I forgot how rare and lovely it is to walk in the rain.

I've been inside all weekend, and had been grateful for the waves of torential downpours and the pitter-pattering of drippiness in between.  Studying for Physiological Psychology a.k.a. Brain Class.  Had it been 81 degrees and sunny I would not have had much interest in the action potential of neurons.  In between study sessions, I have been on a learning journey of another sort.  Forgiveness.  Not just the garden variety "somebody said something that hurt my feelings and now I'm trying to get over it" kind.  This is Olympic freestyle forgiveness.

I've recently revisited "A Course in Miracles".  It's been on my bookcase for years as sacred and unintelligible to me as the Dead Sea Scrolls.  It was just too deep.  However, when I picked it up again a few weeks ago it was like someone had inplanted a Rosetta Stone in my head and somehow some of these beautiful words made sense.  When the student is ready...the teacher falls off the bookcase.

So...let me digress for a moment and get back to the rain walk.  It's Sunday evening and after getting no more exercise that traversing up the stairs to my computer and text books and then down the stairs to the kitchen and the cat, and then up again and down again...well, the moment the rain let up, I decided I'd better get outside for a little while or I was gonna be real crabby at work tomorrow.  Nothing worse than a weekend with no activity.

I put on my sneakers and grabbed an umbrella in case a monsoon hit while I was out, but it was just misty as I set off.  People who drove by me must have thought I was crazy.  It was when sunset would have been happening if one could see the sun so the sky was a smudgy shade of lightly illuminated charcoal.  I passed a lady on her bike with her dog out for a quick ride.  I guess I wasn't the only one with cabin fever.

As it got darker, it got drippier and so did I.  But the umbrella stayed closed.  My mind started wandering and I found myself remembering times I was out on horseback and got caught in the rain miles away from the barn.  I remembered the feel of the rain slowly soaking through my jeans and my horse's coat getting slick and shiny.  The drops splashing on the leaves above and the grass below sounded like a multitude of fairies whispering and shushing each other so as not to be overheard.  The slow drumbeat of hooves in the mud then were louder versions of my muffled sneakers now on the wet sidewalk.  But the rhythm was just as comforting.

Walking by houses, lights behind curtained windows, and the wind picking up and waving wet branches brought my thoughts back down off the back of my ghost horse and on to the idea of forgiveness again.

The Course tells us that forgiveness is the key to happiness. 

Yeah...I know...but... 

In this case, I have been challenged to consider forgiving the biggest "offender" of my life.  My evil arch enemy.  Which really only means that this person was someone I loved a LOT and wanted to trust and did trust and he really, really hurt me...and now he's trying to squash me like a bug.  Over and over.  And spraying me with Raid.  And unleashing the hounds on me.  And lets not forget throwing rocks.  And calling me names.  Mean ugly names.

What's creepy about being on this spiritual journey is I have to take responsibility for my projections,  I am "being with" the idea that perhaps he has been as hurt and wounded by me as I have been by him.  And most likely he considers himself to be just as innocent as I do.  Meanwhile, we are launching what we each see as defensive attacks.  He started it...no she started it...  Ugly, ugly, ugly.

Hears the deal-ee-o with projections.  We all carry around a bunch of memories of scary stuff that has happened to us.  Some of it is conscious memory, much of it is not.  Survival of our species, like most others, has been dependent upon learning what will hurt us and steering clear of it,  Over time, we literally are always "looking for trouble" and when we spot it, we have no idea why the buzzers go off in our head and "fight or flight" kicks in, but there you have it.  Often whatever set us off wasn't even real.  We were reacting to a memory that looked kind of sort of like what was happening in the moment.  We become more wary and cautious and suspicious until we either lash out or run.  He lashed out.  I ran. 

Attack and abandonment. 

Welcome to my study of forgiveness.

I'm still trying to get away and he is still trying to punish me for leaving.

And it has turned us both into people we're not.  What happened to the love?  How come I can't think of him without saying "asshole" under my breath?

I'm thinking Step 1 is "lose the foul adjective".

I have been praying and meditating and I really do want to change my perspective here.  I don't want to live like this anymore.  I don't want my stomach to churn when I see I got an email from him.  See...we have two amazing, wonderful sons.  Communication must happen.  Positive communication has been rare.  I want better.  Our family...broken as it is...needs healing here in a big way.

In this version of forgiveness, it needs to be both given and received.  Not sure how that's going to work but I'm willing.

Rain is still falling outside.  I'm inside and dry again.  Praying.

I'm sorry and I'm grateful.

WS

Had a thought this morning.

Life seems to be moving constantly and at a dizzying pace.  I've been craving stillness...at least a short break in the action.  Can't manage to settle down and my mind is speeding along on the mental treadmill.  You know...the "to do" list of life.

