Lavender World

I am not at home. As I type this, I can't read the title of this post and the body is in a text size view of 1 inch. My mom's computer does these contortions, and I haven't even asked why. Isn't that what it's like to visit moms? We go about our daily work, but suddenly a lens is cast over us -- by ourselves, by the habits of old family -- that distort even our daily rhythms. I'm actually more amused than anything. The experience has been a very gentle one so far this trip.

My sister, Robyn, the boys, and I have come to my mother's organic lavender farm (Harvest Moon Lavender) to help with the harvest. Robyn and I have been out cutting lavender (thank God for the Felcos being such a pleasure to hold) for hours each day, kids wandering, hunting lizards, riding the tractor trailer, and swimming.

I imagine my family thinks me a bit odd, avoiding sugar and artificial additives in the kids food on the whole and letting go to the holiday spirit completely as I am overcome by it. Yesterday, Robyn and I made a trip into town with the kids and stopped at a natural bakery/grocery. While Robyn picked out a wine for dinner, the boys used their money to get a GIANT chocolate cupcake with equally enormous frosting. By the time we left the store, Trinidad was barking.

We went to the Arcata Plaza where Trin and Sam broke out their new street hockey set from the dollar store and played hockey on concrete for an hour or so. They were sweating and running furiously. Auntie Robyn came along and became audience to the flight of rubber band launched jets ("Watch out for the bicyclist... oh, the bicyclist... Sorry!"), catapulting plastic flies, and (get this) an almost remote control cockroach. We decided not to take that one to my favorite Chinese restaurant.

So far, mother, two daughters, and grandkids have survived peaceably under one roof. Three and a half days without dispute has got to be a record. I am grateful for their hosting and the fact that over the years of my adulthood, we have learned more and more ways to weave our days together more effectively and beautifully. I am thrilled to have meaningful work to do here, cutting flowers. Meditative, too.

Poetry comes with no pen to write, given over as the clouds trace their truths across the open sky and release their empty words to the western wind. Such is the harvest.

Honesty

Wow. It's coming at me from all angles in this moment. Kids, adults, interpersonal, in groups. I am set to learn what it is to hold court with someone who appears to be intentionally withholding and even deceiving in order to meet their needs.

I have never had difficulty with a lie now and then. I could see the needs the words attempted to meet, my heart open to the beauty of the soul that feared honesty for the pain it could bring. I delighted to find such ease here while I watched others struggle with trigger and judgment.

Now it's my turn. I don't feel triggered so much as wary. I am sad that when I hear or remember stories that now I question, I do not trust what is being spoken in the moment, to me or anyone else, to be authentic. I am aware that I don't feel connected anymore, that my heart is not moved with the person's words in that delight of shared experience. Lonely. It's a moment of loneliness, for me, and I imagine, for them -- particularly if they have checked in with my trust level.

Words that move the heart are the ones I speak of. When we feel the softest parts of ourselves touched by the artful speech of another and then later question whether the speaker was aware of deceiving... what can be trusted? Is this dilemma representative of our challenge to balance ourselves upon what is Real within and not be fooled by any of the cloaks of delight or defeat this world offers us in material experience?

I have been seeking compassion for souls, connection with the light within despite such painful refractions. In this moment, I am feeling compassion for our plight as a whole, struggling with being present and authentic in the face of our human experience which we cannot possibly achieve full unity and understanding in using our bodily senses.

I have no answers. I have not yet dug deep. That is coming.

Just letting you know... it's way up there on the to-do list.

Regret

I hit a pinnacle of dissatisfaction around how I've been showing up as a parent last Friday. I have been sending much of my energy into the garden with the intent of sustaining our family. I have been on an emotional marathon, and I'm tired. I've spent too many hours on the phone and at the computer struggling to find peace and presence while desperately wanting to be there for my kids.

On Friday, my kids' need for adult attention shot its peak through the fog. I could see that the conflicts between them and me and between each other were largely born of their living leaderless (my own perception), without the emotional and structural stability of a parent who could fully see them.

I have been sad and embarrassed to observe myself responding to them with annoyance as they "distracted me" in my work at both heart and garden. I have so longed for the focus to get through this patch. I rested only in the hope that I would be contributing to them in the long run more greatly by being more available and feeding them. Still, the darkness of bearing this weight between us -- my needs for responsibility and contribution sitting heavy and unbalanced, an avalanche in the making -- became so painfully great that I found myself unable to take another step forward in my own work or connection with anyone before addressing it.

