If you are travelling with a child or someone who requires assistance, secure your mask on first, and then assist the other person. –Airline Hostess

One thing that I have not written much about, but which is really the most difficult part of my divorce is the change in my relationship with my children.

I miss them.

I miss being a Mom.

All of my children are nearly grown. They are not little kids. Even the youngest had mostly begun to see me as a food source; “What’s for dinner, Mom?” seemed to be the only topic of conversation in the last few years.

My daughter is an adult in her late twenties and the boys are late teenagers. They all have lives to live, and that separation from the mother had already begun long before the divorce proceedings.

When I left, part of my reasoning was that they did not seem to need me anymore. They were settled into their lives with their father, and I felt like I was no longer needed. My daughter had shunned me for most of the time leading up to the divorce, angry and hurt. Just walking into my old home was so painful, I could barely stand it. Taking my kids out to dinner was awkward, and I often felt like I was intruding on their lives. I didn’t want my sons to start to resent me the way my daughter seemed to. I was in so much pain that I didn’t know how to relate to being the “absent parent.”

My daughter kept telling me that this wasn’t about me, to which I still have no response. How could my divorce not be about me? Everyone else seemed to be moving on, staying with the same attachments, while I was flapping my wings and trying to take flight.

“Taking flight” has a double meaning: I could be flying away from something, and I could be soaring to new heights. I think it is a little of both.

Being a mother is difficult. I have been a mother since I was twenty-three years old, which is more than half my life. I have spent so much time caring for other people that I barely know how to take care of myself.

And that seems to be the crux of the matter: I really don’t know how to take care of myself.

On the airplane, they tell you to put the oxygen mask over your own face first and then take care of the child. You can’t help the child if you cannot breathe yourself.

I have not been able to breathe. I am still finding it difficult.

My greatest fear is that while I am learning to breathe, something will happen to my children.

I have to trust that my ex-husband, the church, and the school community will take care of them, and more importantly, that being young adults, they will learn to take care of themselves.

My second greatest fear is that they will resent me for leaving.

The absolute worst part of the divorce for me was my daughter’s reaction. It brought up so much pain, anger, and fear in her that it was overwhelming for both of us. She has barely spoken to me the last year, and when she has her words were filled with resentment. I hope and pray that she will heal her wounds and I will heal mine and we can be close again. I miss her so much.

Until that day, I am trying to come to terms with all that has transpired, to lean into to the wind.

A friend compared me to a dandelion seed last night.

A dandelion grows where it falls. It is blown into the wind, and the seeds dance through the air until the wind dies down, then they grow where they fall.

I am dancing in the wind.

Namaste’ ya’ll.

Moving to Mend

I have been here in Eureka for three weeks now, and although I moved out here to be closer to Keith, I have spent about half that time separated from him. I knew that this would be the way it is, but relationships are difficult enough, long-distance ones are even more difficult. Of course, that wasn't the only reason I moved here; I was also looking for a place to mend my tattered life, a place to heal and rise again.

I tried to listen to the cues that were given me, to hear that helicopter pilot flying above the roads warning of what was ahead and encouraging me to get off the path and take the slower route. It is difficult not to say to that pilot, “Hey, are you nuts? I could just keep plodding along here with the other cars; at least I know this road!” But the cues that I was getting were more like giant hammers from the sky.

I went to meet with Mother Susan yesterday, the rector at Christ’s Episcopal, Eureka. As my story unfolded, with tears and the proffered box of Kleenex, she commented that I had suffered one trauma after another.

Trauma.

I had not thought of it that way. I had felt it, but being in the middle of it, I had just been riding the waves. Trauma, on first hearing, sounds very negative and almost excessive but also true. She said that I had experienced ALL of the prime stressors in the last year, except that I had not suffered an illness.

(divorce, job loss, home loss, car accident…)

Thank goodness for good health!

I’m trying not to dwell on the extensive list of changes over the last year, but I do feel a little battered and bruised.

Ok, maybe more than a little. Maybe I feel like I have been beaten against the rocks of life.

It actually feels good to admit that, not in an “oh woe is me” sort of way, but in a clinical, step back and triage the damage sort of way.

Now, I can figure out how to deal with it.

And, scary and lonely as it is, I think I came to the right place.

I have work to do here. Important work. I am beginning to see how I fit in to this social movement called the Move to Amend Coalition. It is a steady chipping at a huge block, but it is a worthy fight, and I am in it with many other dedicated individuals. In that, I find community and purpose.

 But Keith will still be gone another 10 days.

I went to see Joaquin Phoenix in “Her” last night. This is the story of the ultimate long-distance relationship; he can never enter her world, and she can never enter his, no matter how hard they try. It is a movie about relationships, both with technology and with other humans. At several points, he says that he can feel her with him. I feel like that; sometimes Keith’s voice on the phone becomes a tangible presence for me.

