a quiet hello

Posted by | January 11, 2012 | Leave a Comment

The Pause–
it’s on the corner of Now and Notice,
where that old dive, Reaction,
used to be.

Happy hour every day!
Come in any attire,
all moods welcome.

Also? Hottest bartender ever
—ahem!—
Presence is his name.

Be sure to try their signature drink
Patience, I think it’s called—
not sure of the secret ingredient,
but from what I can tell
it’s got some muddled Time,
macerated in oak barrel-aged Joy.
Seriously? Best drink ever.
(And don’t worry about getting drunk
on it, even the hangover is great!)

The Pause, meet me there?

~ * ~

The hoopla and flash of December have passed… the days are short, the nights are long, and the trees are bare.

Ahh, January, hello there. And hello you, curious reader. How are you and 2012 getting on?

I remember a phone conversation with my youngest brother around this time several years ago… Summer girl that I am, I was probably complaining about
winter. Danny, on the other hand, loves winter and I just had to know why.

“The trees are bare,” he said, “and I can see so much more when the trees are bare.”

Interesting, isn’t it?

Danny is right. Bare-branch days give us wide angle lenses, perfect for seeing the bigger picture.

When I take a moment to pause and get a sense of 2012 and what it might want for me, I feel it a-buzz with energy. It’s not the hyper and static-y buzz of television, but a kind of glowing warm hum…

I listen more… Yes, 2012 wants me to fall in love with life. Oh wait, it’s got more… it says you can’t love things you don’t notice, and that you are much more likely to notice things when you pause.

Ahh, to pause. It’s the easiest and the hardest thing to do. And it’s my aspiration for 2012.

And you? Have you checked in with 2012 to find out what it might want for you? Give it a try. Often we think we need to make things happen… making things happen is tiring and usually involves a lot of things we think we should do but in our heart of hearts aren’t fully on board about.

What happens when you get quiet for a moment, look through the bare trees, and ask your life what it wants for you?

If it’d help you to write it out loud and tell us what it says, you can add a comment below, or drop me a line. I’m here, and I’d love to hear.

Also? My office is open and my massage table warmer is on. Mmmm… Here are my hours this week:

Thursday 11 a.m. – 8 p.m.
Friday 9 a.m. – 8 p.m.
Saturday 8:30 a.m. – 1 p.m.

(And yes, there are openings!)

Listening and curious about what’s in store, and looking forward to seeing you soon…

Heidi

Categories: Noticing, Self-care | Tagged: , | Leave a Comment

Wherein you shimmy for my guests while I get out of this trance. [mwah!] I owe you.

Posted by | July 26, 2011 | 1 Comment

These two guys appeared on my doorstep this morning. They won’t tell me their names so for the moment I am calling them by what’s printed on their T-shirts:

“Is this all there is?” and “What’s the point?”

Ever since they arrived, I’ve had a queasy knot in my belly and my chest is all a-rumble. When I stop distracting myself with things to put in my mouth, links to click, sites to check, worries to fondle, I feel scared. I’m afraid they’re right.

Now you might be saying that I should just throw them out. And I appreciate your idea. Except that it doesn’t really work. Not really.

I know how trying to ignore or get rid of things I don’t like inside myself goes. I did it for many years and it just makes things change clothes and come back in another form. I can totally see these T-shirt guys coming back in drag. Or taking hold of my body and becoming a pain in my neck. Or butt. Things I try to ignore or banish can totally put my back out. Ow! And let’s not forget how they can make me anxious, and how anxious can grind everything to a halt. Including sleep.

Um, no thanks.

It’s just that I need help. I can’t do it alone. So, I was wondering… um, how to say…

Hi!

You: “You talking to me?” [turning around to see if someone's behind you.]

Yes, you! You’re my smart and courageous reader. Please?

You: “I want you to be OK. It’s just, I don’t know what to do, really… ”

OK. Here’s the thing. I don’t want to be alone. I’m scared. But with you? Different story. Then I’m not alone. You and me is two, and there might be others. Plus, I’ve seen your dance moves and your air guitar… You could totally entertain them, I just know. All you have to do is keep them occupied while I remember who I am. And I’ll totally return the favor. One day I’ll do my best moves for you when you need me.

You: “OK. I’ll try. I want you to be OK.”

Oh wow! Thanks man. Now excuse me while I find my curiosity superpowers… I know I left them here somewhere… Oh, it’s been too long… Ah, there! Good.

—–

Donning my curiosity cape, I re-enter the scene. I can move around freely and see everything. Including you! Oh my, you have totally been practicing your shimmies, haven’t you. My friend, you are amazing. If I didn’t have things to do, I’d totally join you. Maybe later. But now, I’m investigating.

Since they haven’t talked to me, I’ll start with what’s on their shirts. The words look like questions. Except they’re not. Because they contain no curiosity. A true question is curious, open minded and willing to listen, to hear. A true question is wonder-y.

My thought-guys’ questions are very thinly veiled conclusions about me and my life. And the implications of their non-questions really scare me when I believe them. Which I am. I’m TOTALLY believing them. Which can only mean:

I’ve. Gone into. TRANCE!

No wonder! OK. I’ve noticed. Whew! Noticing is crucial. It’s at least, oh, 99%.

Once I notice I’m in trance, then I can send the part of me that noticed, the part NOT in trance (even if it’s just the eensiest bit of me right now) to pull out my sheet of trance procedures trance magics. That’s the other 99%! (Yep.)

ONE. Call yourself only by the sweetest, kindest of names. Sweetheart is good. My love works wonders. Darling drumstick makes you smile. Sweet pea reminds you of people you love.

TWO. Under no circumstances believe any thought crossing your mind while in trance. Don’t try to stop the thoughts. Don’t fight them. But also, don’t believe them. Trust me. Don’t.

Things to do instead of believing thoughts while in trance: You can notice them, you can play Byron Katie with them, you can Veronica Mars them, you can put them in a jar, you can make daisy chains out of them, you can chew on them and blow thought bubbles with them, you can juggle them, you can make soup with them, you can build a tower out of them and lean against it while you eat lunch. But whatever you do: Do NOT Believe Them.

OK, good. Onward:

THREE. Write. Write. Write.

“But I suck. And I have nothing to write about,” says a tranced out voice.

