Gratitude Overflowing

I think I am going to make a bold proclamation and state for the record that Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. Oh now, now, Christmas, don’t be sad… and Chanukah, let’s be honest, you haven’t been in the running for some time now. I mean, we don’t even really know how to spell you properly: Chanukah? Hanukkah?? What is it already? I want you to be my number one, I really do… with your potato latkes and eight nights of celebration. (eight nights of presents!) We’ve tried to spruce you up a bit, infuse some “Hallmark” sheen into your repertoire. It’s just not happening. I’m so sorry.

But Thanksgiving… Thanksgiving, you are my perfect holiday. I love everything about you. Aside from some minor conventional fluff (cartoon turkeys, pilgrims… an occasional Indian), you have managed to escape most consumer-driven, pop-culture mania. Well, all but the whole overindulgence, super-size-me, perpetuating the obesity-epidemic thing. But you know what? Whatever. It would be un-American not to stuff our faces. So you are contributing to our ever-expanding waistlines? I forgive you. We all have flaws. The great thing about you Thanksgiving is that you are exactly who you say you are, and you inspire us to do exactly what you instruct us to… Thanks Giving.

Here’s the problem: I have too much Thanks to Give. I do. My cup is overflowing with gratitude. I’m drowning in it. This year my husband beat cancer. How do you feasibly manage to thank the doctor that rushed his tests for what turned out to be an aggressive disease? Dr. Sender and his team saved Angelo’s life. How do you thank the man who introduced us? How do you thank the hundreds of people who kept faith and sent their light and prayers and support, daily, shining love upon us unreservedly?

I open my arms and my heart wide to the universe and shine all of the light and all of the love I have within me. I send it to you. I send it to all of you who have touched my life this year. Every single one of you. My strong and resilient husband who has inspired me and loved me fully and unconditionally for exactly who I am; my amazing parents who have given me the skills to be courageous and the spirit to uncover my path; my beautiful niece who has reminded me that at our center always lies boundless pure unadulterated bliss; my brother and sister for your unwavering support (all of my brothers and sisters); all of my family, near and far, whether we talk every day or once a year; all of the people who are in my life or have just stepped into my life who I also call my family; Sue, Lauren, Bruce, Paul, Lennie, Carol, LuAnne, Roy, Melba, Kathie, Nichole, Patty, Kristin, Holly, Charlotte.

You have inspired me. You have each paved my way. You are always with me. A piece of you lives within me evermore.

How can I utterly express my gratitude for the impact you have made on my life? I really can’t. Not completely. I cannot possibly spill my heart on this page justly. All I have are these words, two in particular, and I offer them to you now in honor of my very favorite holiday, with everything that I am made of:

Thank you.

Take a (shit)Load Off

We all have our shit. Call it what you will: baggage, issues, obstacles, whatever. It’s all semantics, and when it comes down to it, it makes us feel like shit, so let’s just call a spade a spade, shall we?

It seems that through our lives, we are confronted with the same shit again and again. We come face to face with something that pushes us to the same edge; we are thrown into the same dark waters, teetering on the bank of descent. Our path might look different, the road might change, our hair a bit darker, a few more lines on our face, but it seems we arrive at the very same summit over and over again.

Life breaks us open and privately we have to sort it out. As individuals, the journey is ours alone - in this body, with this mind and these thoughts and experiences. And when we’re “in it,” we’re really in it. It’s hard to pull ourselves out from under the dark veil of affliction. We are blinded, buried in the pain.

But I don’t want to contemplate the dark fissures of solitude today. That shit is getting old. What I want to talk about is love, the absolutely glorious miracle of this life. Because love trumps solitude. Love trumps darkness and sorrow and all of our baggage any day of the week.

We might not know the corners of one another’s broken hearts, but we have the tools to mend it. We have each other. We have love. And at the end of the day, when we’ve cried our eyes out and there is nothing more to say, love’s embrace fills the void and softens the ache. We always have love to fall back on. So fall back on it. Put your baggage down. That shit’s heavy. Let the miracle of love hold onto it for a while.

