feel your feelings

“The fastest way to freedom is to feel your feelings” -- Gita Bellen

There is a post bubbling around in here, but my aching neck demands attention. Some would say I must immediately go to a doctor and that might be true. Others would recommend I take an aspirin and rest. Personally, I can most easily justify it by knowing that I slept scrunched up last night, had a glass of wine and popcorn for dinner and spent yesterday dusting, vacuuming and cleaning dog fur from my house (a very good thing ☺). The feelings I refer to today, however, are not the aches and pains in my body, but the ones that held me in the emotional dump this week. It was amazing how once I wrote those feelings down—articulated them—really sat in them awhile---that I was able to release them…or at least begin to feel some freedom from their hold on me.

The heaviness began to lift even though circumstances had not really changed. It was like lining them up to look at, placing them on a boat and watching them float out to sea. The “problems” where not gone, they were now simply seen from a different viewpoint. In other words, I still have the same amount of work facing me. My house still needed cleaning. My children are still teenagers, etc. etc. One thing that has changed is the skies are not so gray--both literally and figuratively. (I also realize this is the place where some of you may be quick to diagnose me with seasonal affective disorder, but that is not the point here and it kind of is ☺.)

I think about the complexities of life and all of the choices we can make to help us feel better. We can pop a pill, numb ourselves, put on a happy face, and hurry to fix things. I am not saying that action does not need to happen, but I am suggesting that we not overlook the power of actually doing as Bellen says and “feeling our feelings” rather than stuffing them down, looking for the quick fix or anesthetizing them away. Because, guess what? Feelings don’t really go away.

Believe me, I have all sorts of little tricks to get myself out of the blues. I know deep in my heart that my nature is one of light and joy rather than darkness and gloom. But both are part of me. Sometimes to get back to wholeness, I just need to sit in whatever feelings are coming my way—irrational, justified or uncomfortable as they may be. It is all so paradoxical. For example, I know that my daughter does not really hate me and, of course, at some level she does. After all, she’s 15 and that’s part of her job to differentiate from Mom. My son is 36 days sober today which is wonderful AND it terrifies me that the number could go back to zero at any moment. I have checked things off my list AND the list continues to grow. There is much to manage and experience and this post could go on forever. And in reality, that is what this blog is about. It is about my experiences and feelings. It is about where I am today…right now…this very moment. It is about my feelings and thoughts as long as I allow myself to let them flow.

So, today, the sun is shining. My heart is filled with gratitude. My gentle readers rose to the occasion and allowed me to “feel my feelings.” Thank you. We’ll see what happens next.

So, how will you feel your feelings today? Boldly? Gently? Wisely? Not at all? Or maybe today, you will simply choose to feel the sun on your skin or the crunch of the snow under your feet or watch the rain through your window? I’d love to know.

photos by lucy --yelapa, mexico

Messy

"God of mystery, help me to hold the questions, lead me to live them, bless me to bless them for disturbing my path." --Jan L. Richardson, Night Visions

Yesterday was messy. The above words and the ones I share below were penned before I even got out of bed. Little did I know how much I would need them today.

Honor the questions. Hold them lightly. Let them guide but not overwhelm and obstruct. They may disturb the path—the journey not to look how I think it should, but that’s what I get for thinking.

Follow the path like a butterfly dancing across the garden. Touching here. Lifting there. Following the breeze and scents. There is a plan perhaps, but it is not mine. Is it God’s—the man with strings in the sky? NO. I think not. It is mystery. Life force. God.

It is not the God of my elders. A God who controlled with fear and condemnation. It is the God of love. Serendipity. The God who is with me in tragedy, but who does not push a button and make it happen.

The journey is one together. The questions will always continue. Hold them lightly. Honor them well. Life is messy.

photo by lucy 1.13.08

Morphing

The journey toward wholeness is never complete, but still we reach and yearn and move toward and through it. Gradations. Variations. Two steps forward and one step back—for we are always changing. As Jung says, 'if two meet and connect, there is a reaction and we are transformed.' (Paraphrased--see direct quote here.)

Morphing like the Animorphs books my son read as a child. Our nature may feel like that of a butterfly—a miracle born of the cocoon. Or a bird on the wing lifting and floating through the air. At other times, we may feel like the snake on the ground with no arms or legs to move us, tasting only dirt within our teeth.