To which I must refer you back to thing ONE and TWO. Also, I’d like to point out that “You Suck” is not a name you like.

FOUR. Get fresh air. Get movement. Find water. Take a shower. Take a bath. Take a lake. Dance. Watch the kids run through the sprinkler at the park. Take pictures of trees. Eat meals. Drink water. Mind your body. Remember animal-you. Remember Mary Oliver: “Let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.” Which reminds me, you love poetry, so… Read it.

FIVE. Visit The Pause. (Dude! The Pause just opened a page a bar on Facebook. Go! Hang out!)

SIX. Do not, under any circumstance, try to make decisions while in trance.

SEVEN. Call a meeting of your Inner Council.

EIGHT. Listen to a Tara Brach podcast.

NINE. With your Inner Council or with Presence at The Pause, consider this: If you weren’t believing those 2 thought-doozies, what would you be feeling? And then do THREE. Or FOUR. Or EIGHT. In any order.

Rinse and repeat. Until the trance lifts.

———–

Oh my. Thank you so much! You saved my butt. Yes, you! I’m going to be pondering the question in NINE… maybe I’ll write about it here, maybe not. But thank you!

Hey, will you teach me that move? The one that had my beefy thought-guys laughing so hard they were crying?

Until next time, maybe I’ll see you at The Pause. In case you forgot, it’s on the corner of Now and Notice, where that old dive Reaction used to be. Presence tends bar. Shots of compassion on me today.

Categories: Getting curious, Mood detective, Self-care | Tagged: | 1 Comment

I am Veronica Mars. On the case of the bottomless well.

Posted by | July 10, 2011 | 3 Comments

I’ve been falling asleep, waking up and spending my days on a lake in a wee cottage north of Boston with Jennie, a German Shepherd. Not just any German Shepherd. Not just any cottage… H’s Jennie, H’s cottage…

“H?” you ask.

Yes H. H of the Love is Not a Victory March post. I didn’t mention him by initial before, but yes, H. He’s away for 12 days and I’m cottage- and dog-sitting.

The great thing is that I get to be by the lake. (Water! My favorite place to be in all the world.) And I get to care for and eat from the garden that we’d planted before things ended. (Yes! The baby basils are all grown up.) And if I wake up early and can’t sleep I get to hop in a kayak and watch the vapor rise off the water as the sun comes up. (Magical!) And there’s Jennie who gets me out into the woods for runs and walks and throwing sticks. (Woods! Sticks! Jennie!) Being here is a retreat for me. A get-away! (And yes, I’m returning to Boston for my beloved clients on massage days).

And it’s been hard. I am reminded of all the things I’ve loved and lost. Maybe not lost completely since here I am still enjoying the lake and the garden and Jennie and sometimes in some ways even H, but lost in the sense of hopes and dreams and plans for a future together… The loss of all that has felt so big I’ve been trying to numb and trying not to numb it in various ways for weeks—oh, who’m I kidding: pretty much the entire month of June.

When I stop watching Veronica Mars all the trying and turn toward what’s inside of me I am met with a big empty well and I’m afraid it doesn’t have a bottom. I’d like to understand the well, but I can’t seem to get close enough. Not on my own. Because, hello! Scared!

So I’ve gone all Veronica Mars on the well. You could say I’ve hired her, if by “hire” we mean that I am channeling her. When it comes to understanding and helping myself, I will stop at nothing. Understanding myself helps me love myself. And when I love myself, I can much better love the world. Also? Channeling heroes? Most exciting thing ever. Not sure why it’s not caught on out there!

~ * ~

I’ve parked my Adirondack chair car within view of the well. My journal fancy shmancy camera with ultra zoom lens is at the ready. I’m gathering evidence. I am Veronica Mars. I have a record to uphold: no case unsolved.

It’s dark. My lights are out. Nothing appears to be happening, but I am not fooled. It is not unusual on a stake out to have to wait many hours for action. You, dear reader, may not appreciate this, given the fact that most likely you’ve only ever watched stake outs on TV where the boring parts get cut.

That said, this is boring! Eff it. I’m going in.

I have donned my invisibility cloak (Veronica Mars and Harry Potter are friends. Of course.) and I am now approaching the well’s edge. I peer over. Rather anti-climactic, I’m afraid. I can’t see a thing.

I walk around the well a few times looking for signs, clues, anything…

Clearly it is time to tune in on a subtler level… The feel of the well is sad. A veh———ry heah——–vy sadness. (You must say those words all drawn out like that to get a visceral sense of the sad heaviness of which I speak).

Conventional investigators might not do this, but I am Veronica Mars and so the next thing I do is call into the well: “Um, hi—!”

I’m met with an echo. “Hel-oh-oh-oh.”

I can now deduce at least two things. Thing 1: the well is very deep—the sound of hello bounced many times—but not bottomless. Bottomless does not bounce. Thing 2: there IS something in there. It’s not nothing. Nothing would not have echoed ‘hello,’ when I’d said ‘hi.’ Duh. Easy peasy.

I sit down at the edge of the well and get comfortable. I feel no sense of danger. Clearly IT, whatever it is, wants me to know it is there but it couldn’t, for whatever reason, come right out and answer me directly. As I sit there I feel sadder. It is all I can do not to fold up into a heap and weep the night away. But I am Veronica Mars. I am not the well. I am here on my client’s case: I want to understand the well. It would not help for me to become it.

“Hello, Sad.”

I hear nothing back but the feeling gets even stronger. I continue: “You must be very sad.”

“I’m not Sad.” I hear this bit in my head, not out loud. Actually, I hear it more in my throat, which feels all chocked up. As a mood detective I know that emotions are often felt in the throat, chest and belly areas.

The voice from the well goes on: “Sad and I are related but I’m much older. I’m what Sad gets when it’s big and grown up.”

“Like grief?”

“Yes.”

“Hello, LikeGrief.”

“Say, who are you? And why can’t I see you?”

“Oh sorry. I’m Veronica. Veronica Mars of Mars Investigations and Mood Detective Services.” I pull off my invisibility cloak as I say this. It’s only polite to let myself be seen. Plus, I sense no danger.

“Hello, Veronica. Why are you here?”

“I’m here to investigate a case for my client, Heidi.”

