Language can be a virus. Words are communicated through the population from one person to the next, and phrases are constructed, ever mutating and recombining to suit the occasion. Much of the time phrases are ephemeral, returning to the linguistic soup from which new phrases will give birth. However, now and again, one of these alchemies will spark contagion and suddenly you hear it everywhere.
I am hearing this everywhere: “It is what it is.” As in, “The situation is out of my control and there is nothing I can do to change it.” Que sera sera, without the good humor. It is a statement of resignation, and an implication that it’s just not worth the energy. What a downer. What ever happened to “Don’t worry be happy”? Or the more recent “It’s all good”?
Is this a slogan of our times? I wonder. It renders us powerless. It says, “It doesn’t matter what I think about it because I can’t do anything about it anyway.” It implies that we are just pawns in the hands of the universe, waiting to be swallowed by a cosmic tidal wave. Now don’t get me wrong, I am quite acquainted with the white water of life’s rapids. I know there are things we can’t control; we are faced with challenges every day. The difference between “It is what it is” and “It’s all good” is perspective.
Life gives you what it gives you, and then you have a choice. You can cry about it and get angry. You can stay there, helpless, dwelling and wallowing. You can sit in it, marinating forever. Or you can move through it. You can look at it (go ahead and cry too. get mad and feel helpless… then stop), and see the opportunity that has been offered. With every challenge is an opportunity to grow. Every single challenge is an opportunity for growth.
So don’t stand still. Grow. Move. Be uncomfortable. Dig your hands in. Get dirty. You aren’t helpless. Empower yourself. There is always forward. Life throws curveballs. Hit them! See what happens. Whatever. No worries. It’s all good.
Thursday, October 29
Monday, October 26
Cubicle Life
Enough of this "finding zen" (that's going to be a while). Let's take a moment and talk about cubicles. Actually, I'd like to spend several moments talking about my cubicle. After all, it is where I spend most of my time. No, really. I average about 9 hours every day in this 5 by 5 (foot) piece of heaven. I realize by writing this I am diminishing any chance of appearing "large and in charge" (in an I-have-an-office-with-a-view-and-am-very-important kind of way), but I'm okay with that. And besides, no one has an office wtih a view here....and I am important. Very important.
So my cream-cloth coated 5 by 5 haven is really quite charming if you take away the stigma of actually "being" a cubicle. Really, it is quite lovely. Dark granite-colored steel cabinets with matching filing drawers below, plush faux-walls cleverly spattered with photographs of pugs and loved ones, awards (well, one) leaning proudly against the stoic blue recycling bin, steadfast in all its moral glory. A lamp glows brilliantly in the corner, snug amidst the tangle of cords protruding like octopus tentacles from the depths below.
Taking a deep breath, I inhale the electrical purr of collective machinery, droning harmoniously with the sea of click clacking keyboards and a flurry of paper. In the distance, the copy machine whines in chorus with an ensemble of jangling telephones; and yet, still, I think I hear my cube neighbor swallow. The air is flooded with the comings and goings of very important people doing very important things.
A perfect 75 degrees and sunny outside, the air conditioning churns enthusiastically, blowing through my hair and down my back. I nestle into my scarf, throw a second blanket around my shoulders, turn my face up towards the sky, and bask in the glow of artificial florescent splendor. So invigorating. Ah yes, it is good to feel so alive.
So my cream-cloth coated 5 by 5 haven is really quite charming if you take away the stigma of actually "being" a cubicle. Really, it is quite lovely. Dark granite-colored steel cabinets with matching filing drawers below, plush faux-walls cleverly spattered with photographs of pugs and loved ones, awards (well, one) leaning proudly against the stoic blue recycling bin, steadfast in all its moral glory. A lamp glows brilliantly in the corner, snug amidst the tangle of cords protruding like octopus tentacles from the depths below.
Taking a deep breath, I inhale the electrical purr of collective machinery, droning harmoniously with the sea of click clacking keyboards and a flurry of paper. In the distance, the copy machine whines in chorus with an ensemble of jangling telephones; and yet, still, I think I hear my cube neighbor swallow. The air is flooded with the comings and goings of very important people doing very important things.
A perfect 75 degrees and sunny outside, the air conditioning churns enthusiastically, blowing through my hair and down my back. I nestle into my scarf, throw a second blanket around my shoulders, turn my face up towards the sky, and bask in the glow of artificial florescent splendor. So invigorating. Ah yes, it is good to feel so alive.