The butterfly breaks free from its cocoon. Birds molt. Snakes shed their skin. Yet at no time do they cease to be insect or bird or snake. They simply morph into what they already are—journeying toward their completeness.

photo © h3images

Advent Journey Continues

So, what do you do when you have too many words, thoughts and events running through your head that it would take pages and pages to even begin? I realized this morning that when that happens to me often a poem will pop out. Advent continues to be an amazing journey for me. I have been very nearly overwhelmed by the thoughtful and thought-provoking responses I have received on my last few posts. I am blessed by each of you in ways you likely cannot imagine. I am grateful. I am humbled. I am pondering.

This graphic is a collage card I made last week at an evening workshop. I am still unraveling what this art has to say to me. The poem is one of a continuing journey; weaving times, places, people, & events in and out. It seems appropriate to preface it with these words of Ronald Rolheiser, given to me in a post comment from Gabrielle.

"Advent should not be confused with Lent. The crimson-purple of Advent is not the black-purple of Lent. The former symbolizes yearning and longing, the latter repentence. The spirituality of Advent is about carrying tension without prematurely resolving it so that we do not short-circuit the fullness that comes from respecting love's rhythms. Only when there is enough heat will there be unity. To give birth to what's divine requires the slow patience of gestation."

she is most interesting to me
gazing at me through pools of brown
lovely eyes aglow
do not be afraid
it is a time of shedding & rebirth
an awakening
creative & colossal
shining in the shadows
hidden light revealed
ancient wisdom in 5 year old eyes
persistent
alert
vigorous
vigilant
vibrant & watchful

she is most interesting to me
poppies in hand
serpent looming
loving
entwined with god
one god
lives rippling outward in time
embracing the whole
the beloved
ancestors dance the bridge between day & night
angels float in shadow bright
golden shimmering
shadows joining light

she is most interesting to me
crown donned with flowers white
lucy of the light
patron saint of blind
mother earth
rebirth & new life
speak of shadows feared
step into them & see
they are filled with light
shadowy brilliance
yearning
longing
advent
waiting
pausing
reflecting
sorting through life

yes, she is most interesting to me

Preparing Space. Letting Go. Shedding.

“Why is there so much Lent in Advent? In this season of joy, why do I bump up against my wounds? The wise ones who journey with me remind me that there are cycles of shedding before there is conception, that birthing is painful and messy and loud, and that we find it so hard to let go, to open so that new life can emerge.” Jan L. Richardson, Night Visions

Preparing a space. Letting go. Shedding. Before me lies a table full of photos of a young girl. Me. I see my 2nd birthday; my fifth; another one or two. I think I look dorky. Sullen. Goofy. I think I look brilliant. Wise and beautiful. God’s perfect creation. One in need of constant shedding and letting go.

It is time to start letting go of resentments toward the imperfections of my childhood. I know that I was cared for although not always well. My parents were, after all, human—just like me. I was clothed in handmade creations. Were they made out of love or necessity or possibly both? At age eight, I fell off my bicycle and broke my front teeth and split my lip so badly that it would droop for several years until my mother took me for plastic surgery. Ironically, I appear to be most proud of my school picture taken after my teeth were broken for it is the only picture that bears my signature. The pictures are tiny and could easily have been lost over the years. I am grateful to see my young handwriting testifying to the spunk I had even in my brokenness.

I am grateful for the table full of pictures that I did not think existed. They show me that someone saw to it that my life was documented—perfectly & imprecisely. The school photos. A few snapshots. The glamour girl with my sixties “fall” (i.e. fake hair). A new bike at Christmas. The dangerous sled ride being pulled behind a mini-bike by my father. The trip to Niagara Falls that I wasn’t quite sure we had taken. My dad’s semi-truck. Skipper the dog. My cousin, Vicki who snuck olives from the table with me. My sophisticated sister and my skinny brother before he grew into his ears ☺. Mother holding me on the day I was born.

These photos are helping me shed that which I no longer need. They are marking the time to let love back in. My mother was a woman filled with imperfection. My father was often absent for long periods of time. Together, however, they raised three amazing children. “Good genes,” we’ve always said. “Good hearts” is probably more like it. This, of course, makes me think of my own children. May they grow up well in spite of me AND because of me. I love them the best I can…just as my parents loved me. Yes, it is a time of preparing space. Letting Go. Shedding. It is the time of Advent.

photo: Mom & Me