“Ah, Heidi…” his voice trails off.

“You know her?”

Right then LikeGrief actually chuckles a bit. “Of course. I’m hers.”

“You’re hers?”

“Yes.”

“Hey, do you mind if I dangle my legs over your side here while we talk?”

“I don’t mind but you may not want—“

“EW!”

“I was just saying—”

“EW! What IS that!”

“I was about to tell you. Those are the protectors of Heidi’s fear. They dress up all gnarly and nasty because they want to keep her from seeing through her fears and feeling me. Don’t worry, they’re all show, really… “

“Show and slime!”

“Yes. But harmless. They’ve been sending decoys and keeping Heidi in a general state of distraction watching a certain detective show and eating popcorn… That’s why I’m talking to you with your inside your head voice rather than out loud. I saw you up there and wasn’t sure how I was going to contact you without waking them up. I’m glad you picked up on the echo thing. ”

“Piece of cake,” I shrug.

We sit in silence for a long spell. Some of the clouds have cleared and I see a sprinkling of stars and a waning moon above.

“Say! Aren’t you Veronica Mars from the show that Heidi has been losing herself in for weeks?“

“Exactly. She was smart to hire me, our Heidi.”

“So then… wait! Heidi does want to know what’s happening?”

“Yes. She just needs some help. And not just any help, mind you, only the best. Say, can you tell me who those nasties on the edge of your well are decoys for?”

“A powerful belief.”

“A belief?”

“Yes, a belief Heidi’s been nursing. You know how people have thoughts?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing harmful about thoughts, they happen all the time… they scroll across people’s minds constantly… But sometimes people hang onto a thought and won’t just let it scroll by… they get all ‘attached’, you could say… And when someone gets really attached to a thought, it becomes a belief. Nothing wrong with beliefs either, of course, except they make it hard to keep one’s mind open and to stay curious. Even harmless beliefs tend to obscure full vision. It’s always good to be aware of one’s beliefs.”

“Beliefs can hurt?”

“Well, what people do and don’t do based on what they believe can hurt—”

“What belief of Heidi’s are we talking about here, do you know?”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to tell me? Or did I come here and get my feet slimed up for nothing?”

He chuckles and then is quiet for awhile before answering. “I wouldn’t usually do this, but seeing that Heidi hired you and really wants help with this, I will. But I’m not going to say it. And I’m not even going to write it out loud. I’m going to write it for you across the screen of your mind’s eye. You’ll see it there. And then you and Heidi can decide what to do.”

“Thank you so much. I appreciate it.”

I close my eyes and then LikeGrief writes Heidi’s belief across my mind’s eye. It is like watching a movie. Something like the writing on the wall—mene mene tekel… I can see the slimy fear-guards in the margins of my mind and for a moment I feel the intensity of how hard things have felt for Heidi and I shudder.

“OhGod, can I open my eyes? Are you done? Oof! That’s a big one. I will talk to her about it. Hey, thank you so much for your help. Do you need anything from me?”

“Oh, I’d just love for you to get Heidi to come see me. I can help her. And, the thing she is forgetting (because, I know she knows this!) is that once she’s with me, allowing the feeling of me in her body, the whole thing will change. I can’t predict how, but it will. She knows that, but she’s forgotten. You might remind her, yes?”

“I’ll do my best. Thank you so much. Do you have any hints for getting this slime off my legs?”

“Matter o’ fact I do. One of Heidi’s potions will do great.”

“Oh! Which one?”

“Night Queen. She ain’t afraid o’ no ghosts.”

And with that I wave and I’m off. Heidi and I have much to talk about.

Categories: Getting curious, Mood detective | Tagged: , , , | 3 Comments

Periods and commas and questions, oh my! What’s punctuating the page of you today?

Posted by | June 6, 2011 | 11 Comments

I woke up with a big question mark inside… I wish I could say it was a wondering question mark, curious curly and cute… but no. This question mark was bold and lonesome, Arial Black-stark and in my face.

Actually, it wasn’t until I paused and turned toward what was there that I even noticed that it was a question mark. Before that? Queasy uneasy vague discomfort.

Even when what we find upon pausing is not entirely (or at all!) pleasant, there is something relieving about noticing.

Our first response, often, is to turn away from discomfort. We hope it’ll just go away. Maybe we are scared of what it’ll mean. Maybe we think we don’t have time. But ironically, ignoring what is there actually tends to do the opposite of what we want. And when it sees that we have no intention of noticing, discomfort can amp up its volume and pull out all the stops to make us notice.

Sometimes discomfort changes clothes and appears in a different outfit – it’s not uncommon for something like queasy in the tummy to become a kink in the neck or a pain in the ass!

Pausing and turning toward what is going on allows it to change in the way that’s best. Being with something now allows what’s next to unfold.

What if everything hard and uncomfortable in you were simply wanting you to notice? What if instead of turning a blind eye or pushing the hard thing under the rug you turned the gaze of your most loving presence toward it and listened as if to your dearest friend or your most beloved niece in all the world?

What mark is punctuating the page of you today?

Maybe it’s a question mark like mine. Or maybe it’s a period. There are different kinds of periods. Some simply mark space between thoughts. Some are followed by hard returns. Some mark ends of chapters or even books.

Maybe you’ve got yourself a comma in a flowing list of lovely things…

Maybe it’s a playful dash—! Or an unexpected one that interrupts you mid—

Maybe you’ve got yourself some elipses… soft and unhurried like lemonade on a porch swing… Or maybe your elipses are filled with suspense… whatever could come next?!

What’s punctuating the page of you today? I’d love to hear.

Categories: Getting curious, Mood detective | Tagged: , | 11 Comments

Wherein a pirate chicken of the high seas helps me with my writing

Posted by | June 3, 2011 | Leave a Comment

[You may recall back in February when a secret agent chicken saved me from crossing over from a regular into a full throttled meltdown. Yes? Well, yesterday another chicken, this time a pirate chicken, came to my aid... Here, I'll let you eavesdrop on our conversation... ]

HeidiHi!

Um, hi… you’re a chicken. With a pirate cap and an eyepatch. Um–

What! You asked for help, didn’t you?

Yes. But–

What’s wrong, sweetpea? You look terribly distraught.