I closed my eyes this morning in an attempt at a two minute mediation (yes...I do know that is ridiculous but I figured two minutes was better than no minutes...).  Eureka.  In a flash, because that's all I had, I realized that although all things are constantly in motion, there is a point where everything is somewhere for the tiniest of micromiliseconds...occupying that space...stopped.  That is the mirace.  If we can remember that place, focus on that instant, that is the only place of true stillness.

Gotta run!

WS

"We imagined we knew everything the other thought, even when we did not necessarily want to know it, but in fact, I have come to see, we knew not the smallest fraction of what there was to know."
                                                            The Year of Magical Thinking, by Joan Didion

My 10 year old son and I visited one of the last remaining Borders Book Stores yesterday, something that struck us both as quite sad, as we wandered among the clearance priced books grabbing up those that most appealed to us, and deciding what we could afford.  We each love the printed page and the act of using a physical bookmark to hold a place when needed.  We both, from our own unique adult and child perspectives, feel the sense of history changing.  Like a rummage sale in the streets of Atlantis just before the continent slipped silently under the sea.  I will miss the trips to the bookstore with my young son.  This is one of the things we like to do together.

Later in the afternoon he sat on the floor, with his Legos and Magnetix spread out and growing into rockets and cities and who knows what else, and creative concentration wordlessly playing with the features of his face.  I was reading a book that was not-a-textbook, which felt like sneaking a chocolate bar after having been on a strict diet for months.  My new semester starts next week.  I was snuggled up, tucked into a corner of the couch.  Between pages I would look up, unnoticed by either he or the cat, and watch him build, take apart and build again.  It brought me joy to see him in that place of unfettered, unorchestrated, uncontrolled expression.

At one point, I asked him if he'd like me to stop reading.  He looked at me quizzically, then answered that no, as long as I was there with him, that was all he wanted.

I could feel myself relax in the comfort of that simple statement.


The quote above from The Year of Magical Thinking is one I read just this morning.  I was struck by the beauty and profound nature of that sentence.  In the book the author is pondering what she thought she knew of her husband of over forty years who had passed away a few months before.  She was struggling with the realization that even though she was closest to him of anyone in her life, she had not known all she thought she knew.  It was also the realization that we can't know anyone.  One wonders if we can even know ourselves.

That is a distressing...and incredibly lonely thought.

But true, nevertheless.

I spent 20 years devoted to a man I believed I knew.  I believed I saw a good side, a hidden side locked away, that with enough love and proof of trustworthiness, with enough dedication and forgiveness, with enough sacrifice on my part, he would finally feel safe to BE that person - the person I loved.

I knew not the smallest fraction of what there was to know.

I still wanted to believe even after all these years since our marriage ended, and did believe at some level, and probably still believe, despite the cruelty and vindictiveness, the bullying and the lies.

I am afraid to sit on the couch and read a book while watching my son play.  I am afraid to be told yet again that I am a bad mother if I don't take him on trips to New York to see plays and climb the statue of Liberty, and take him on trips in a motorhome with his baseball team.  I am told I am a bad mother because I don't have the latest video game system and I don't live in a big house and I don't buy him all the best clothes from all the best stores.  I am told I am a bad mother because I don't believe in scheduling him in activities every waking second of his day.  I am told I am a bad mother because I think it is perfectly ok to "waste" a day watching him play on the floor with his toys and his cat.

In facing these accusations, in the company of attorneys and a court reporter, I am experiencing a grief I could not have anticipated.  I am in Solomon's court defending the reasons why I relinquished my time so as to not cut my sweet baby in half.

In whose hand lies the sword?

Not a fraction do I know.

WS

"There is only one reason to do anything: as a statement to the universe of Who You Are."
                                Conversations with God, Book One by Neale Donald Walsch

Whatever you encounter today, stop now and then and ask yourself the question, "What have my thoughts, words, actions said about me?"

Do you like and identify with that person?

Do you trust and rely on that person?

Have you sold yourself out?  If so, for what?

Or have you honored and loved yourself in the ways that you'd like others to love and honor you?

It all starts at home.  Your home.  The home that contains your heart and mind.  The part of you that speaks in the quiet stillness.  Speak kindly.  Be patient.  Grow strong.

Peace,

WS

"If you build it, they will come."
                                        From the movie Field of Dreams

I hosted my very first workshop this week.  It was titled "Powerful Decision Making: Conventional Wisdom That Isn't ~ How To Live a Better Life by Steering Clear of Sage Advice".  It was for an independent study course and moves me 4 credit hours closer to my degree.  It was also, at some subliminal level, all about trying to figure out how to make better decisions myself.

As you teach, so shall you learn...and vice versa.

