sueeeus

Swimming in tears and music and love.  It all flows and swirls around me.  So many joyful thoughts and memories.  So much beautiful living we’ve experienced.  How blessed we are.

So let that wonder take you into space
And lay you under its loving embrace
Just feel the thunder as it warms your face
You can’t hold back

Just let your love flow like a mountain stream
And let your love grow with the smallest of dreams
And let your love show and you’ll know what I mean
It’s the season

Let your love fly like a bird on a wing
And let your love bind you to all living things
And let your love shine and you’ll know what I mean
That’s the reason

Sometimes it takes tragedy to remind us of love.

Reflecting on past moments of crisis, and  how I navigated through them, it seems that I kept on doing the thing that I was doing.  I went to work.  I think, maybe when the emotional stuff is beyond what I am able to process, I shift it behind a veil where I can keep an eye on it while continuing with life as usual.

So today I worked and dove into very focused and detailed tasks, to keep my mind fully contained.  It helped me today, but now it’s night, and now I am finally alone with my thoughts.  Now I can let tears fall down my face as I begin to wrangle all of me into concentrated loving attention that I can send out in waves to the people I love most in this world, my family.

I’m startled by every text notification ding.  I’m afraid to look and I’m desperately hopeful to look.  I’m similarly alarmed by the sound of the phone ringing.  I realize that I must hold my breath and not release it until I know who’s at the other end and why they’re contacting me, because I find myself exhaling when the determination has been made, and after that it’s difficult to catch my breath.  I can’t get enough air.

We all feel so helpless.  There is nothing we can do besides love and hope.

He wants to live!  He sure got a lemon of a vehicle, and figuring out its quirks has taken such toll, but he’s tried so hard to figure it out and give it what it needs.  He’s doing his part!  He’s done everything the doctors have told him to do.  He wants to live.  Or he wanted to, before this.  I don’t know if he wants to now, because this…  …this one’s ravaged him hard.  Is he in there, pounding his fists and shouting at us, hey, I’m right here, don’t worry, I’m just looking for that danged short so that I can fix the circuit and get this machine back online.   I hope.

There is so much love!  A steady stream of friends have come to the hospital to see him and wish him well and give their love.  He is a fine, fine person.

My family is aching.  The arms of my heart are wrapped around them, holding them tight.

I just recognized another interesting thing about emotional crisis.  Exhaustion.  Feeling like I’ve only barely begun to process the emotions, yet nearly overcome with exhaustion, to the extent that I feel that I could collapse or pass out.

I left, to save myself.

I didn’t stay, to protect them.

~*~*~*~

I read somewhere recently about human survival instinct, how a drowning man would pull you down to save himself.  It was a cautionary tale, not to advise against heroicism or altruism, but more to be aware of the tendency in some people to out-prioritize their own needs with others’ needs.  There can come a point where one is over-depleted and can no longer help others or themselves.  Don’t get to that point.  It could be a long journey back.

~*~*~*~

Right now, he is fighting for his life.  Maybe he’s not fighting.  Maybe he’s just in between right now.  He IS alive.  His heart is beating.  He hasn’t woken up.  Maybe it will be like a reboot, and things will just come back online soon.  That is my hope.

I keep waffling between my inner knowing and my outer doubting, through the certainty that he’s coming back, born again with important tales to tell of his time in between, in the allness, of being in the light and being the light.  He will be renewed and convicted and impassioned by the things he learned in his time away.  He will want to return, to share these important things with us!  And then the physically constrained thoughts surface, in the form of doubt and despair, that his physical body is overwhelmed, that he will decide he’s too tired to fight to come back.

Some of my siblings are assembling.  Those who can are on their way to be with him, in person.  I’m home.  I took the day off to be still and weave an entangled web of love through the ether joining with them, healing with them in the only way I know how to help right now.  I can’t go.  Not yet.  My physical self can’t be around them, where I will be faced with the outer doubting and crumble in the combined fear and sorrow and helplessness.  My internal self is with them, where I am strong, where I can draw from the energy of heaven, and build my strength, as I’m joined through the ether with them, weaving a golden web of light around us all.  Healing us.  Protecting us.  Nourishing us.  Warming us.  Strengthening us.  All of us.

~*~*~*~

So many of us, my siblings and I, seem out of phase with our physical selves, these vessels that contain us, like we are strangers in a strange land.  Foreigners.  These physical bodies seem so unfamiliar, like we just can’t seem to align our mental selves with our physical selves.  We are bewildered when we encounter health issues, surprised by their appearance, which is no surprise at all to those on the outside looking in.

~*~*~*~

An epiphany.  Wanting and needing so desperately to focus my thoughts and intents on him, this brother I barely know, finding my untamed thoughts constantly turning this into something about me, wrestling with the ensuing self-disgust, jolting my thoughts back.  What about them?  How terrified and shaken they must be, especially those closest in the lineup, those who grew up with him.  Recoiling at my self-absorptive ugliness forced me to think of them, to look at things through their eyes, and to have compassion for the turmoil of their shaken hearts in the face of this tragic uncertainty.  We have so many complex interrelationships with and amongst each other, some alliances, some factions, some solid, some fragile.  Through it all, we have a certain thread that bonds us all, something deep and internal.  How they need assurance and hope and comfort.  This I can do.  What they need, I can give.  This is where I am strong.  I tap into that thread and connect it to the mainline and let the love and healing flow.  We feel each other’s love, which isn’t constrained by time or space.  We are connected.  I send them strength, from the inside out.