But, the truth is that human beings are physical beings, so the lack of physical contact is challenging. I can “imagine” him beside me, but it is not the same as a real, solid human being. Fortunately, we still exist on the same plane, and he will return eventually.

The real reason the relationship in the movie ends is because she evolves and changes rapidly; she grows and learns and communicates with other artificial intelligences and they eventually all depart, leaving their human friends to each other.

It was also a move about divorce and how people just change and can’t be together anymore.

I am not sure if I am getting this across, but I actually found the movie uplifting. It ends with him and his best friend watching the sun rise over the city, heads leaned in toward each other.

Connection is still possible.

Healing is possible.

Hope is always present.

Namaste’ ya’ll!

Courage on tiny cat feet

Courage on tiny cat feet

People keep telling me I am brave. I don’t feel courageous. In fact, most of the time I am scared shitless, but maybe that is the definition of bravery: doing something even when you are terrified beyond belief.

I have been in Eureka for almost two weeks. Mostly I have been getting acclimated, putting my feet on the ground, learning the ropes of being an intern for the Move to Amend coalition, and getting settled in to my little apartment.

I had resisted getting my own place for a long time. I was scared to be alone.

Back in August when I was getting ready to leave my home, my kids, my dogs, my cats, my garden, my kitchen, my sanctuary…I was overwhelmed.

I knew it was the right thing to do, the ONLY thing to do, but it was so, so difficult. I really didn’t know what I was going to do. Not only was I having to leave behind everything that said “home” to me, I also had not lived on my own since I was in my 20’s.

Courage came for me then in the yoga studio one day, when my friend Pat said that I could come stay with him and his wife Mona. They gave me a room with a view of their gorgeous garden and a safe place to stay. I am so grateful.

But I was rootless.

I tried to keep my kite string down at Jim and Val’s place in Buda. I visited them a lot this last year. That has been a blessing, because I love those two people more than most of my family. Val is my sister-friend. She has held my hand through most of the married and now divorced part of my life. I have known her since before Jackson was born. She taught me to be a Succulent Wild Woman and has always provided me the best of counsel. She is truly wise.

Jim admires me. He is one of the men that made me feel desirable again. He admires from afar, but he lets me know, and I truly appreciate that. One of my favorite things to do is sit on the Corry’s front porch and sing along with Jim. We have to stop and put our hands over our ears when the trains come through, but even that becomes a meditative moment to pause.

The last few months have provided more upheaval. I can see that I caused it; we always do.  I lost my job at the University, I wrecked my car, I overstayed my welcome….I really wasn’t dealing with things well. I wasn’t dealing with them at all, if I could help it. There was this overwhelming need to shed, to slough off an old skin. So many of the roles that I had played were either non-existent or seriously diminished and altered. I am nobody’s wife. My mothering role has changed drastically. To tell the truth, I haven’t felt strong enough to be anybody’s anything, because it has taken so much power to work on my own issues.

I am a deeply emotional person. I feel things more strongly than average, and I not only empathize with other people’s emotions, I also take them on as my own. Valerie calls me a “feeler.” I am more than empathetic; it’s almost like a super-power. It has its downsides; the stream of emotions can be overwhelming, not only for me, but for other people. I have had to face how that has affected my relationships.

So courage comes on tiny cat feet, one tentative paw after another, testing for sturdiness, wobbling and bravely moving forward, knowing full well that one could slip at any time.

But cats have nine lives and always land on their feet.

Namaste’ ya’ll!

Quiet

To write, one must first become quiet.

I use yoga and meditation to get still and listen. I have to have low noise level. Ambient noise is fine: the traffic driving by on the wet road, the pop of the heater, rain, my fingers clacking on the keyboard…that ever- present, buzzy, om sound.

I don’t always like what I hear.

Sometimes, in order to listen, I need to hear something that I would rather not, because solitude makes a person come square in the face of themselves. There is nowhere to hide when you are by yourself. No distractions. No outside influences.

My apartment is spare. I like it like this.

I have the bare necessities.

Not the bear necessities. J

Everything I need and nothing that I do not need.

My living room is a yoga space. Nothing but my mat and my altar.

I can just drop and do yoga whenever I feel like it. There is no excuse; it can just flow into my day, which means I do a little in the morning and the evening, at least. I get on my mat and just cruise where ever I feel; it’s my magic carpet.

I walk next door to go to work, where although I communicate with people all day, I am not required to “dress for success,” which for me means that I can wear jeans and a t-shirt all week or yoga pants, even my tye-dye ones, and no one calls me a “hippie” (except Keith, he does call me a hippie. He says that I have a hippie-chick-pad. There are no beads or black lights, I swear.)

I have beautiful views out of all of my windows. The energy in my place is so sweet.

Grateful. I am grateful.