Aside from thinking I’ve now gone a bit crazy what with you standing in front of me? Yes I’m distraught. I can’t write!

You can’t write?

I mean, I can, but just not about this thing I reeeally need to write about. I keep trying and thinking about it and there all these notes in my notebook about it, but when I go to write, I do one of a million other things instead. I’ve had 5 cups of tea this morning, chicken. Five! And it’s only 10.

Wow.

I just don’t know how to start.

How about you tell me about what you want to write. Maybe I’ll ask you questions, maybe not, but I want to hear… How about it!

OK.

And then maybe you can start writing it on me.

On you?

Yep. On me.

Like, on your chicken body?

Eggzactly.

Sounds like how my mom used to trick me into giving her a backrub by suggesting I spell things on her back and she’d guess what I’d written?

Maybe, ‘cept that I’m helping you, remember?

[I raise a suspicious brow]

OK OK it’s true that my left wing could use a little massagin’ ’cause steerin’ a chicken ship full o’ loot, well, it can take a toll on a chicken’s wings, you know? But how I see it we could both benefit from each other here, so how about you start moving that little finger of yours, and we’ll see what happens.

[I shrug, look around to see if anyone is looking, and then start to write on the pirate chicken]

So Heidi, tell me about this thing that you keep not writing about—

It’s about the quality that makes our newest potion so magical…

Ooooh! Potion! How exciting.

I know. It is. I mean, it would be, if I could just get this page written already so that our people will know what it’s all about!

So tell me about this magical quality… whatever is it!

Oh it’s just about the most magical thing ever. It is a way of being with yourself and in the world that allows you and the world to change in an organic, unforced way.

What’s wrong with forcing change?

Nothing wrong in and of itself with force as an energy when that is the natural way of something. But when there is a kind of pushing or pulling on something ahead of its time, before it’s ready? Well, then things can become muddied and tangled up, and then, even if on the surface the thing goes and changes (or appears to), it usually comes with a price because there were all these other factors that weren’t ready, parts of us or people that were not on board… maybe they were dragged along… Oftentimes, then, the change doesn’t really stick because those other forces were not accounted for…

Sounds like what plays out in our world politically.

Yep. Same. Usually the party or country or race or gender or part of us with the most power wins… Thing is, even if by all accounts the change that is forced is a “good” one, it will often backfire… Many times, then, there is some sort of violence that comes about because what was pushed away comes to the surface. Just because we shut something up doesn’t mean it went away, after all. Like all the wars that start seemingly out of the blue, until you look back and notice all the people that were exiled and the voices that were stifled…

Oh, Heidi, I know about something like this from my very own chicken life! I remember all those years when my momma told me just to keep laying eggs, saying that THAT is what chickens were meant to do blah blah blah… I tried, I really tried… And I kept pushing on myself to be an egg-laying chicken, telling myself I should… but I didn’t like it one bit. And then I thought surely something was wrong with me that I couldn’t be happy just layin’ eggs and so I made myself try to be happy laying eggs. Well, eventually I got sick and my feathers started falling out and the few that I had left were very lackluster… oh my but I sure was a sad chicken. “Depressed” is what I think you human birds call it.

I can hardly imagine you as lackluster. Just look at your feathers now… just you look at these golden & coral highlights here! Say, who’s your stylist?

Darlin’, them’s my natural hues!

No way! Surely thou jesteth.

I jesteth not! Cross my wings.

Wow. Just lovely. Mind if I snap a picture?

Yes actually. I’m rather shy ’round cameras.

You? Shy?

<shrugs>

OK… So what happened then? How did you get from the coop to the high seas? I mean, that’s quite a ways to go!

One night I tried to fly away. But flying turned out to be wishful thinking for a chicken with hardly a feather on his wings. You ever try flying without feathers?

Uh, can’t say I have. Actually, can’t say I’ve really ever seen a chicken flying, either.

Oh Baby, hang out with me some more. Just you wait ‘n’ see. But, back to my story… I knew if I stayed, I’d die. I had to get out. No matter how I did it, I had to. It wasn’t about forcing anything, it was just what had to happen. It wasn’t even a decision I made, come to think, I just knew.

So how’d you do it?

Well, I’d been noticing the farm dog digging at a spot by the fence and the farmer hadn’t had a chance to fix it. It would be a tight squeeze, for sure, but like I said, this was life or death. It was all I could do to crawl under the fence and hobble myself to the forest, but somehow I did, and there I holed up in an abandoned nest near a stream for a few days before heading on a journey the destination of which I wasn’t even sure. All I knew for sure was that the chicken coop was no place for me… Verylongstoryshort, now here I am a Pirate Chicken, JohnnyDepping it up on the high seas.

Oh Chicken, that’s quite a story. If Oprah still had a show, surely she’d invite you on as guest chicken. Maybe even with Johnny Badass Depp’s Captain Sparrow!

<blushes>

Your story is reminding me about a very important aspect in this thing I’m having a hard time writing about…

What’s that, Heidi?

A sure indication that one is trying to force oneself or someone else into change, is that it is accompanied by a boatload of shoulds… “You should be like this, or else!” What I’ve noticed is that the part of us that is shoulding is usually scared or concerned about something. I can tell because when I’m embodying this quality that I’m trying to write about, then I can listen openly and curiously to even the most difficult things inside me without pushing or pulling… The shoulding part often says things like: “If you don’t ___, then ___ [insert terrible or unwanted thing] will happen. You better or else!”

Heidi, could you move over and write just a little bit to the left there… keep going… ahhhhhh yes, right there. Oh I’ve had a knot there for a week!… Oh yeah…. So what you’re saying is that being with yourself in this way you are trying to write about is what allows change to come in its time, in an unforced and natural way?

Yes! This way of being allows change to happen when is best, when everything is ready. Allows! I love that word. This quality is about allowing. Change that comes about in this manner usually starts happening way before it becomes obvious on the surface…

Like in Egypt earlier this year?

Yes, like in Egypt!

Like when I left the coop?

Yes, like that.

But you know, Heidi, I kind of already knew I should leave way before I actually left.

Ah, yes. But, for whatever reason, you weren’t ready, because you didn’t… not yet. Notice how there was still a “should” in how you were talking to yourself: “I should leave,” which implies that not all of you was on board. And when you were ready, you did. Not a minute before.