Karma Consideration

It’s time to talk about karma. Because, let’s be honest, you can’t have a blog titled “Finding Zen” and not talk about karma. Despite the fact that there is really no evidence for a metaphysical belief in karma, the conviction is pretty widespread in our culture. We have cast it as a sort of luck associated with virtue: if one does good, one deserves and can expect good luck; and conversely if one does harm, one can expect bad luck or unfortunate happenings.

I’m not really sure how I feel about the idea that the beneficial or harmful effects I have on the world will return to me. I take that back. Of course I feel good about it; I put a heck of a lot of good out into the world. I guess I’m just not sure how much validity there is in the whole “what goes around comes around” notion. Most of the time I think this concept just ends up inducing guilt and taunting us to bend down and pick up the gum wrapper we threw that didn’t quite make it into the trash. Or convince ourselves that our not-so-nice (actually really awful) but very attractive acquaintance who doesn’t have to work and spends her days getting manicures and lunching and who somehow bagged a really fantastic (and wealthy) spouse and what seems like the perfect life will eventually - and inevitably - be plagued with boils and find herself desolate and alone with only her stony heart to keep her warm at night….. or whatever.

On the other hand, it’s hard to believe that there isn’t some cosmic tally sheet gauging our ups and downs. It does feel like there is an ordered rhythm to our days. Life seems to unfold in waves of darkness into light, over and over again. Pockets of sorrow bloom into joy, dip back into sadness and then again come into light. It is an endless dance, the yin and the yang, the ebb and flow of a universe that cradles our spirit, embracing it for a time, and then lets it go. Caught in the middle of this beautiful masterpiece we stand. We can’t possible understand the mechanics of it all. We cannot know how or why, not really.

I suppose it’s human nature to want to understand the reason we are handed what we are handed in this life. We like to rationalize, categorize, justify, analyze. I was demoted at work; what did I put out there that brought this into my life? I lost someone close to me; why? Our minds need to work it out. But I think that in the noise of our chattering minds we’re missing the point. When we’re faced with a challenge, it’s not about the “why,” it’s about the “what” we do with it and the “where” we go from here.

Whatever the challenge, whatever cards we are dealt, we often find ourselves at a crossroad. And there is always a choice: to enter the burning building or not, to speak the truth or not, to stand before ourselves without illusion or not. That’s what it’s about. It’s about what’s underneath the challenge; there is always an invitation to live authentically, to shine, to take one step closer to our truth, that brilliant blue pearl floating in the space between the space of our spirit, singing our heart song.

We are often called further into experience than we’d like to go. Why? Because what goes around finally comes around? Who knows. It doesn’t matter. Here we stand. In the middle of life's tempest with an invitation and a choice.  No explanation, no thing, no one can tell us when to leap. There is no authority to bless our decision. There’s no law that dictates how it will unfold. We can’t look to luck or science or even karma. It’s in our hands... whispered to us from the God within.

Hour of Grace

(This is something I submitted to a magazine; unfortunately it never made it to print...so it has found it's place in the blogosphere)


I have lived 29 years. Twenty nine years of weathering the variable climate that is life. Twenty nine years and, though I can’t recall exactly when, somewhere along the way I must have grown up. As I was standing in line at the pharmacy, all of a sudden it hit me: When in the world did I become an adult?

It’s not a question that warrants an answer, but it is a pretty remarkable thing to suddenly feel the weight of your years. Because we pass our days inside ourselves, peering through our own private window into the world. And it’s so easy to get trapped here. We carry whole universes within us as we brush past one another to read the back of a jar of peanut butter.

And then as suddenly as you turn the corner into your apartment with a handful of groceries, as soon as you see it written on his face that the news is not good, the moment he tells you there are three tumors pushing against his lungs…stage two…lymphoma…more tests… In the briefest moment - a speck of dust on the corridor of your lifetime – everything has changed. Your husband has cancer.

The strange thing about being hit with the enormity of cancer and all its repercussions is that the world still turns. Life goes on. Time moves forward and days pass. Things are exactly as they always have been, yet the ground beneath us has shifted. Privately our lives have been forever stained. In a sense it is disquieting to walk into a world that is blinded by the rhythm of the status quo. It feels that this enormous change in our lives should be causing a ripple. Our distressed hearts and their battle wounds should be visible.