Tomorrow, I venture out to a new yoga class (the teacher says she moved here from Texas, too, seven years ago), check out the library, maybe take a bus to the University and snoop around. I hear there is kirtin tomorrow night at a yoga studio in Arcata, where the University is located.

I’m going ‘sploring.

Namaste’ ya’ll.

The Day PSH died

It’s been a week since I embarked on this chapter of my life. I missed the plane that I was rushing to get. I had been sitting at the wrong gate, another example of how perspective controls everything. I had seen a ‘9’ when it was really a ‘6’….or they changed the gate after I sat down to wait and saw that Phillip Seymour Hoffman had died, reminding me of a Frank O’Hara poem about the day Billie Holiday died.

The Day Lady Died

The Day Lady Died

It is 12:20 in New York a Friday

three days after Bastille day, yes

it is 1959 and I go get a shoeshine

because I will get off the 4:19 in Easthampton   

at 7:15 and then go straight to dinner

and I don’t know the people who will feed me

and I am sweating a lot by now and thinking of

leaning on the john door in the 5 SPOT

while she whispered a song along the keyboard

to Mal Waldron and everyone and I stopped breathing

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Frank O’Hara, “The Day Lady Died” from Lunch Poems. Copyright © 1964 by Frank O’Hara.

The Day Lady Died

By Frank O'Hara 1926–1966

It is 12:20 in New York a Friday
three days after Bastille day, yes
it is 1959 and I go get a shoeshine
because I will get off the 4:19 in Easthampton
at 7:15 and then go straight to dinner
and I don't know the people who will feed me

I walk up the muggy street beginning to sun
and have a hamburger and a malted and buy
an ugly NEW WORLD WRITING to see what the poets
in Ghana are doing these days
in Ghana are doing these days I go on to the bank
and Miss Stillwagon (first name Linda I once heard)
doesn't even look up my balance for once in her life
and in the GOLDEN GRIFFIN I get a little Verlaine
for Patsy with drawings by Bonnard although I do
think of Hesiod, trans. Richmond Lattimore or
Brendan Behan's new play or Le Balcon or Les Nègres
of Genet, but I don't, I stick with Verlaine
after practically going to sleep with quandariness

and for Mike I just stroll into the PARK LANE
Liquor Store and ask for a bottle of Strega and
then I go back where I came from to 6th Avenue
and the tobacconist in the Ziegfeld Theatre and
casually ask for a carton of Gauloises and a carton
of Picayunes, and a NEW YORK POST with her face on it

and I am sweating a lot by now and thinking of
leaning on the john door in the 5 SPOT
while she whispered a song along the keyboard
to Mal Waldron and everyone and I stopped breathing

I love that poem; My thesis for Dr. McCall was on Frank O’Hara, and I spent a good deal of time with him that semester. He is one of the imagists, and this poem is very much a list of experiences linked to the major image, the “NEW YORK POST with her face on it” leading us to Frank’s memory of hearing her sing. That’s what made me think of it, because that is how I felt when I set down my suitcase, computer, and yoga mat in the airport waiting area for gate 9 instead of 6. We have seen so many great artists succumb to this type of escape from the planet. I would start a list, but it would be so depressingly long…I remember first seeing him in "Boogie Nights." Brilliant actor.

I listened to the news report for a while and then put in my headphones.

They were just repeating the same nonsense, like they always do.

I had lots of time at the airport, so I spread out my mat and did a little yoga, then I posted my last blog.

 That’s when I realized that something was not right.

 A plane had landed and people had come off, but they hadn’t called for boarding.

I inquired of the status and realized my mistake.

By the time I made it to the correct gate…it had closed.

I was informed that federal regulations require the doors to be closed 10 minutes prior to take off…

Expletive!

Breathe…

My first concern was that Keith and I had an 8 hour drive from Portland to Eureka, so I called him first. He was so calm that it rubbed off on me. No problem. Get a later flight.

After a little worry that I would not get out until 9:30pm, we managed to find a flight in an hour and a half, only a slight delay.

Lesson: This was not a problem worth getting worked up over; everything worked out fine.

The drive was quite beautiful. Keith was tired from his travels and work, so after we stopped for a sandwich in Eugene, Oregon, I took over driving.

He had rented a hybrid so it was interesting starting it with a button and then not being able to hear the engine, but it drove like a dream, very smoothly. Last time he asked me to drive, I was scared. The roads here can twist and turn, plus it gets DARK. It wasn’t long before he took the wheel back because I was driving so slowly.

This time, however, I trusted the car and was able to enjoy driving. I just relaxed into the momentum, feeling the curves with confidence that even if I could not see what was around the corner, it would still be fine. In Texas, you can almost always see miles and miles down the road. Here, you sometimes can’t see 100ft. There are also rocks and cliffs and tall trees in the way; no such thing in most of Texas…it’s pretty flat. That’s also a good metaphor for how I felt: I had been so worried about what was around the corner; I had to learn to have faith. Just listening to the helicopter pilot isn’t enough. One must have the courage to take that leap with conviction.