Interesting…

This quality I want to write about is so helpful during those stages when things are shifting below the surface… It can be a very hard time filled with confusion and fear and pressure… What I want to write about helps us be with all these conflicting parts of ourselves… I’m sure the part of you that wasn’t ready to leave could probably have used some understanding!

Oh Heidi, I’m going to cry just remembering.

That was hard a hard time, wasn’t it?

Oh you have no idea. All those years in the coop trying to lay eggs, surrounded by all these chickens who loved nothing more than laying eggs? And they were my friends too. I loved them. Still do. I didn’t fly the coop much sooner because I was scared. I thought they wouldn’t love me if I wasn’t an egg-laying chicken like them. I thought I’d lose my family and be alone in all the world if I did what I needed to do. But you know what? If I hadn’t been able to leave and live the way I love, I can’t say I wouldn’t have taken to desperate measures within the coop. As it was I was mean and grumpypants for a long time.

Yes, when things are forced to be a way that is not really of their nature, then other parts have to go into hiding… Maybe we pretend those dissenting voice aren’t there, but they are. They come out sideways. They come out to bite us in the ass when we least expect it. Or they wake us up at 3 in the morning. Eventually, if shunned or vilified too long, they amp up the volume. Sometimes they get violent.

Sounds like terrorism.

Yep…. Oh Chicken, you have quite a story! Who knew!

Now that you say it, and now that I’m remembering all this, yes. So tell me, this quality you want to write about, well, it is, I mean, it could potentially, um, change everything!

Oh the irony, yes! This quality, which is all about being with something exactly the way it is, without trying to make it change, can change everything! It has helped me more than I can say. Which is what I’m trying to say here. It’s amazing.

I want to know more. Please can you tell me everything? Pleeeease?

I will, I promise. But my writing block just lifted and I must go write that potion page about this quality.

Right now?

Yesssss! When you have to go you have to go!

But what’s the quality called?

Well you’ll just come have to read it when I’m done, won’t you? Thanks Chicken!

Categories: Getting curious, Self-care | Tagged: , | Leave a Comment

Oh noes! What now?!

Posted by | May 27, 2011 | 4 Comments

Sometimes the thing right under our noses is our best teacher ever. Plus, how convenient. Writing has been kicking my butt teaching me about showing up and getting out of the way.

I can really trip myself up and get stuck when I think I need to know and orchestrate what happens next. It’s like this: you’re walking along la-de-da totally enjoying the amazement of the moment or the oddness of the conversation you can’t help eavesdropping on at the next table, or the good feeling of a friendship, until you think: oh no! what now?! Or, oh no! I need to keep this going! And just like that, boom! Gone is the la-de-da.

Now you’re off and planning or worrying. A kind of self-consciousness descends upon what had been a sense of wonder, play, and flow, and, even if what was going on wasn’t entirely pleasant and maybe it was even hard, it felt necessary or life-affirming in some way and there was a sense of connection and rightness about it.

All of last week I was struggling about writing. I wanted to write about things going on, but I didn’t want it to be blahblah sadfest this happened then that happened boo hoo… When I write like that it puts me to sleep. Or makes me roll my eyes.

I’d signed up for trial periods of AntiSocial and Freedom (highly recommended!) and woke up several mornings without internet connection and ready to write. And then…

Hello blank page… (nothing came). Or, hello all-over-the-place page… (blah and blah). It was more than a bit frustrating. But I kept showing up, even if all I did in my internet-disconnected time was to straighten my living room. I know some people would not call that showing up, but for me it counted since I was not frittering energy away down that endless online rabbit hole and I was, even if just the eensiest bit, closer to the writing.

I hear of writers who know or at least have a good sense of the whole story plot before they ever begin to write. I’m not one of them and I thought I had to be in order to write stories, and so for the longest of times I stuck to writing letters and personal reflection pieces. (Possibly you’ve read some of them).

Don’t get me wrong, I love writing letters. And reflection? Yes. It’s just that there have been stories floating around me for some time now, wanting me to give them voice.

On Sunday when I sat down to write, at first it was more of the blahs and then Doubt and Regret knocked on the door and off it went… It wasn’t mine anymore. It became its own. Yay! It was moving along swimmingly and most of the piece was finished when, boom! The dreaded “Oh noes! What now?!”

Enter self-consciousness. Enter trying to make something happen. Enter contrived. UGH!

But I also became curious. I saw that there were things I knew: Like that Presence was key, even though I had no idea in what form he, she or it would show up in the story.

Would I go to The Pause and have Presence, the bartender, serve me a drink? Nah.

Would Presence call me? Nah. (He so doesn’t make phone calls. Plus, I’d been realizing, Presence isn’t always a guy. Or a bartender. Ha!).

So I slept on it and walked on it and washed dishes on it. I wasn’t trying to noodle the plot, but there it was in the back of my mind.

On Tuesday I read my draft to my friend Barbara and she listened as I sensed into the whole “next” thing… And then I told her that there was something I saw next but I didn’t like it. Aha! I didn’t think it was, er, how to say, proper for my story: the picture that kept coming to me was of Presence, an old woman, sitting on my porch, smoking.

I was all, smoking?! But I don’t believe in smoking! It’ll seem like I’m endorsing smoking! And what about my friends who are trying to quit?

But whenever I went back to the story, there she was, still smoking. She just would not leave.

Finally I cried “Uncle!” and said, OK. I’ll go with it, even for just a few minutes.

I’ve got to tell you, that old woman came through in a surprising way. I just had to show up and let what was happening next, happen. Without trying to pretty it up. Without trying to make it different than it was. Without bossing it around. And without, in this case, making Ylang stop smoking.

Things and people show me where they want to go, what they need, what they want, and situations, no matter how stuck they seem, have implied within them the next and best thing. Funny how when I know something, I just know. If there’s a doing involved, I just do it. There’s no hemming and hawing blah blah. In fact, I don’t even stop to think “I know.” Things are just swimming along.

What if not knowing could be just as swimming? What if instead of “Oh no! I don’t know!” I said, “Oh my! I wonder what gets to happen next?!” It seems that not knowing is where it gets exciting.

Am I speaking of writing or am I speaking of life?