While preparing for this experiential learning endeavor, I've been doing a lot of thinking about my past decisions...all those little day to day choices...that brought me to the reality I'm experiencing today.  Let me be clear.  I know I've made a royal mess of my life and am only just now, at 47 years old, making my decisions more consciously and deliberately because I really do want a better life.

Something came to me the other day.  I have noticed that the consequences of nearly every poorly made choice of my life seem to have converged en masse creating a mountain of distress that I am dilligently working to overcome.  At first I was pretty pissed that every time I turned around another darn thing came up.  The more tired and discouraged I felt, the more likely some new weed would pop up in my metaphorical garden.

The "f" word started becoming a frequent visitor to my internal dialogue.

But of course, I knew that every one of those distasteful developments belonged to me.  Like having your name sewn into your jacket when you were a kid.  Ownership is indisputable.  Most likely the acknowledgment of this fact was the reason for the rise of the "f" word.

You see, over the last seven years or so, I've been building a new house.  Not a physical house, more of a new life structure.  I've been changing the way I look at things and the way I respond to things.  I've been more intentional in choosing my direction.  The quality of my building materials and the design for the space have improved immensely.  Yes, I thought I was building a brand new house and had left the old house far behind.

But this is not a new house.  It's a new wing to the old house.  Just because I've moved into the new cozier quarters, it doesn't mean the rats and ghosts that inhabit the old wing are gone.  I hear them gnawing and wailing at night as I struggle to fall asleep.

Earlier this week I talked about how we create our lives by our choices.  However, sometimes creation is not enough.  If you want to put an end to the wailing and gnawing, the old wing has to go.

Creation is easy.  De-creation is a whole other matter.

Sure, you could take a wrecking ball to the thing or set it ablaze but this would not only risk damaging what you're constructing now, it also puts an end to anything good that you built into that old rickety structure.  There's lots in there to be salvaged if you're brave enough to go in after it.

When I was a kid in upstate New York, everyone I knew lived in either a sort of old house or a really old house.  There's a whole lot more history to be had in the northeast than here in central Florida...at least there was back in the 1960's and 1970's.  I can remember cool little details about those houses, like the glass in the windows that was wavy, not perfectly clear like today.  It gave the blanket of winter snow outside an even more magical appeal, particularly to an elementary aged little girl.  The other cool things were the creaky wooden floors and staircases.  I loved that sound as people would move across them.  This is perhaps why I love spooky old houses today.  I like hearing stories of people salvaging that tired wood and those imperfect windows before a building is torn down.  There are memories stored there.  To save them is to honor the memories, even if you don't know what they mean.

I don't know why I did all the things I did, or didn't do, that made my house.  I cry over the pain I've caused and the pain I've experienced.  I mostly cry because I still don't understand.

I want to live in a house that is whole.  I want to exist in a peaceful place that welcomes me not haunts me.  So I'm spending what quiet time I can find pulling bent nails and unscrewing rusty door knobs while chatting with ghosts and feeding cheese to rats.  They deserve love too.  Eventually I'll be able to distinguish between rubble and what is valuable.  It takes looking at one piece at a time and making powerful choices.

It serves me...it serves me not.

You have to love it all...because you made it all...so hug it before you let it go.

Wink at the moon and dance in the starlight coming through the rafters.

Much love,

WS

Wow...it's been a long time since I've been here.  Not sure where May and June went.  I know I was around somewhere...

I just got a new book on Thursday.  It is called Living Buddha, Living Christ, written by Thich Nhat Hanh.  The book itself is not the topic for today, but something I read in it that sent me floating downstream.  Here is the quote (page 23):

"When I was a young monk in Vietnam, each village had a big bell, like those in Christian churches in Europe and America.  Whenever the bell was invited to sound (in Buddhist circles we never say 'hit' or 'strike' a bell), all the villagers would stop what they were doing and pause for a few moments to breathe in and out in mindfulness."

I like the concept of an "invitation to sound" - to open and release what is within without having it beaten out of us.  And not beating it out of others.

Sometimes we want to know what someone has on their mind or what might be held within their heart.  Sometimes we can tell they are troubled and want to give comfort.  Sometimes we want to know because we are troubled and need our own comfort.  We are compelled to ask questions and analyze every little thing.  We try to strike the bell to make it ring. 

But maybe what we need to do is be patient and wait for the breeze to pick up and stir the bell so that its sound is gently coaxed from it in natural timing and through an environment conducive to release.

In other words, wait for it.

In his example from the book, the ringing bell reminded the people to step into mindfulless, but when it is another person, someone we love, that we wish to hear, it needs to go the other way around.  The mindfulness needs to start with us before the bell will ring.  Our simple still presence and patience is how a space is created.  That is how the wind of spirit begins to stir and the invitation is given.

I always find it amazing how just the right words show up at just the right time.  I needed this message.  I'm sharing because maybe you need it too.  Or maybe me writing it "out loud" was the only way I could understand it myself.

