s been a while. I've had a lot going on.
I’d forgotten how good it felt to just connect, vibe, appreciate, hold space, stretch, lay flat in shavasana, and celebrate the very notion that we’re here. Now. On this beautiful rock, together, lighting it up with love, all over the world, as millions gathered and celebrated and chanted and rocked out and danced hard and held great hope for things to come. A consumer extravaganza? No question, but still.
Optimism can be a drug, too, and a healthy one. It just feels good to feel good, doesn't it? And how much more kind, open, and trusting are we... when we feel good? When we're gathering, when we're at ease?
If you’re sensitive to group meditations and infectious energy and how it all resonates and ripples outward and connects us all, you know NYE is very special in that regard. So many cities, in succession, around the world, celebrating life and opportunity. Together. Regardless of any other beliefs. And yes, there is sadness, loneliness, hardship all around as well. But also, so much hope, joy, wonder, gratitude, and peace. Unity. Uh, I live for it, when we all just vibe and get along. BLISSSSSS...
Oh, I do run on. I know.
This morning I slept in, woke up refreshed and rested. No hangovers or drama. Just pop out of bed and go. How nice? So, I went for a quick chilly hike, I felt great and wanted to move around. I drove up the Hudson and stopped at a favorite riverside park and walked around. I stopped at a local coffee spot there and got a mocha-something, guilt-free. Delish. And I drove home, my mind free to release things and consider things and let go of things and make room for more things. Creative ideas. Dinner ideas. Big, beautiful future ideas.
I got home, made a bite, and took out the vacuum and started cleaning up. And mid-vacuum, I had the best cry. Out of nowhere, like it finally had the room to pour out. You know when it just won't stay in anymore? Days and days of pent-up who knows what that didn't really bother you at the time, and it just picks these weird moments to squeeze out of you. And I forgot how great it feels to allow that. Those cleansing moments, letting it all go. The release. Life is full of moments that stress us, upset us, confuse us, gut-punch us, snicker at us. No big deal, but sometimes it lingers, festers. And hormones are a joy, too. And that release is so important. Stagnant emotions cause health problems, something I'd learned all too well.
And I only mention it to stress that... emotion is human. And healthy. And right. And so many of us stifle and silence our emotions in the pursuit of appearing perfect or all-together. Sometimes it's taught to us, from young. Suck it up, stop crying, get a hold of yourself. You're so dramatic. Oh my God, but you're SO normal though, really. You're supposed to feel. Feel all the things, feel them! And also, a reminder that emotions are full of charge and information...they teach us things. To feel so strongly and powerfully about something, or a circumstance, or a someone, is an indiction that they are important. Emotions move us closer, deeper, into ourselves and away from what isn't for us. Toward what's really true and really worthwhile. Emotions show us what we really care about. They have so much to say and they can help us create beautiful art, as well.
In the digital age of instant gratification and "don't catch feelings," and "stay up," and all the rest... I'm here to remind you that it's all so very okay and human to feel and have joy and sadness and long stretches of awkward reality to deal with. It's life. The clouds are lovely, but we've got to walk through the dirt, sometimes, too.
Always listen, when your heart starts to speak. In cries or screams or contented sighs or sweet, singing, intoxicated bliss. Listen in. To all of it. It all matters. The emotion exposes the true desire, the root, and then a plan becomes the solution, the map, to fulfilling that desire. And then, an action starts the journey toward it. The emotional outburst is the clue, the whisper, the inner-inclination that you've been ignoring for too long. So it got louder. That's what I think, anyway.
It's all on time. So, don't fear the feels, my friends. Observe them. They carry wisdom, from you...to you. You truest strength, and greatest contributions are built from your own inner wisdom. Even when it's just normal passing ups and downs, it doesn't have to be deep grief and soul-healing to be lesson-worthy.
Oh, and that peaceful moment when the stress leaves the body and you know... you've answered your own questions. You just had to give the space. All that's left... are the next steps. One foot, then another, then another, then another...
Happy New Year <3
Mother. Librarian. Storyteller.