~*~*~*~

I had to save myself, to help them.

Today my work partner of 33 years announced that he is retiring in three weeks.  I wonder what’s in store for the survivors.  I’m not that far behind him, because I’m targeting next July for myself, and I’m incredibly thankful that he chose to continue working with us as long as he has, but I’m trying not to panic over what’s in store for our project in the interim.  Or, more honestly, what’s in store for me.  We’re partners in a very narrow field, so I hope that doesn’t mean that I inherit his responsibilities.  I’m already drowning in my own, and I have a full plate just preparing for my own transition, because I don’t want to leave anything or anyone hanging.

I wonder what will happen with our project.  I’ve sort of thought of it as his magnum opus, but it hasn’t been realized to the vision intended, so I hope he can wrap up his career without a feeling of sadness for things not coming together as desired.  We certainly made heroic efforts and accomplishments, even so.

Maybe our Padawan will step up and surprise us.  He could do great.  Or maybe our project will morph into something completely different.

Whatever is in store, it’s nearly time to pass the baton.  It’s a difficult time.  It’s been an amazing ride, one way or another.  Somehow we managed to keep afloat five years beyond what seemed the last hurrah, the end of the last era.

It occurs to me that I am an emotional junkie.

Swimming in the music, flowing with the emotions of the music, channeling that artist’s emotions and the emotions of all the people who have been affected by the music, all that emotion flooding through me, washing through my everything.  I just sob and sob as tears stream down my face, and sometimes smile in the exquisiteness of this beautiful flow, no matter how painful. Breathing deep, deep, measured breaths, tears roll down. This heals me.

I do this again and again and again.  I can’t stop.  I don’t want to stop.  Feeling all the feels.

So I am an emotional junkie.

I’ve been trying to figure out when and where I got the notions for how a life should be lived.

For almost as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be a wife and mother. Certainly a mother, forever. I can always remember wanting to have children of my own. I don’t remember if the wife-and prefix always accompanied the -mother part.  Probably, because they went together.  People weren’t supposed to be mothers and not also wives.  That was a given, back then.  At some point, that particular notion solidified more, and my Plan A was to become a devoted housewife and stellar mom, and Plan B was to become a teacher, in case I needed another occupation, if a devoted husband didn’t come along.

In those bright eyed days, I knew that I could and would do a much better job at partnering and parenting than my parents did.  I was nice, after all.  I would be nice to my husband.  Therefore he would be nice to me.  We would be nice to each other.  We would like each other.  Anybody can get along if they’re kind. There would be children.  Of course there would be children!  Children are the most amazing things in the world!  They are fresh new people.  They like colors and sounds and shapes and feels.  They love to discover things, and there are new things to discover every day.  We would play.  We would laugh.  We would make things.  We would discover things.  We would learn things.  We would all like each other.  We would all be nice to each other.  We would all be comfortable with each other.  We would live happily together.  Happily ever after.

This is the part where the soundtrack cuts in and there’s a screech like the sound that a record needle makes as it’s dragged across an album abruptly.

I sure made a lot of grandiose assumptions back then.  I look at my boys and wonder what traumas I’m planting in them, in this revolution of the circle of life that we’re tumbling through right now.  That whole husband notion thing didn’t pan out very well.  Apparently there’s more needed than simple human kindness to keep a relationship afloat.  So far, I haven’t given them a childhood in which they get the benefit of a healthy father figure.  They get precious little interaction with their dad, and my heart breaks to think about what their hearts hope for, with him.  Because those are two more broken hearts to chalk up to the masses of children who grow up with parents who don’t know or care how to make their children feel loved.  As for the parade of men who have come and gone through their young lives, I only hope that they remember the fun times and that they never catch on that there was ever a competition in place, between them and those men, for my attention and affection.  As if there’s not enough for everyone.  Please.

I wonder how many men actually ever grow up.

The question that I think I’m trying to answer for myself is whether I truly want to be with someone, or if it’s a false notion.  I know that I need solitude, down time, quiet time, time to be in my head time, lost in my mind time, time to wash emotions through me time.  I think that maybe I don’t know how to be me around someone else, or maybe I don’t feel free to be me around someone else.  Or maybe I just  haven’t been with someone who really wanted to know me, what makes me tick and how I work.  I know that I  have been more lonely with someone than I’ve been when I’m alone.  Why this persistent yearning, this deep ache?  What is missing and why is it needed?

I think about the kinds of relationships that my kids will form when they’re older.  How will they treat others?  How will they be treated?  I haven’t been able to show them an example of a healthy adult couple.  I haven’t been able to give them the family life that I envisioned as a youth.