But I don’t need to prove my broken heart. The world is an endless net of broken hearts. Everyone is going through something. Each one of your lives is a language I do not know. Yet we are all made of the same compelling thread. It is the act of living that unravels the mystery.

It’s hard to believe when we are hurting, angry, in pain, that all we ever need is before us, around us, within us. But I see now that it’s true. I look at Angelo and know this is true. I know it is true when I come home to him every day and fall sweetly into the miracle of his presence.

Many people have asked how we are dealing or how we've stayed strong. Day by day we learn how to deal. We put one foot in front of the other. We wake up in the morning and do life. We love each other every moment of every day and with the ferocity of all that we were made of. We laugh. We learn that no amount of thinking can eliminate the pain (and wonder) that comes with living. We discover that (the ultimate cliché) life is precious. And impermanent.

I marvel at Angelo’s strength. He is inexorably powerful, so much larger than his body. Yes, chemo was wretched, but he faced it squarely and kicked its ass right back. Ultimately, it is not the tissue of our humanity that defeats us, and Angelo bravely lives from the deep resources of heart and spirit and gratitude. He lives from the center of the seed of spirit that connects us all together, one and the same.

I draw from Angelo’s strength. He is so much stronger than his twenty nine years. And as I look back on mine, I wonder if perhaps, while standing in line at the pharmacy waiting to refill yet another prescription, I wasn’t peering through my own private window into adulthood. Perhaps I wasn’t feeling the weight of my years, but rather the magnitude of new beginnings. For even now, in all of our uncertainties, heartache, and unexpected moments of joy, I can’t help but feel that this sense of growing up is the hour of grace when all things gather and distill to create the rest of our lives.

Alphabet Soup

I enjoy words. I delight in them actually. Every word is an entire little colony of letters, strung together to make a collective sound with a precise meaning. Each letter has a particular shape that dictates its pronunciation, directing our mouths into an exact configuration which makes a consequent noise. Put next to one another, letters miraculously form units of language – vowels and consonants dancing together harmoniously. Each letter has a place and a purpose, and in synthesis a word is born.

A word - a string of symbols that communicates a thought, an emotion, an object, anything – is a marvel. Every word is a tiny multidimensional universe of expression. A “pot” isn’t just a physical object in the material realm. It’s alive. It lives in sight, touch, sound, smell. I take it and give it a taste, swirl it around in my mind like a sip of wine lingering on my tongue. In a moment, it is smooth and glossy and cold, collecting snow outside in the grass, a pool of frozen soup collecting in its basin. In another it sits inside a window sill atop a book, dry and cracked, teetering sidewise, spilling soil onto the floor.

Words are so powerful. And they are instruments of our creation. They are channels to communicate what is inside out, manifestations of our inner worlds. They are what we have to bridge the enormous gap that separates us as individuals, and they unearth the intimacy that binds us all as kin. Words are magical really. And they’re ours for the taking. In bounty. For free! So roll up your sleeves and start your creating. Spill them out, whip them up, stir them around. Take a taste. In fact, take two. No matter how you slice it, they’re delicious!

Winter Song

I declare it is officially winter. Daylight seeps stealthily from the sky, quieted by the steely chill of night’s early arrival. The air is heavy and wet and leaden with a slow sense of departure. Darkness slips shadows around the sun. It’s easy to sink into the weight of winter’s sorrow. It seems natural. Time slows. Quiet settles with the cold.

I want to curl up inside the warm belly of childhood rememberings. I miss the way life floated carelessly, weightlessly and with abandon. I miss the damp carpet smell of my basement and the way the cold stucco walls felt against my skin. I miss the sweet little vases my mom filled with lily of the valley, a few stems plucked from the backyard then tucked into corners of the house – on a bedside table, in the windowsill of the bathroom. I miss the way our kitchen felt at the end of the night as we turned off the lights to go upstairs, the lingering smell of dinner and the day's activities settling into the stillness as our house descended into sleep. And the muffled sound of my parents voices, their closet rolling open and closed through the wall as I drifted off.