Saturday, October 24
Root of the Root
I wake up really early. Like way-before-the-sun-gets-up-there-are-still-stars-in-the-sky early. My husband thinks I’m insane. Even the dogs look up at me with bewilderment as I peel myself from under our feathery duvet, leaving a warm wrinkled void. But I must say, once I’ve gotten over the initial shock of the hour, night’s final act is truly magical. Dawn has not yet thrown her cloak, and darkness bleeds shadows from the sky. The moon drips honey beams through the trees and onto the grass, gently prodding sleep from night’s hand. It is so quiet and so still.
In these private moments, I feel caught in the belly of life’s breath, close to the earth and the sky and all things living. And I see how underneath it all, there really are no metaphors. The wind is not like God’s breath. The wind is God’s breath. And I see how underneath it all, there really is only one emotion. Every feeling rises from the same heart source. It is the “root of the root, and the bud of the bud.” It is “the sky of the sky, which grows higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide.”
It is everything. And it is all here. It is all here every single day. It smiles through the sun and it seeps from the stars. It is everything and everywhere and everyone. Always. And you don’t have to wake before the sun to get a glimpse. Just open yourself to it. It’s there.
In these private moments, I feel caught in the belly of life’s breath, close to the earth and the sky and all things living. And I see how underneath it all, there really are no metaphors. The wind is not like God’s breath. The wind is God’s breath. And I see how underneath it all, there really is only one emotion. Every feeling rises from the same heart source. It is the “root of the root, and the bud of the bud.” It is “the sky of the sky, which grows higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide.”
It is everything. And it is all here. It is all here every single day. It smiles through the sun and it seeps from the stars. It is everything and everywhere and everyone. Always. And you don’t have to wake before the sun to get a glimpse. Just open yourself to it. It’s there.
Tuesday, October 20
Change In Weather
The cliché of all clichés: Life is Hard.
It’s tempting to be wooed by this wildly oversimplified declaration, especially now. Especially when your husband who just got through battling for his life gets handed another challenge. Especially when you find out your position at work has been terminated and you feel you are suspended in an abyss waiting for what comes next. Especially when everything in your life feels like it is a vertical trek up upward, in the dark …in stilettos...and a really tight skirt. You might look damn good, but it is not comfortable.
Change is uncomfortable. That’s really what it comes down to, isn’t it? Change. It cannot be escaped. We all buzz around, plowing through our days, busying ourselves, doing our doings, and building a nice little cozy nest. And then one day we get home from the grocery store and there are nine tumors growing in our husband’s chest. Or we are woken up in the middle of the night by a distressed pug, suddenly in pain with an injured leg.
Last night as I sat helplessly trying to help ease my dog’s upset, I just felt scared. I was by myself, and I didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t hurt badly enough to take him to urgent care, but he was uncomfortable enough to make me uneasy. So what could we do? We sat with it. We sat with it and felt bad (mind you while our other pug snored away obliviously). I cried and felt badly and he looked at me, and time passed. Eventually we both fell asleep, the night gave way, and in the light everything felt a lot less scary.
The world begins anew each day. Isn’t that amazing?! I mean, really. Darkness blankets us all, silently, and in that mysterious moment of rest, everything is re-created. Clouds so heavy around our hearts wane with a passing day. You just have to accept the change in weather. Sit with it, look at it…until the day passes. Time will heal.
So instead of stating the obvious – yes, life is hard - turn your heart up to the sky, open your arms and let the rain hit your face. It’s not so bad. You’ll dry; I promise.
It’s tempting to be wooed by this wildly oversimplified declaration, especially now. Especially when your husband who just got through battling for his life gets handed another challenge. Especially when you find out your position at work has been terminated and you feel you are suspended in an abyss waiting for what comes next. Especially when everything in your life feels like it is a vertical trek up upward, in the dark …in stilettos...and a really tight skirt. You might look damn good, but it is not comfortable.
Change is uncomfortable. That’s really what it comes down to, isn’t it? Change. It cannot be escaped. We all buzz around, plowing through our days, busying ourselves, doing our doings, and building a nice little cozy nest. And then one day we get home from the grocery store and there are nine tumors growing in our husband’s chest. Or we are woken up in the middle of the night by a distressed pug, suddenly in pain with an injured leg.
Last night as I sat helplessly trying to help ease my dog’s upset, I just felt scared. I was by myself, and I didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t hurt badly enough to take him to urgent care, but he was uncomfortable enough to make me uneasy. So what could we do? We sat with it. We sat with it and felt bad (mind you while our other pug snored away obliviously). I cried and felt badly and he looked at me, and time passed. Eventually we both fell asleep, the night gave way, and in the light everything felt a lot less scary.