I set intentions over the weekend to spend more time with them, a felt priority placed on their emotional and intellectual development. And on our relationship. I made a schedule to support this. I shook my head and wondered how I'd manage to "squeeze" it all in. I made another intention to find ease in it all, despite the appearance of scarcity.

When I returned home from an NVC workshop, I felt a new sense of spaciousness to receive them with. I found it easy to listen to each, to put down what I was working on and go to them almost every time they asked. To sit with conflicts, supporting the love between us all.

Forking a load of leaves into the pickup on Sunday afternoon, I touched a regret I had not wanted to see in my own choices about the primary relationship I've explored in the past year. The beauty, exquisite, but the pain a struggle spanning months. I have valued the meaning, the growth, it has offered. And now, as I held the price I have exacted on my contribution to the children, I felt genuine regret. I wished I had been able to find a way to meet my needs and theirs more effectively. I hope that in the future I am able to steer clear of such intense caring without a holistic and clear commitment for more.

I take responsibility for these choices. As I worked out even this much in my head and heart, wet leaves flying, I mourned that Sam sat on the edge of the pickup talking and I could barely hear him. I see now that my intentions in any relationship, in every day, drive my experience. In retrospect, I see how my lack of clarity and my fears contributed to the relationship that materialized. Now, I'm holding both sadness and a hope for the future in what I've learned.

Despite this conversation that drew me into the meta again, I showed up for my boys most of the time yesterday. I saw their relationships with each other and me turn around sharply. They jumped to do things for each other. We talked about communication without blame.

At 10:30 p.m., Sam brought his math workbook and colored pencils into the bedroom as Seda turned off her light for night. He started to work while I watched and supported, and suddenly he turned to me and said,"Mom, I'm glad that you're here, working on my math with me instead of being in bed or working on the computer." A smile stretched across his face. I put my hand on my heart and told him I was taking that in with such gratitude and care. He got up and opened his arms to me. "One big kiss and hug," he said.

As we lay in bed not long after, I expressed my regrets around choices I have made that took my attention so far from them. As I described my irritability and sadness in the past weeks, Trinidad said, "These past weeks I have been cranky, too, because I haven't been getting to spend time with you. And when I don't spend time with you, I feel like a ghost. When I look back on myself right now, I see myself as grey."

This struck me deeply. The image echoed my experience of us all, walking through the desert together. What a dry time it has been.

A Box of Tissues

Yesterday, I was biking home alone from the hardware store (hoses on sale!) when I gave myself empathy around watching Trinidad say with perfect honesty to a friend that he didn't really like her, he just liked to go to her house because she had candy bars and a trampoline. It was true that he hadn't "invited" her to play. She had merged with the group because she is one of the neighborhood. And then, he was noticing that he just wanted to play with his other friends because he liked them and they wanted to do what he wanted to do.

Ouch. For her, for me, for who knows who else. I wanted to open my heart to where he was, but I was hurting so much. Really worried about his needs being met in future/present (karma, even if impersonal, will play itself out before me no doubt). Other's needs. When I came to the awareness of my sense of helplessness and deep sadness in watching someone do something what I fully expect will land as painful even if they can't see it's so, I hit the brakes and swung my leg off the bike to sit in an alley and cry.

What work is this! I would love to be able to "show" him how it could be for the both of them if he could open his heart to hold everyone's needs. In conventional parenting, I could give him a time out and a morality lecture and call my work for the day done. Except for the steaming. Instead, I sat with a sense of helplessness.

I want this awareness to come from inside him. I want it to flow in by choice, not to appear in action out of fear of what people will think or his mother would do if he "didn't." I want to give him the spaciousness to explore these more complex social dilemmas, fall on concrete if he must, and draw his own conclusions. I want to support him by being there when he falls, guiding when he asks, and holding the sadness -- his, mine, hers -- throughout.

Oh! To take that many steps away and hold this challenge, the pull at my heart! I really felt the fear and longing in my powerlessness to "control" any of this exchange in a way that would meet my needs for integrity. Ach. I sat with that. And then, more pain. Another situation is near and dear to me with an adult who is making choices that I see will likely cause/are causing pain and confusion. Again, I have a sense that I can "see" what that person cannot, and I would love to share this view, but I cannot share anything someone is not ready to see for themselves. I am no more powerful here than I am with Trinidad. Why would I think that I have some responsibility to force Trin to see when I cannot even do this with an adult?

And the pain, again, in holding the sadness of everyone all round, now resonating through the situation with children and adults, all trying to navigate, meeting some needs and landing tragically short on others. Then, to the world scope, on an adult level again, people unaware of each other's deepest needs unmet, so focused are they on their own (I am by no means removing myself from the lot here) -- major scuffles, lives lost, wars...oh. The suffering. So much sadness.