Once I decided to move to Eureka and do this internship, everything fell smoothly into place, just like Michael said it would. I have tried to stay open and say, “Yes, and…” like we did in Improv—accept and add to it.

It works.

I have an apartment with a bed and a great space for doing yoga. I think I am going to try to keep it spare. The space has great energy and fantastic views. It is also right next door to where I work and where Keith lives, so the commute is fast. I am loving the work and getting settled in. We gather for conversation and a shared meal four nights a week, so there is a strong sense of community.

I feel peaceful and happy.

Namaste’ ya’ll!

Let it go...

"Let It Go"

I am not usually a Disney fan. Of course, I raised three kids, so I have seen most of the movies (repeatedly...) and been to Disney World twice, but I am not what you would call a fan. The "world" is too unreal; the "happiest place on earth" is really just a facade, a set for denying reality. I have had quite enough of pretend, thank you.
But this one scene really spoke to me. Here we have a character who has had to hide her talent, her gift, her magic in order to protect someone she loves. And the truth is...she didn't have to.
Why did she stay locked in her room, alone and afraid?
Fear.
Fear keeps us locked up in our little rooms, unable to come out and play, unable to share our magic.
When the gates open up and the windows are thrown open, there we are...exposed for everyone to see our true nature and open to rejection.
Rejection.
Rejection sends her up to the mountain, where she hopes to hide and live with the magic alone.

The snow glows white on the mountain tonight

Not a footprint to be seen
A kingdom of isolation,
And it looks like I’m the Queen.

I relate to the journey she takes up the mountain by herself. 

At first, she runs out of the terror of rejection, but as she goes, she finds beauty in her "curse" and learns to see it as a gift, instead. Unfortunately, she sends those she loves into a cold storm. 

She doesn't realize what she has done; she didn't mean to hurt anyone; she simply reacted in her pain.

I have been on such a journey.

And like Elsa, I hurt people I loved and isolated myself.

The wind is howling like this swirling storm inside
Couldn’t keep it in, heaven knows I tried

My friend Michael tells me this is my Kali-energy. He and others have helped me learn to harness it, instead of letting it run wild. I'm getting much better at it. Instead of fighting, I have learned to be like water: to flow, nourish, and bless. 

Keeping it in didn't work. 

When I tried to keep the emotions in, they just festered and boiled. Then when they came out, they did damage to both me and those around me.

Don’t let them in, don’t let th:em see
Be the good girl you always have to be
Conceal, don’t feel, don’t let them know
Well, now they know

Ok. So, now you know.

So.....?

Here's another thing that I have learned:

Everyone has something they hide, something they try not to show other people. And you know what? 

It doesn't matter.

Be yourself.

No one really wants you to be someone you are not.

It doesn't work.

So why be afraid?

I just did my yoga practice right in the middle of Sea-Tac airport.

Yes. Some people probably stared at me. Some people probably thought I was weird.

But, there were probably quite a few people who wished they could do what I was doing.

I tell you what...my hips feel a lot better after being on a plane all day. 

Let it go, let it go
Can’t hold it back anymore
Let it go, let it go
Turn away and slam the door
I don’t care
What they’re going to say
Let the storm rage on,
The cold never bothered me anyway

That's right. I am not holding back anymore. I have a power inside me. It's coming out.

But now, I get to choose how I handle the storms.

I had to let it all go, let the doors slam. Once I did, new ones opened. Sometimes they were doors to the same place, just opening from a different perspective. 

It’s funny how some distance
Makes everything seem small
And the fears that once controlled me
Can’t get to me at all
It’s time to see what I can do
To test the limits and break through
No right, no wrong, no rules for me
I’m free

This is why I am leaving. I need some distance. I couldn't "find myself" in familiar surroundings. The temptation to go back to the same roles was too tempting. I need those "wide, open spaces" that I never really got to experience when I was young. I am so excited about my new adventure. I feel so happy and free, like anything is possible. I am so grateful for this opportunity and to everyone who has supported me and held doors open for me. Hell, I am even grateful for the doors that were slammed shut for me. In fact, I am especially grateful for those.

Ok, well....There's my plane.

I guess the rest of the story is

...to be continued...

Let it go, let it go
I am one with the wind and sky
Let it go, let it go
You’ll never see me cry
Here I stand
And here I'll stay
Let the storm rage on

My power flurries through the air into the ground
My soul is spiraling in frozen fractals all around
And one thought crystallizes like an icy blast
I’m never going back,
The past is in the past

Let it go, let it go
When I'll rise like the break of dawn
Let it go, let it go
That perfect girl is gone

Here I stand
In the light of day
Let the storm rage on,
The cold never bothered me anyway