Either way, thanks for listening.

Love always,

Wondering Soul

"The hidden well-spring of your soul must needs rise and run murmuring to the sea;
And the treasure of your infinite depths would be revealed to your eyes.
But let there be no scales to weigh your unknown treasure;
And seek not the depths of your knowledge with staff or sounding line.
For self is a sea boundless and measureless."

By Kahlil Gibran from The Prophet


Went to the beach yesterday.

The place where I go is national park land and as such is free of the hub-bub of your typical Florida beach.  No hotels, no restaurants, absolutely no cars.  If you stand with your back to the waves, all you can see are breezy dunes covered with native sea grass.  There is no skyline...only sky.  Almost no sounds but the charging and retreating of the ocean and the chanting of sea birds.  It's a long drive, but for me it is a pilgrimage - worth every minute and mile.

The water was cool but not cold, and waves fairly gentle in their arrival on the sand.  I took this opportunity to sit myself down at the place where the ripples roll in like tumbling marbles, close my eyes and do nothing but listen, feel and breathe.  Only takes a few minutes of that to feel far away from the worries of the world and close to the wisdom of the soul.  In no time at all I was both distant and completely and utterly present.  Marvelous.

In that blissful place there was an instant when I felt a gentle touch on my shoulder.  I opened my eyes, was greeted with a smile and after a short, sweet conversation, I watched him walk out into the waves for a swim.

Another deep breath.

I took a moment to look around lazily at the shells and bits of coral that had washed up while I'd been still.  

Not far from me was a tiny heart shaped rock.

I've spent so much time trying to give my heart away when all I really needed to do was invite it to come back to me.

Yep...

You never know the treasures within your reach.

WS

Fire ephemerals are a category of plants that will only germinate, grow and bloom after a fire.  Botanists have all kinds of theories as to why that is...but the theories don't matter.  It's just how it works.  What is seemingly nothing but destructive suddenly produces unexpected new life.

Kind of cool really...

We go through our own times of fire, when it seems as if some unstoppable force is racing through our lives taking out with a vengeance everything we had built and saved and collected leaving behind nothing but naked black trees and dusty ash.  It started with a lightning strike...an unexpected flash of circumstance.  Maybe it was the loss of a job or home or relationship...or all of the above.  Maybe it was a crisis of identity - that moment where one questions who they are and what they've been doing for the last 40 years.  As it's happening, all you can do is stand back, garden hose in hand, and try to stay clear of the flames.

I read a beautiful description of faith by Paul Ferrini from The Silence of the Heart:

"Faith is the perception of goodness in that which appears to be evil.  It is the perception of abundance in what appears to be not enough.  It is the perception of justice in that which seems unfair."

What faith is not is the expectation that someone or something is going to swoop in and "rescue you" from your life.

Embrace the fire.  Trust that beauty and fruitfulness will appear in forms that were never going to be possible in your old life.  Appreciate uncertainty.  Savor it.  It's delicious if you're brave enough to take a taste.

I like what is sprouting up in the still smoldering earth of my life.  It's kind of nice to be free of the dead entanglements.  New life and new love.

A world full of wonder...and a giggling soul.

Peace,

WS

I feel like a pinata.

Somebody is beating the hell out of me until I break and my gifts spill out.

Party on...  :-)

WS

I love this photo.  Not easy to recognize...a floating germinating coconut.  Isn't that cool?  The makings of a brand new tree on a free ocean cruise looking for a sweet new spot to call home.  Magnificent.

Now that poor old coconut was probably pretty comfy in its strong, sturdy shell.  She likely felt impenetrable, like nothing could touch her.  And nothing on the outside could.  Imagine her surprise when something inside her became restless and pushy.  First little nudges, then insistent shoves, until the major meltdown...a crack that changed her world.  She didn't know she was about to embark on phase two of her destiny.  She only knew that she felt broken and not at all like her old self.

Eventually she began to notice that she was feeling more like a tree than a nut.  She could see more, experience more, spread out more, and feel those warm salty breezes as they tickled her new fronds.  Maybe being not at all like her old self wasn't such a bad thing.  Maybe, now that the uncomfortable, scary cracking part was over, she could enjoy her new lovely swaying part more fully.  Maybe a joy ride on the happily swelling sea was just what she always needed but never knew she was missing.

I think we've all been coconuts for the last few years.  For me, this year has been the most uncomfortable one of the bunch.  But now, I have so much hope, so much enthusiasm for this leg of the journey.  I am looking more forward to 2011 than any year in recent memory.

In this lovely space of days between Christmas and New Years Day, reflect on the hard shell that you thought was the full extent of who you were...and consider the promise of the tree within, just looking for a space, a warm ray of sun, and a friendly ocean to sail away upon.

Bon voyage,

WS