I sobbed and sobbed. My handkerchief flooded. I so wanted everyone's needs to be seen. To matter! And herein, my power grew a hundred fold. My presence stretched out before me like a hammock wide enough to hold the pain that I experienced, the pain of children, adults, all beings who, stumbling in their own blindness, crash into the hearts and lives of others.

A man emerged from his backyard and walked slowly toward me with a box of tissues. Yep. That's the ammunition I need. He kneeled beside me and told me I would get through it. I did not curb my tears. He pulled several tissues from the box and handed them to me, assuring me that he'd been there before, many times.

I'm sure he has. We all have. And when I held the beauty of the need called mattering, I cried tears both bitter and sweet, all the love in my heart for my family, the world, the recognition of this need so deeply meaningful to me that it seems to pulse in my veins. The power is with me now to hold the pain around this need not met. To recognize the need in its exquisite beauty within and without our human attempts to do our very best.

I will look for my trust in its existence and in my own ability to stay present with it all.

Awakening to Empathy

My favorite thing about aging is learning to integrate more and more aspects of my life so that I can simply "be" in One way. I cherished this awareness last night as I received deep empathy from my womens circle.

"Empathy" is a state of being defined in a particular way in Nonviolent Communication, as pioneered by Marshall Rosenberg. The verbal expression of empathy is usually centered on feelings and needs, but the state of consciousness (essential) has, as I see it, three specific elements: full focus, genuine curiosity, and a singular intent of connection.

I noted in my last blog that I found these elements key to a meditation of self-discovery. Not new news -- there is always overlap across the many paths to enlightenment. I am aware that these same elements have been key to my surviving crises of various sorts in my life. I'm not sure that "crises" speaks to the spectrum of my experiences here.

I am thinking, in this moment, of laboring to birth my second child. I had chosen not to plan out images, music, or meditations, and as contractions intensified, calling for my full attention, I approached the experience with open curiosity and an intention to connect -- this time, with a force beyond me. A powerful awakening into Being followed, and the experience has shaped me.

I opened myself to all guidance as the stimulation of labor took my body in waves. Images flowed through me -- a kayak bearing my infant flowing down a river from my crown to my root, the river turning into a rainbow, a light moving constantly and infinitely in both directions, my child in gentle, safe passage. The sounds of my heartbeat, the blood in my veins, filled me with the emptyfull sound of silence, as if I stood alone in the center of a great cathedral. All time dissolved, and I spent each contraction/expansion completely given over to this experience, guided by a force greater than my spirit had known.

I have opened myself to such imagery more and more in the years since Sam's birth. The process of listening to my body, heart, and mind has only deepened since then, and now I find myself accessing this in writing, music, and empathy. My eyes often close in these pursuits, and I am transported outside of myself beyond the realm of earthly vision.

Last night, as I prepared to receive empathy, I noticed a request from my body to sit cross-legged on the floor. I opened myself with curiosity to "hear" within what wanted to be spoken. Images flowed through me, and I described these at various points in the process. I find that often the images lead me in a meditation that opens my heart to clarity I had not imagined.

Recently, inward turning, I described the shape and size of my sadness and anxiety as an anchor, and then I heard myself saying that I wanted to leave this place, the tide was rising, but I was afraid to pull the anchor, afraid I would leave a piece of me behind. Then, the awareness flooded into me that I would not leave me behind, that I could not. I was in choice to take what I liked, what served me, and leave the rest behind. Relief surged as I realized that it was time to weigh anchor; I had faced my fears and was ready (see blogpost "Weighing Anchor"). Interestingly, my opportunity came to manifest this in my outer world within the hour.

The imagery has served me as I merge the heart of my emotions with my trust in spirit and the intellectual understanding I have gained around empathy as a process. I do not worry any more about whether the way that I receive empathy "works" for others. It is my own, and I am curious each time about how I will be guided to receive it.

I am sometimes surprised. Last night, as I mourned, simply to mourn, allowing the living need to flow through me as water through a pipe flowing both directions simultaneously, I gave myself permission to mourn as long or as often as it was alive to do so. I opened myself to any images that would tell me what was next when it was time. Do you know what came up in picture and word? I had to laugh: Strawberry Milkshake.

Go figure. Proof that mine is not a vegan awakening.

(Un)Attachment

In May, my post entitled "Paying Homage" explored the aspect of attachment that struggled with a perceived loss, a forgetting, when letting go. I concluded that letting go meant taking in more deeply.