Life is impermanent. Damn that’s scary. The sky darkens, earth freezes, leaves fall from the trees, flowers wilt into the ground. Time keeps moving. We’re getting older. There is no evading this. It is so easy to get stuck here, swallowed up by it, settling into the void, cozying up to it like an old friend. Ah yes, sweet sorrow, I know you well. The weight of this burden is heavy.

How to rise above? We have to look outside ourselves and let the energies of life stir their counterparts within. We have to look to the darkened sky that will soon glow blue; the frozen earth that will melt and warm with the sun; the wilted flowers and leaves that crumble into the soil and bloom again come spring. We have to listen to the rhythm of life’s pulse; it is endlessly in cycle. We too are endlessly in cycle. We rise and fall, pick ourselves up and stumble again.

It is life's symphony, always in chorus, perpetually in motion. We need to learn to let the melody carry us, no matter how dark or dismal or cold it seems. Don't judge it. Just listen. Breathe. Let it go. You are never alone. All that you are made of beats in rhythm with the sun and the moon and the sky. Your spirit dances with the wind and the stars and the branches of the trees. Breathe into it. Quiet your mind. Be at peace, and wait for the season to change.

For Bruce...

Dear Cancer,

It would be easy just to say I hate you. You have once again made yourself welcome where you are not welcome, and it would be easy just to say I hate you. But hatred is transitory, a feeling, a state of mind; it waxes and wanes and leaves blistering fury in its wake. I have no place for fury here. I am done with the wrath that is born from questions without answers, effects without a cause.

Tonight, instead of fueling the fire you breathe into my heart, I will breathe light into yours. I will gather all of the love and all of the goodness, all of the lyrics from all of the melodies of God’s creation, the sweet rhythm that is the ebb and flow of living, and I will sing you into your grave.

On behalf of all of the lives you have taken, all of the spirits you have broken, for all of the heartache, the grief, the confusion and fear, for leaving us in the dark, for leading us in circles, for each and every tear for each and every person that has cursed your name in the middle of the night, in the light of day, to God and into the empty void, I will not ask. I am telling. United, we are stronger. We are stronger, and hear me now:

You. Will. Not. Win.

Say Goodbye,

Leah

Glass Globe of Butterflies on a Tuesday Afternoon

I apologize in advance for those of you who have heard this story. And to those of you who are sick to death of hearing me profess my undying love for my husband, best you sign off now. Because on a day like today, a Tuesday, feeling uninspired, stuck inside as the afternoon looms ahead and the fog rolls in, the only thing I want to do is think of him.

The truth is, my life – my real life – started when a man walked into it, a handsome stranger in a starched white collared shirt. He’d stood dark-eyed and half smiling in the doorway of the Starbucks “on the hill."  I won’t indulge all details of our courtship. I’ll leave the gushy stuff for another dull wintery Tuesday. But for now, as I’m peering into the corners of my mind upon the ever-whirring light of love, I will share just one small memory, a moment really - one that I revisit over and over again.

It was our first date. Angelo picked me up, in that white bmw. I got into the car, and there he was, sitting right next to me. He was wearing a white collarless shirt and he smelled like heaven. I won’t gush about his appearance, except to say that he was beautiful in the way certain handcrafted wooden objects are beautiful – so seamless, smooth, lustrous, so fully realized and self-contained that it only strikes you seconds later and with the force of a lightning bolt: “Oh my God, that’s a chair!” At which point, you sit down and want to stay forever.

Our conversation was convivial, both of us making gifts to each other of little inane stories, shining them up and handing them over. We didn’t drag out our secret souls to dance around naked, just offered slight glimpses into the interior, colorful postcards from the lands of Leah and Angelo. It was all we needed. It was the beginning of the beginning of the only thing we would ever need. The universe shifted the moment he walked towards me for his 7-pump chai latte. The magic began the moment I set foot in the car. All of my moments had led up to this moment.

It may seem trivial, this small account, our love story. But it’s everything. It’s the only thing. And I hold it next to my heart like a glass globe full of butterflies, alive always, fluttering just beneath the surface, ready to inspire...for a rainy day, or even just a gloomy Tuesday afternoon.