Monday, May 25, 2009

Confession time

OK, so yeah, I have been hiding and isolating lately.
I have been scared and anxious and thinking the best way to deal was to avoid everyone.
But lately I have been coming out and slowly talking to friends and family.
I am depressed, scared and worried.
Our finances suck.
We are in hard times. The hubster and I are struggling.
Just like everyone.
That is what I finally realized. We are not alone. We are not the only ones hit by the recession. DUH!
But it is finally sinking into my brain.
That there is comfort in talking w/ others.
That there is no shame in asking for help.
A shoulder to cry on,
a hand to hold.
Prayers, good thoughts, wishes...

I am too much into being in control. The person who fixes things, the therapist for Pete's sake, that I forget I can breakdown and ask for help too.
I forget I am allowed to be human and that its ok if I am weak and stumbling at time.

I have been afraid to talk to old friends because I didn't want them to know that everything was not OK. But then I got an email from one of my oldest and dearest friends who told me that she was struggling too, and I felt... not alone. I didn't rejoice in her sorrow, not at all, but I connected. I immediately sat and wrote her back saying, I understood, I was there too. After 20 years apart we reconnected at a time when we both needed someone who knew and wouldn't judge us.
Someone we could share all our secrets with like we used to as children.

I had been asking for minor miracles. They have started...

Saturday, May 16, 2009

On the Hill: notes from a wounded healer.


Its been a while since I wrote.
I guess I have been isolating and too inwardly focused.
Things have been a bit rough at work, at home and just in general.
I know writing helps me but sometimes words aren't enough.
Sometimes I have to retreat into silence to wait out the darkness.
Finally the dam breaks, the tears flow, the pain comes out, ragged, gasping, and I let go...

Letting go is so tough for me. I fight and hold on, trying to control every situation. Every thing in my life. I am stubborn. I have control issues. I want to fix things, people, solve puzzles, make peace, heal the world. But I can't. And attempting to do so wears me down. One would think I would have learned this lesson, but I seemed doomed to repeat it.

I operate out of fear frequently. Driving myself into a tizzy. Making others around me crazy with my anxiety and worry. At work, I seem calm, collected, together. Most of the time I feel its an act that I pull off successfully, knowing that inside I am just barely hanging on.

Recently I realized (again) I am not alone. That others struggle with all my same fears and anxieties or at least similar ones or at least similar feelings. We are all human. What I forget is that I need to connect. I need to NOT isolate. I need to ask for help. I sat recently and just cried while my sister held me. What a blessing. To finally let it all out, to weep until there were no more tears. To let someone know how scared I was. To tell someone I needed them. I called my best friend Diane, and cried, we prayed together over the phone and she was there for me, in spite of her sadness, in spite of her pain and mourning, she took time for me.

It is only in communion with others that we find ourselves, our balance, that we heal. It is only in others that we find the divine connection, the energy that empowers us to go forth. That is why I believe in the incarnation. God is in us all, in the animals, in the earth, in everything living, breathing, pulsing thing. We just need to remember to connect into the energy, into the lifesource. We just need to live in love. To rest in the arms of others when we are tired. No one can go it alone. I need to remember that...

Thursday, May 7, 2009

She dreamed of dance

She Dreamed of Dance

Growing up on the farm
listening to music
late night on the tranisistor radio
catching as catch can
stations coming in across
foggy valleys and hills.

She felt its rhythm
in her soul
and wanted to dance
to let her feet move
her body sway
her steps glide and dip.

On the way to milk the cows
she practiced her steps:
glissades, pirouettes,
arabesques in the barn
where only the cows watched,
over their hay,
contemplating her form
nodding encouragement,
contentedly chewing their cud.

At school she drew
pretty costumes
while waiting for others
to finish their sums and
calculations.
Adding lace and sparkles,
erasing lines and mistakes
seeking a world of perfection.

At 18 in she moved
to town, got a job
scandalous in its own.
Daddy helped buy her a car
and she dreamed of dance
while driving home
the radio tuned in
her fingers tapping in rhythm
her mind creating choreography
in the cars that moved along
the narrow streets.

She tuned the black and white
Philco into bandstand
and with me
balanced on her feet
we laughingly
twirled and glided
and we danced.
I too began to dream
that she would dance…

He came along one day
swept her off her feet
into a life of stability
babies, a home.
Something that had
never been considered.
Something never even
mentioned to me.

Now she has it all.
Security. Safety.
A soulmate.
But I can’t help
to wonder.
Do they dance?