Yes.

What a relief not to have to boss myself around. I don’t have to play the puppet master of my characters or of my life. I get to show up, get myself out of the way and then see what happens. Plus, that potion that Presence smokes? Best thing ever. (And, ahem, turns out it contains no tobacco after all. Ha! My story just winked at me.)  Spare a light?

——

(If you missed the story I’m referring to, here: Meet Ylang! And, I dare you not to share a smoke with her.)

Categories: Getting curious | Tagged: , , | 4 Comments

“Love is not a victory march.”

Posted by | May 24, 2011 | 11 Comments

This being human is a guesthouse…
– Rumi

It was probably the last day of sun before a string of rain days descended upon us, but on this day Spring was decked out in her softest and sunniest white, pink and purple ruffles and her youthful joy just made me all the sadder.

Oh, my love, it is best for us to part. It breaks my heart and yet it must be said.

That was the gist of the letter I’d just read again before sending. It had been on my mind for days, no, weeks, and in some way maybe even months. This was not a surprise of a letter to anyone, which didn’t take away from my sadness.

When I awoke the next morning, Regret and his brother Doubt were standing at my door, anxiously shifting their weight from leg to leg, weary from their travels through the night. Barely the door was open, they hurried into my living room.

“You spoke too soon,” said Regret.

“You don’t really want to lose him, do you?” added Doubt. “You sure do love him. Look at your puffy eyes, would you? Oh honey…”

His voice trailed off and a heavy silence descended upon the house of me. They are right, I thought.

“What a good guy,” said Regret, looking wistfully out the window.

“You certainly could do worse, you know. What a find he is. I mean, was—” Doubt piped in. “He spoke your dad’s language. Remember how you practiced German with him on the dock that day last spring, sitting on the piano bench in the fog with a blanket pulled around you?”

Regret, still looking out the window, added: “You were planting a garden. How could you leave when you were planting a garden! The baby basils were just becoming toddlers—“

I nodded. A set of furrows was settling itself into my brow and a huge lump had lodged itself in my throat.

“And now you’ve gone and lost him. Just you tell me where you will find another chap like he.” Doubt spoke with such old-fashioned grammar.

Minutes later, another knock on the door. I peeked from behind the curtain to find a youngish woman who looked like an over-caffeinated step aerobics teacher from the 90’s with her hair pulled back into the tightest of ponytails. Her shirt said, “Ain’t nothin’ can’t be fixed!” and her shirt sleeves, rolled up to her armpits, gave brand new meaning to “rolling up one’s sleeves.” I do not know how her tight ponytail allowed for even a hint of movement in her face, but she managed to raise an eyebrow while glancing at her watch, then knocking again.

When I opened the door, Ms. Fixit’s knuckles almost rapped me on the forehead, and then she marched right past me, brushing Regret and Doubt aside.

She unzipped her backpack in the middle of my living room and tools of every size and shape spilled out and a hundred bolts of advice went rolling across the floor. There was, “You need to see him. Like now!” And, “You need to stop wanting so much.” And, “You should take the train up there now and fix this. Here’s a schedule.” And, “You should try couples therapy.” And, “You shouldn’t be so bossy–”

That’s when I found my voice. “Excuse me very much, I shouldn’t be so bossy?! Pot ‘n’ kettle, hel-loh!”

She just rolled her eyes, flashed me a “whatever!,” and picked up a tool that, sweartogod, looked like a machete and a hammer and a chainsaw all in one.

Around then was when the movies started: a year’s worth of pictures, snippets of conversations, voiceovers and commentaries on various fight scenes, love scenes, hope and dream scenes, all began scrolling across my mind’s eye, ending, finally, with last Friday’s skype-call with the coach lady, the call that had mainly succeeded in reminding me of just how hard our hard stuff was. Afterwards he had texted me: “I’m going out for a run,” and I had texted back, “A run sounds good. Me too.” And then, without further ado, I did. Go running, that is…

All the way to Whole Foods. All the way to the chocolate-covered almonds that sugar-free-me justified by pointing out that they were made with fruit-sweetened chocolate after all.

The movies left me feeling like my heart had plunged down an elevator shaft into my belly. Someone coughed and that’s when I noticed Rumination running the projector from a chair over in the corner.

Rumination had the longest, most ancient looking of faces you have ever in your life seen. Seriously, his eyebrows had grown so long that I’m quite sure his eyes had only a vague, ancestral memory of sunlight. Also, earhairs? Put it this way: there were no ears to be found.

Blame and Shame did not want to be left out of the sadfest and, sure enough, by midday these two rolly-polly ladies with waggy fingers and not quite securely anchored false teeth had arrived carrying casseroles. (What else!)

“Dahlin’, you’ve gone and lost the best thing ever. You’ll never find better,” muttered Blame as she waddled into my kitchen. “You are a piece of work and you know it,” she went on, taking a red Jello mold out of Shame’s hands and proceeding to cut it as if it were cake.

Back in the living room Shame started in on a long list of thisses and thats, all preceeded by the words, “You are too…” while Blame kept muttering, not enough under her breath, that “no man would want that in a woman…”

My cheeks got redder and redder and it was all I could do not to cry.

“We should know, shouldn’t we!” exclaimed Blame, looking over at her sister. Shame, the quieter of the two, nodded.

“We’ve held onto our men for, oh, what is it now—eleventy hundred years?” Blame went on, proudly. “Oh how time flies when you’re bound in holy wedlock.”

It was the word “lock” that brought me back and I glanced around at the motley crew in my living room. And just when I thought it could not get any more crowded one more guest arrived.

Panic was out of breath when I opened the door. And also? Terrified. The end of the world was upon us, after all. His vocabulary was very limited and pretty much all he managed to say was “On no, oh no, oh no,” which he chanted like a mantra gone awry, all the while pacing about my living room wringing his hands and then smoothing back his hair with a sweaty palm. He knew my deepest fears and managed somehow, in spite of not being able to stand still for so much as a second, to lay a slew of pictures out on the table before me:

There was a snapshot of me hungry and alone… another of the Aardvark leaving me and going back to Africa… another of Heidi’s Table failing disastrously, my appointment book completely empty… another one of never another kiss, ever… culminating in the predictable—Urgency School of Redundancy trained as he is—clincher: a framed 8 x 10 of me dying a godforsaken and lonely death, alone, with nary a soul around.