The world begins anew each day. Isn’t that amazing?! I mean, really. Darkness blankets us all, silently, and in that mysterious moment of rest, everything is re-created. Clouds so heavy around our hearts wane with a passing day. You just have to accept the change in weather. Sit with it, look at it…until the day passes. Time will heal.
So instead of stating the obvious – yes, life is hard - turn your heart up to the sky, open your arms and let the rain hit your face. It’s not so bad. You’ll dry; I promise.
Wednesday, October 14
Never Lost In Love
Maybe it’s just me, but I suspect it is human nature to constantly seek answers to life’s most ambiguous questions. And it seems we return through these questions to the same vital issues: what is it all about? how do we live fully? With every experience, I find myself speculating these great unknowns. And I think that each experience has brought me closer to the center of what may not be the explanation, but my interpretation of it.
In the past months, cancer’s venom has soaked our lifeblood, and in a blur, Angelo and I have found ourselves standing in the middle of new ground – dense with emotion and turmoil. But despite the blinding trepidation of this disease, even in the thick of it, we lift our heads and the base of our spirits remains – the part of our self that cradles our very essence and sings our heart song. It is never lost.
In love, we are never lost. In crisis and struggle, and even in our hurry of daily doings, we leave pieces of ourselves in the wake of life’s noise. But just as the sky begins to glow when night seems it will never end, there is something indestructible at the center of each of us. The love within us embodies endless tranquility. Peace. Happiness. God.
I’m not there quite yet. I am trying. Daily I am faced with distraction. We all fear breaking; we face monsters every single day, whether it be cancer, a broken heart, or a bruised ego. Each of us is a tiny will striving to find and ride the Universal current without perishing, challenged to stay in the moment and quiet our minds and hearts in love. Days roll by, bills need to be paid, meals need to be made, emails, phone calls, gas in the car, clothes in the drier, dogs walked, and on and on; our list of to-dos is forever.
But freedom comes only when we are so immersed in our moment of living in itself, for itself, that we can see how the infinite coherence of all things continues like a great bottomless stream; and we can dance the ghosts from the chambers of our wounds, loving whatever gets in the way until it ceases to be an obstacle. Because even when we tumble, we are all part of a current larger than our own design.
Certainly we may never have the answers to our questions. Faith is crucial. Faith is no more than the willingness and bravery to enter and ride the stream. This is a hard bit of consciousness to ask for. I’m not saying the obligations of living will disappear; it will always be work. But when we open our hearts to one another and fall in love with the beauty of kindness, compassion, and the thread that ties us all together, the glory of living shines down on us….
And, I believe, miracles can happen.
In the past months, cancer’s venom has soaked our lifeblood, and in a blur, Angelo and I have found ourselves standing in the middle of new ground – dense with emotion and turmoil. But despite the blinding trepidation of this disease, even in the thick of it, we lift our heads and the base of our spirits remains – the part of our self that cradles our very essence and sings our heart song. It is never lost.
In love, we are never lost. In crisis and struggle, and even in our hurry of daily doings, we leave pieces of ourselves in the wake of life’s noise. But just as the sky begins to glow when night seems it will never end, there is something indestructible at the center of each of us. The love within us embodies endless tranquility. Peace. Happiness. God.
I’m not there quite yet. I am trying. Daily I am faced with distraction. We all fear breaking; we face monsters every single day, whether it be cancer, a broken heart, or a bruised ego. Each of us is a tiny will striving to find and ride the Universal current without perishing, challenged to stay in the moment and quiet our minds and hearts in love. Days roll by, bills need to be paid, meals need to be made, emails, phone calls, gas in the car, clothes in the drier, dogs walked, and on and on; our list of to-dos is forever.
But freedom comes only when we are so immersed in our moment of living in itself, for itself, that we can see how the infinite coherence of all things continues like a great bottomless stream; and we can dance the ghosts from the chambers of our wounds, loving whatever gets in the way until it ceases to be an obstacle. Because even when we tumble, we are all part of a current larger than our own design.
Certainly we may never have the answers to our questions. Faith is crucial. Faith is no more than the willingness and bravery to enter and ride the stream. This is a hard bit of consciousness to ask for. I’m not saying the obligations of living will disappear; it will always be work. But when we open our hearts to one another and fall in love with the beauty of kindness, compassion, and the thread that ties us all together, the glory of living shines down on us….
And, I believe, miracles can happen.
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