All About the Goat

It's been a 'taking time' sort of year. That sounds wrong, as if I had snatched time away. So I guess I'd rather say I have been working on 'being with time.'

Monsieur Goaty Goat

This goat is the perfect example of my being with time. During soccer season, my husband drove our son to practice and to coach, and on alternate nights, I drove our daughter. The fields were located at the end of a long driveway that wound through a place stuck in time. I thought it was the coolest thing: decayed buildings with worn pictures of what looked like British Colonial Indian men wearing turbans and holding rifles. We drove by an abandoned miniature golf course, and just past that, a large penned in structure with peacocks, chickens, horses in a field beyond, and this fat goat.

It became a ritual for my daughter and I to hope that the goat was hovering at the entrance gates. Most nights he was, and we were the only ones to stop the car, get out, and say hello. The goat didn't give a shit, of course. Merely sniffed an outstretched hand, turned and trotted off to his perch. But I loved that we did that, even as other soccer moms raised eyebrows driving by, I loved it.

Being with time was sometimes a struggle; during our moving crisis, it felt narrow and tense. Many other times, I argued with it; wanted it to speed up so that healing could be done faster; anger and resentment would fade quicker. But time goes at its pace, and we must go with it. Like the one lane road we often find ourselves traveling on, stuck behind the slow driver with no passing allowed.

In the roominess of the space I sit when I'm feeling at peace, I see how valuable this particular year has been. I will admit to clinging to certain sufferings and still, I'm not sure why. They aren't ready to be understood yet, so I am still...always...continually...learning to accept them. But when they rise up I can lash out; I'm working on that. But mostly, time for this year has been so beneficial to the most loving relationship next to self, and that is with my husband.

Bidding adieu to 2013, a time of learning, growing, stretching, understanding, loving, fearing, anger, detaching, resentment, judging, wishing ill-will, forgiving, apologizing, making peace, reaching out, hoping, wishing, hugging, kissing, making love, creating, writing, expanding, thinking, separating, dancing, crying, seeking truth, breaking, sitting, mindfulness, meditating, thanking, gratitude.

2014 will no doubt, bring more of the same, although with a little less financial crunchiness, and that's just fine.

Now for a little bit of visual feastiness:  My favorite video of the year. The song by itself is ok, but when I watch it with the video, it makes me so happy.

Lose Yourself to Dance. Why? Because, really, it's just a wonderfully, uninhibited, freeing, soul-reviving thing to do.

Peace to you All.  Keep Dancing!

Buy, Buy, Buy

It's been a strange-feeling Christmas this year, and I can't quite put my finger on the reason.

This is the first Christmas since my oldest was born that I am working. Perhaps I have felt the time constraints more keenly because of that. When I was able to get presents for my kids, it was within a week and a half of Christmas, and how time breathed heavy down the neck of my shirt. The things they wanted were no longer available; snapped up by others with the luxury of time and income. ~a touch of resentment there. 

At the mall yesterday (a place I had hoped to avoid) I was aware of the materialistic nature of the season. Signs everywhere begging for attention, and I felt dissatisfied. I've been naming emotions the past few days and that one pops up frequently. I'm on the road a lot more this year with work commutes and I'm more aware of the douchy nature of so many drivers. Why not just let the guy in? Why do you have to close ranks and be a dick? Why? Where is the courtesy? Where is the compassion?

I know it's out there. I see it on my facebook feed daily through the lives of friends and acquaintances near and far.

There's just something lacking, which is hilariously ironic because truthfully, I lack for nothing. Nothing of importance anyway - I have love, comfort, family, a roof over my head, and those are enough for my soul. It's my ego that is dissatisfied.

So, to the ego, I say go. Leave and let self bask in the joys of the season. There is nothing here for you to worry over, or stress about, or be angry about. Nobody else matters. Just relax.

Breathe. Beer. Cookies. Delight. Togetherness. Tradition. Family.

Fortunate.

This blog was forged at the beginning of the year; it began lightly, dancing over a veneer, oblivious of its purpose beneath. I remember at the start trying to be witty; ad-libbing funny in a thought out manner, writing about me, me, me. It felt narcissistic and full of ego and I don't mind saying that although I enjoyed the act of writing, of sharing, it felt awkward and sometimes embarrassing; the attention-seeking sense of it all.

It is known now that this was not created by the part of me that is offered to the world; the funny, make-em-laugh girl with an easy smile and helpful manner. I know because it has become something much deeper, as if the words themselves have carved away the inside of me allowing spaciousness for soul, allowing room for spiritual growth and development.