What a state the house of me was in. And, whatever was I to do with these guests! I did not like them and yet there they were, all doing their best to, from their point of view, help me.

With my heart still in my belly and that lump still in my throat, I walked over to the window. That’s when I noticed her. She was sitting in the big white Adirondack chair on my porch, smoking.

Wait, what?!

I know, right? Smoking! On my porch. The nerve!

I was about to go out and yell at her but something kept my feet glued to the floor, watching.

I was still perturbed when I noticed that the smell wafting in through my window was not of any cigarette I’d ever smelled. In fact, I wasn’t even sure it was a cigarette. What was it, Sandalwood? Cedar? Definitely some Clove. Yes. And something a bit citrus, a bit floral…

I sank into my senses and inhaled deeply—Bergamot! Of course. And something else I hadn’t yet managed to place when she took her last drag and, letting out a loooooong exhale, slowly began turning her head—

I could have ducked but it wouldn’t have mattered. She knew I was there, I could tell, which was confirmed by the fact that she did not even so much as almost blink when her eyes rested on me.

I could not look away. Her face was forever wrinkled in a way that made me look forward to one day being that old. And her eyes were the most curious blend of calm and attention. I could tell that this woman never missed a beat and that nothing ever ruffled her. I wondered if she’d always been that way or if it had something to do with the wrinkles.

She looked at me with kindness, without even a hint of pity, and in that moment I saw myself and the motley crew in my living room through her eyes.

When I turned my attention back into the house of me, my guests were different. No one had left, and yet they had changed.

Regret had found some watercolors and was painting what looked to be an herb garden.

Doubt was talking philosophy over a glass of port with Shame, and in the kitchen I could hear Ms. Fixit and Blame tidying up. Ms. Fixit was saying that there was nothing better than waking up to a shiny sink, and Blame said, “oh, our Heidi could certainly use a little shine these days.”

Panic and Rumination, thick as thieves, were plotting techniques for making a new movie from the footage and photos they had. Rumination wanted some kind of a film noir, and Panic wanted some sort of a mystery-drama.

They were all fine.

I looked back out and the old woman nodded and motioned toward the empty chair next to her. I went out to join her and we shared a smoke. And then I cried and cried. She didn’t mind.

~ * ~

“Love is not a victory march, it’s a cold and it’s a broken hallelujah”
– Leonard Cohen

 

Postcript:

Thanks to my guests, clearly I’m all set on the advices! But if you care to share a cry or a potion-smoke or a story with me here in the comments, I’d love that. I’m still hangin’ out on the porch with this curious old woman. Turns out her name is Ylang and she’s related to Presence, the hot bartender at The Pause. *ahem!*

Also, gossip alert!  I just learned that Presence is their family name. When I asked Ylang about Presence, the bartender’s, first name, she told me she had been sworn to secrecy. Whatever the name, I am so taken by them all that the Aardvark and I have named a potion for them. Go ahead and guess what it smells like! (And, yep, you can get it over here).

Categories: Getting curious, Heidi's Stories, Re-imagining | Tagged: | 11 Comments

Going back for me-then

Posted by | April 27, 2010 | 6 Comments

You know how people might say something for some kind of forever and you just don’t hear it?

Maybe at some point you begin suspecting just how much you aren’t hearing. You get curious, and with that comes the teensiest opening to the possibility that there is a vast world of things you’ve closed yourself off to.

And then seemingly suddenly you find yourself able to hear some of the subtler pitches, you can see a bit wider, and then maybe your friend or teacher or lover, or maybe your mother, the president or Leonard Cohen (sorry, he just snuck in there!) says the same thing he or she has always said but today it gets past the wall of made-up mind: you know, past all the calcified assumptions and hardened beliefs.

Maybe life has changed you–what with its losses and joys, its earthquakes and hurricanes, the comings and goings of people and things, your loves and hopes and dreams–softening you up a bit here, toughening you up over there… And suddenly that thing that you could not ever hear before has a place to land. Or an itty bitty piece of it manages to fly through the crack in the window of you and now it’s in, Baby, IN!

When I first heard Byron Katie say, Everyone always does the best they can, I thought, yeah, right! It sounded nice and all, but what about in such and such? Surely you don’t mean that person over there… And what about that night when I was 26? Surely I could have done better. By “could have” I really meant “should have.” And with this string of surely’s came endless waves of shame. I was filled with argument.

But where there is argument there is doubt. And doubt can be a window. And windows can open.

So I asked: is it true I could I have done better when I was 26?

When all argument, excuse and defensiveness is seen through, I find that I can only answer no. Misguided though it was, it was me doing the best I could. Swallowing those pills was the best conclusion I could have come to in the equation of me on that night.

I needed help. I needed to wake up. I needed to not keep seeing the world and myself as I had been. After all, it wasn’t working, and I’d tried all I knew to try. I needed to give up. What I’d done so far, what and whom I’d turned to, hadn’t helped. Ultimately I’d have to meet myself, to look myself square in the eyes, in a way I had no idea how to do then.

Recognizing this now is sweet relief. It is me being a Morning Glory to myself. It’s me going back into the burning building of my life then, and pulling me out: “C’mon Sweetheart, this is no place for you to stay. There are aardvarks in your future! And kisses. And joy. You have no idea!”

Noticing the reality of the situation–that I did what I did and that I was doing the best I could–feels a whole lot like kindness. Like warm oil in the most loving of hands, rubbing old places of injury. And certainly me at 26 could use warm hands and oil and rubbing. Who couldn’t!

Something happens when I meet my hardest places with the kindness of understanding: I begin meeting fewer and fewer people I can’t understand. And when I do find some thing or person that leaves me shaking my head self-righteously muttering “they should know better!,” I can only ever look back inside myself at what I haven’t yet understood, at what might still be hanging from the hook of shame.

This being human is amazing, isn’t it? The hard, the wonderful, the baffling, the mysterious, the all of it…

Rilke comes to mind:

Quiet Friend

Quiet friend who has come so far,
feel how your breathing makes more space around you.
Let this darkness be the bell tower
and you the bell. As you ring,

what batters you becomes your strength.
Move back and forth into the change.
What is it like, such intensity of pain?
If the drink is bitter, turn yourself into wine.