This week brought a stretching in my working understanding of unattachment. I have been struggling to let go of a primary relationship (one year deep) and have held with care another friendship, dear to me, that seemed potentially threatened. In both, I have mourned the possibility of total loss... what would that mean?

I learned much from the latter this week that influenced my place in the first. While actively mourning the tenuous nature of mortality (we might all be on the brink of illness, death, or accident and not know it; our sense of security is a false reassurance, though comfortable), I came to view my work in unattachment differently.

A friend told me that she would like to open herself to enlightenment, whatever earthly experience such a growing required. Good or bad, it's pointless to label, but essential openness to becoming consciously realized souls... this was the work. Have I asked for soul realization so clearly? No. I have been afraid to ask for full disclosure because the "price" might be too high for me to bear. Too high? Such as? The death of a child. A loved one. My own incapacitation. On a smaller scale (all my human measurings), the loss of my home, my garden, my value as a teacher/mentor. And more.

I took a breath. Why am I afraid to "lose" these elements in my life? The pain, I imagined, unbearable. Yes, and why? Because the pain is connected to my identities in this plane. The mother. The lover. The teacher. The gardener. Beauty. All the exquisitely defined perceptions of my soul that this ego is so eager to grasp at. And all, in the words of Eckhart Tolle, "are not [me]."

Oh. They're not, are they? I am smiling now. For I am something undefined in this world. Something colorful and infinite in size and shape, my spirit forever unfolding into what I had not yet imagined. What is me? I am in awe to witness.

"Me" is without edges. I am a hue of the All, vibrating with a resonance that sends me spirit-bound into everything I see and touch, feel and know. There is no role or identity in this "Me" that is in any way real.

And now I know it and feel it. I can walk it. My attachment to you is no less than my attachment to me. For that piece of me that seeks some hide-bound connection with what I have cared for is most drawn to the exquisite and finite beauty of what should be, could be, might have been. It knows the symphony of sorrow, the tragedy of love unrequited, a match that nearly struck a fire to light heaven itself.

Nearly. The word speaks to a framework of limitations. The tip-off. Our worldly dramas that catch at my heart-strings, play scenes in my mind, are all drawing hard on me in my roles. As a gardener, a mother, a writer, or a friend it doesn't make sense that the primary relationship I have worked so hard at could have failed. The notion of failure itself, heart-wrenching.

But if I am not these roles at all, if I am only my essence, unattached to my garden (gasp), my children (deep, deep breath), my home (exhale)... then what? What does separation in a primary relationship mean to me? No more than a bird's first flight. Letting go to trust in an instinct deeper than my own, patterns that will support me beyond reason, love that carries wing to wind.

It took me a good few minutes to make that kind of commitment to myself, to let go of my roles and identities and experience what it is I am more fully. Interestingly, I noticed that the same cornerstones I experience in the NVC definition of empathy are my guides to finding "me" in this moment: full focus, genuine curiosity, and the sole intention of (self)connection. I have the tools. Only the willingness to trust and to fly were in question.

All day, I have checked in. Is it me? Is my response to this conflict me? The color combination I chose to wear to the party? The biceps my friends are commenting on? The competence Seda celebrates in me for this achievement or that? My worries about the kids' abilities to navigate socially? No. Not a one. I have been smiling so hard all day that my face hurts.

Unattachment is a taking in. But the work, once integrated, cannot be labeled or categorized in any way. No sentimental token survives the fires that forge these changes. And the rest -- memories of earthly words and deeds that appeared beautiful in their joy or pain -- I am now willing to "lose" or "forget" as the wind blows. I was terrified to let these go before; they were exquisite in their own desperately human sense, so full of meaning. Now, I see that this beauty held me because it appealed to the beauty I found in my own identity.

I am open to being ugly now. Open to forgetting what happened yesterday and forgetting my worries for tomorrow. I am me in my heart either way. The world will or will not understand me. That won't change who I am for a moment. And that is my new affair: I am discovering what it is to be me (at one with all).

You might prepare to be surprised.

Calling Them Home

For the past 2 years, I have wondered what I can use to call my children home. I have coveted my neighbor's big bell as I've grown my lungs according to my childrens' lengthening boundaries. But today, I decided enough was enough as I hiked the 'hood in search of my eldest explorer.

The Universe responded. Dana and I discovered a garage sale only one block away. Sam got a "Need Help, Please Call Police!" sign that one could put on a dashboard in a state of peril if one were over the age of five. I got an antique sickle ($3.75!) and a book for my dad.

And an Official Boy Scout Bugle. That's right. I've never touched a piece of brass to my lips this lifetime.

The neighbors know it.