Journey. I love that word -  an odyssey, a quest, progress, adventure. Life is this journey. The goal is clear in that eventually we will leave our bodies, and since this is already figured out for us, shouldn't we make the most of our journey? We have no idea of the length of time, or what the surface will be like along the way. It's wild and woolly sometimes, heartbreaking and filled with sorrow. Other times it's so joyous we could burst, sometimes simply quiet and comforting.

This place here has become a proving ground, a learning ground, a welcoming hollow to write about the highs and lows. All the valleys with their dark undergrowth that seemed to go on forever, and through which I stumbled, weeping and blind. The peaks that looked out onto sunny skies. Over there, the roller coaster rides that rocked and stunned. All around, moments, people, situations...life. 

I am fortunate to  have this place, these pages, and as this year closes I acknowledge the time I have spent digging down to truth, making way for self.

I tip my hat to my friends who read. I hope I have helped or maybe *pinches thumb and forefinger together* inspired a tiny bit.

A lesson I have read many times, but only recently truly taken to heart is sitting with emotion. Thanks to Tara Brach by way of this lovely group, I am learning this: Whatever comes up, and whenever it comes up - take pause. Breathe into the feeling, allow yourself to feel it, give it room, acknowledge its presence, and it will pass. By doing this, a wiser choice can be made.

I hope to practice this during the coming year, and all the ones beyond.

Merry Christmas!

Sunflower Mind

Part of the awareness growing in the last year has become more prevalent of late. I want to write about it without flaunting it, without it seeming as if I'm bragging because it's not like that at all. It's a quiet thing; a baby really - not that babies are quiet at all - I guess I mean in the 'smallest' sense. I've written about writing before as a snake, a monster, the tail of some unearthly creature come to whip me into shape. I've written about it as collecting grains of sand to build a giant sandcastle at some later date. And to some extent, those metaphors remain a little true. But with growth and strength of mind comes also change. Change in vision, in the path to get to a certain point, in the way of doing things.

This week I piggy-backed on a piece of flash fiction I wrote last week by turning it into a one act play; the theatre group I belong to had a need for a few more to complete their line up.

I've written a number of flash fiction pieces for Friday Fictioneers, and dabbled with expanding them into larger works but in this relatively new arena (which is actually fairly old, I just haven't been here for many years) larger works are elusive. The way is hazy as if I had stretched out my fingers to move forward but no amount of headlight will help me find the tips or the way ahead.

So, I wrote this one act. And I whipped up another Friday Fictioneers piece of 100 words.

What I want to say is that I am in love with how my creative mind is slowly cranking into life. I look at the picture presented and it's as if I plant a seed; just stick it in the groundmind and let it do its thing. No work, no pressure, no force. Images come to mind, the first few words appear and off I go, sailing down a little hill on a homemade go-kart until I come to a stop at the end. Looking back up the hill, I make note of bumps, smooth them out, tidy up a bit. 

And smile. Inwardly and outwardly; smile at the observation of my own self. And that's the key. Nothing as jolting or jarring as vicious snakes rising up from the depths, simply the act of nurturing a talent by letting it just be. By planting the intention and allowing my soul to do the rest.

Perhaps this is the way then for me? To write lots of small stuff, so that my imagination is fertile enough, rich enough to grow more than a daisy.  Perhaps one day, I'll have a really big sunflower!

Last Year's Language

From Mindfulbalance blog - one of my go-to bloggers for affirmations and inspiration. He quoted this yesterday:

For last year’s words 

belong to last year’s language 
and next year’s words 
await another voice.

And to make an end 
is to make a beginning.

T.S. Eliot

A new age then for me on the last day of November.  I am now on the cusp of the mid-forties.  A phrase which makes my husband smile and nudge me with a whisper "you're in your mid-forties..." 

You ask how the hell did I get here?  What happened to 34 or 24?  You remember where, what, why and how you were then, and a little dawning lowers like a soft light onto the stage. You could be surprised at the speed and passing of time but then you stop, listen, see everything around you. The dishwasher shushing through its watery cycles, your husband fiddling with the kids' small Christmas trees to get the lights to work (and you know he will because he can pretty much do anything). You hear the soccer match on the telly. The taste of bacon in your mouth. The cool air on bare arms but comfy fleecy pants to keep your legs warm. You just know that everything is ticking along rightly so.

Time, space, the padding in between all the stuff we do feels fatter as we get older. I love the plump feel of it like big cushions to roll around on. As a teen or twenty-something, the air in between felt like a vacuum and I think I just got sucked through to go on to the next activity. As a 30-something new wife and mother, time and space were nowhere to be found. So, what a relief that I am here.  Now.