Instead of Plan A or Plan B, I’ve ended up following Plan C, in which I’ve spent a lifetime in a technical profession, devoted to my fellow working brothers and sisters, leery of the leadership.  Sort of parallels my childhood, now that I look at it this way.  I’ve given my work so much of me.  Sometimes I think I’ve given too much of me.

I think that I want to lead a simple life filled with simple pleasures like walks down country roads, smooth coffee, freshly baked bread, star gazing, cloud gazing, tree gazing.  Seems like nice things to do with the people you love.

I love how music and art carry fragments of the soul language that ties us all together.  I swim in it and my mind and body melt into the sound and we all become one, floating in the river of allness.  Emotions flow in and out and all around, and it’s a beautiful and healing immersion.

You ask me where did I fall — I’ll say I can’t tell you when.

But if my spirit is lost, how will I find what is near?  Don’t question, I’m not alone; Somehow I’ll find my way home.

My sun shall rise in the east, so shall my heart be at peace.  And if you’re asking me when, I’ll say it starts at the end.  You know your will to be free is matched with love, secretly.  And talk will alter your prayer.  Somehow you’ll find you are there!

Your friend is close by your side, and speaks in far ancient tongue.  A season’s wish will come true.  All seasons begin with you.  A world we all come from, one world –we melt into one!  Just hold my hand and we’re there!  Somehow we’re going somewhere!

–Jon & Vangelis

I sure love that song.  

I’ve been working on an inventory of words that describe aspects of my relationships, in order to help identify things. Needs. Boundaries. Expectations. That sort of thing. It started with a list of all the words that I could think of that could describe what I didn’t like about a particular relationship or even situation. While thinking of those, it brought to mind thoughts of what drew me into those particular relationships or situations, and a new list emerged. And as I was thinking of all of these things, a new set of words emerged. Words to describe what was missing.

The Bads and Uglies, in no particular order

unaffectionate, aloof, emotionally unavailable, arrogant, insecure, uncommunicative, irresponsible, undisciplined, exploitative, inexpressive, indecisive, sexist, incompetent, foolish, unintelligent, narrow-minded, critical, narcissist, pseudo-intellectual, fraud, liar, cheater, secretive, lazy, uncheerful, snarly, stubborn, brash, selfish, self-centered, impulsive, overbearing, self-absorbed, callous, insensitive, desperate, inconsiderate, competitive, judgmental, bigoted, religious, domineering, dis-compassionate, boring, uninteresting, uninspired, reckless, unmotivated, pessimistic, unambitious, cruel, abusive, abrasive, loud, controlling, drunk, dishonest, disorderly, impatient, codependent, contemptuous

The Goods, in no particular order

fun, smart, energetic, confident, enthusiastic, musical, creative, exotic, interesting, cultural, helpful, gourmet, playful, devoted, communicative, expressive, hard-working, strong, capable, sensual

The Missings, in no particular order

connection, competence, intimacy, affection, trust, laughter, joy, honesty, heart, spirit, empathy, kindness, grace, safety, intellect, compassion, openness, mirth, freedom

Something important that I discovered during this exercise is that for every bad and ugly on the list, I can recall instances in life where I have exhibited those attributes, attitudes, or behaviors. I am no saint, and I am human. All of these things help me to understand the importance of boundaries (which will hopefully help me to actually learn how to establish them), and of equal importance, the missing things to hold in focus as I continue to navigate through life.

I’ve been thinking about being born again, and what it’s like, in order to somehow describe it, and came to see it as a moment of complete surrender. A holy conviction. In that surrender of your heart, you open it and find yourself in a river of golden light, and at that moment you understand you are one with The Everything and that you, your heart, is safe. It is like a switch in your innermost awareness and consciousness. From that moment you know. You know that you know that you know that you know. You’ve literally seen the light, been in the light, been the light. You are transformed. Born again. You’ve been given your holy conviction. As I write these thoughts, I see an image like Tinkerbell or the Fairy Godmother, and a twinkling flash from the tip of her wand as the gift is bestowed.

We are given that spark in many different ways. To some, through meditation. To some, through music. To some, through nature. To some, through numbers. To some, though Jesus.

I wonder what happens in that moment. It’s like it’s an orgasm of the soul. Maybe our indigenous DMT is released. It doesn’t just happen though. It required the surrender, and some things had to happen in order to come to that place of surrender. Spiritual foreplay, if you will.

We wander along a path and encounter various things that leave impact somewhere deep within, and these impacts begin to collect and form and grow. They grow and grow and the pressure and tension mounts and you finally open the sphincter of your heart. It’s that moment when the light floods in. Limitless undying love which shines around you like a million suns. Sweet surrender.

It IS an orgasm of the soul. DMT must somehow be involved. It’s more than oxytocin and endorphins, as with physical orgasms.

I don’t want to reduce spiritual awakening to a matter of chemistry; it’s more an exploration of what happens and why. There are many intermingled layers of happenings, physical and non-physical, and who could possibly understand it all, or how could it even be understood? The fact remains that something does happen. A transformation takes place. You are changed.

For me, I call it a holy conviction. My holy conviction. I doubt that I could articulate what I believe; it’s more a knowing, and I can’t even articulate that. It’s real, though. My holy conviction is seared in my heart, shake-able, but unbreakable.