In this uncontainable night,
be the mystery at the crossroads of your senses,
the meaning discovered there.

And if the world has ceased to hear you,
say to the silent earth: I flow.
To the rushing water speak: I am.
——————
Rainer Maria Rilke
Sonnets to Orpheus, Part 2, XXIX

Categories: Poetry, Re-imagining, Self-care | Tagged: , , | 6 Comments

Couples counseling: Me and Time.

Posted by | April 1, 2010 | 5 Comments

Time and I, we go way back. But things have gotten hard… Oof! So I called Curiosity and booked us a session.

Curiosity is a frighteningly insightful dude. Most of the time he doesn’t even have to say anything at all, although he does have this one eyebrow that ventures up ever so slightly when he doesn’t quite buy something. But his eyes are always kind and oftentimes they twinkle. And, as you probably know, he’s my favorite superhero for the hard stuff.

Our session started off kind of rock and roll. I am the more verbal one and since I’d taken the initiative and made the appointment thank you very much, I just went right into it. Why beat around the bush! Time was right there, of course, sitting at the other end of the couch.

I said to Curiosity that I often feel at Time’s mercy, like he’s some ruthless taskmaster whom I will never quite please, who then “has the freaking nerve,” I said, wagging my head side to side, “to take away my goddam evenings and weekends working. You know: work-working, think-working, worry-working, not-working… He just won’t let up.”

Curiosity nodded slightly and turned toward Time. But excuse me very much, I wasn’t done.

“And what is it with just slipping away so fast? What! End of month already? And the years! Forget about it. Half the time I don’t even know what year we are.” Hrmph! And here I turned to yell at time (and no, I’m not proud of it): “You move so fucking fast I cannot even think. I’m exhausted!”

And then I burst into tears. Curiosity nodded and with soft eyes pointed over to the pile of silk handkerchiefs he keeps with him at all times. But do you know who beat me to them to hand me one? Yes. It was Time. Which made me cry even harder.

I didn’t notice right away but Time had taken the handkerchief as an opportunity to sidle up toward me. He didn’t say a word but his hand from the short arm took my hand that was closest to him, and his hand from the long arm started smoothing the hair from my face. Which yeah, made me cry more. Because, oh my. It had been awhile since we’d had any affection, he and I.

“Please, can’t I just turn you back and time travel and take back things that I said, things that I did because I’m so sorry about those things, especially that one, but you have passed and and and snot snot snot I can’t get you back– and now I’m forty freaking two and I don’t know what to do–”

By now I had my head buried in Time’s chest and he didn’t even seem to mind at all about the snot. I whimpered like a 3-year-old and couldn’t speak for a good long while because the pressure in my chest and throat were so tight and had been building for some kind of forever and I swear I thought my heart would explode.

Thoughts, they kept flitting across my mind. Like about how every so often I wake up at dark:thirty in the morning with surges of some kind of restless impatience coursing down my legs. I’m not sure what exactly that is, truth be told, and it used to freak me out. I’ve noticed it’s related to wanting to get to the important stuff before it’s too late… before time runs out… And oftentimes it’s when I’m putting things off, both the niggly things and the big things…

Time kept holding my hand and I remembered how much I’d once loved those very kind hands. (Because, my man Time he’s not some cheap-ass digital infrared, oh no. We are talking steady and strong old-school hands here. And, if you must, I’ve always had a thing for hands. Shhhh…)

At some point I turned to face my man Time and through snot and tears I said, “Please don’t go! Please don’t leave me. I know things haven’t been good between us. And often I come to bed and just fall asleep exhausted without even so much as a kiss, but I’m not ready for us to be over. Yet. Please–”

And he kissed me, right there, not to shut me up or anything but because he must know that kisses hands-down beat words sometimes, no? And then, forgoing the handkerchiefs, he caught my wayward tears with more kisses and those steady, kind hands. Until the tears ran out.

And then, in the first and only words my man Time had uttered in our whole session with Curiosity, he said: “I’m right here, Sweetheart.”

Although it was time to go, that’s the part where Curiosity didn’t say anything like “That’s our time for today.” Because Curiosity? He’s the supersmart.

*******

On the practical side, which is always where change can really take root, I was very excited a few weeks ago when my friend and itty biz colleague Eileen Corrigan Valazza released “The Sailboat Kit.” The timing couldn’t have been more synchronistic, given my relationship work with Time.

OK, you should know that pretty much anything Eileen does I love. But I was very excited because The Sailboat Kit is a time help-y thing “for people who hate structure (but love metaphors).” *Jumping up and down* Metaphors!!! “Me me, sign me up!”

A sailboat is Eileen’s metaphor for the kind of vessel she wants to navigate through her week in, but she invites us to pick whatever metaphor works best for us. I fell so in love with Eileen’s sailboat, that I kept her metaphor.

Eileen’s kit has helped me see things differently and make several shifts in how I relate to time:

In the last 3 weeks, since boarding my sailboat, I’ve re-discovered this thing called “an evening.” You know, evening, as in a time after which work stops. Wow.

I’ve also gotten way curious about this thing called “rest.” And about making time for it so that it is more likely to happen.

I also get to have a day that is called “a weekend.” (As a massage therapist, much of my hands-on work is on Saturdays and Sundays). OK, so right now my weekend is only one day: Friday, which I renamed Freeday. But, one day? Wow. Compared to No-day, that’s grand.

Envisioning my week and putting it down on paper in the fun way Eileen has me do has also helped me consciously set aside a little time for the niggly things that end up cluttering my brain waves when I put them off for important things.

Oh and too? I’ve made explicit space for self-care and movement and joy.

To sum it up, Eileen’s Sailboat Kit is the awesome. I love it. You can read about it over here and get yourself one if you want.

Categories: Getting curious, Heidi's Musings, Self-care | Tagged: | 5 Comments

Introducing my favorite superhero for oof-stories.

Posted by | March 6, 2010 | Leave a Comment

Come on over to Leah Piken Kolidas’ “Creative Every Day” blog, where I wrote a guest post about my favorite superhero for hard life-stories.

Categories: Getting curious, Noticing | | Leave a Comment
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