In love with being forty-something. Loving the discoveries. Pulling back dark dusty curtains, surprised by the revelations. Some things, some admissions, some truths cause a wince but it's all good; it's moving forward. And what better way to step onto the next stone than seeing what lies ahead?

A new year for me. Last year's language has all but gone; I worked hard this month to purge, and despite one or two trips, it's looking big and breathful ahead.

This vast, beautiful life.

The Loops

It came to me today while running on the treadmill - the surreptitious presentation of the realization of a lesson about to be learned.

It's been a strange week.  All the days are different on the surface but after such a lovely hiatus from the emotional valleys recently, it was fully felt that I was trudging downward this week.  It began with a slight malaise when I woke on Monday morning.  And then upon arriving in work, I found a poor little rat, poisoned and close to death.  He/she was shivering and weak on the tarmac.  Fate would have it that I be alone in the office so I grabbed a new company fleece, wrapped up little Ratsky and put it down on the grass next to the building, sheltered from the wind.  It was very weak and bleeding from the nose so I put a bowl of water next to it.  The following hours were spent alternatively working and going outside to check on it, stroking its bony little head, then weeping my way back inside.  It died just before lunchtime.  I dug a little grave with the claw side of a hammer and gently rolled it in, covered it back up with dirt, said a few words, threw the jacket away and washed up the bowl.

The day remained melancholy, and little Ratsky was on my mind until I fell asleep that night.

Perhaps that was the start of the insidious loop; the recording that plays in the background while you're living your days?  It can be good, it can be bad, it plays back memories, events, thoughts, people...every thing you've ever experienced in some way, shape or form. It's always there. The contents of it can nudge a person to take notice, or not. The one that played out for much of this week turned out to be a negative reel with lots of pointed fingers and angry expressions. It doesn't come to theatres very often but when it does, the awareness that I cultivate regarding thoughts becoming reality dissipates. This allows thoughts to form in the spaces with an ugly clarity.

I went down for a day, enmeshed in the rolling "thoughts feed emotions" process. At the end of that day, there came a small internal conversation about staying home vs. attending Sangha. I went. And was glad that I did.

The Universe granted me a safe haven and provided many more souls in the group than usual with which to bounce safely around. As soon as the circle closed, my eyes relaxed and I felt my soul escape the bounds of the body. I felt bigger; filled up. It was wonderful. I listened to a teaching from Thich Nhat Hanh which was most timely, and reminded me that though my emotions be strong, though my thoughts be unruly, I must remember to breathe deeply at my navel, and there I will find peace.

A lesson learned then this week (and no doubt will be presented again at some point in the future) that thoughts shape what we perceive as true. They can be our best friends or our biggest enemy.

All The Good Things

I am in the present moment very much lately. I love that. I can look behind me and feel an ache in my heart. I can look ahead and feel the tug of worry in my heart. Mostly I'm right here, right now. Flying, sailing, whatever feeling that comes from going along comfortably, smoothly. I have begun to allow the dark things some room to breathe and exist.  I can have thoughts of anger, resentment, jealousy, wishing a person ill-will and I am more at ease with these things. I know they can't be true, they are my own issues from *waves hand* events past. They are not truly who I am. I thought I had changed, become a new me but it's not that; I am growing into the real me. I smile. I am smiling so much lately for no other reason than that.

The questions that live inside still poke for answers, like children not content with the explanation. But I can do nothing for those questions. I am answerless. They niggle a little and if I have occasion to become wrapped up in them, I can still shed tears for them. But I am 'cleaning up' as the chakra lady said. It's just a bit of a big mess that takes a little extra time, is all.

Yoga has a gym-mat-fad feel in the world. However, at home in the privacy of my bedroom, looking out into the fallen-leaved wood with families of deer frolicking around at breakfast, it is a sensual, albeit sometimes strenuous act. I love the feel of going (and pardon my unyogi-like verbiage) from plank, to yoga push up to cobra to downward dog.  It's effort and gliding, strength and stretching all at once; so satisfying.

The feel of the first sip of hot Earl Grey tea from the ceramic tea thermos that a dear friend recently sent me.  Instant blanket for my insides for cold mornings on busy, inconsiderate roads.

My husband is home for family dinners.  I adore that we all eat together now when for many years, with him as chef for whatever restaurant, it was never possible.  It's a fun routine accompanied by music, telling of our Highs & Lows, belching, chatter, giggles, and of course some stern words to keep knees down, all four chair legs on the floor, and to stop mouths being stuffed with too big a bite.

Life is truly good. Just a tinge of things past to nudge my heart at some point every day. It's ok though; without it, I wouldn't appreciate what I have so I think I can live with the sting.