Finding Zen

The Space In Between

2011-03-23T20:40:00.000-07:00

The moon shone so brightly this morning I thought someone had left a light on for me. As I stepped outside into the velvety cloak of the early hour, I almost had to squint. Brain foggy and thoughts still muddled from a night of fitful sleep, it was just my heart and the moon and the brilliance of the stars.

The aimless hours between night and morning lose shape in the stillness and the quiet. The space feels unruffled, calm, like the end of an exhale, that perfect pause at the bottom of your breath. It is the place from which peace is born, the place from which love springs, the place that is the origin and the anchor and the beating heart of the universe.

There is no story here, awash in moon bath. There are no words. I am nameless, bodiless, ethereal. I am no one and I am everyone and I am everything. The moon, the stars, the black of night, the big wise willow tree sleeping beneath the hillside, we are all alive – and that is enough. That is everything.

For now.

Until the sun rises and the day swallows the mellifluous sky and my thoughts awake with the noisy business of obligation and responsibility. Isn’t it interesting, this dichotomy of worlds? The perfect tranquil shadowy calm and the raucous jolt of the daily grind? There is so much turbulence in the world of objects – the hustle and bustle, the constant worrying and unease. We are always in a state of wanting, always lacking, always in crisis.

Life is by nature disorderly. It is loud and full and erratic. It is a science experiment within a universe made up of matter, empty space and atoms that are constantly smashing together. It is the nature of “things” to collide, to cause friction, to disrupt. It is biology, ecology, physiology. The real challenge is finding stillness in the chaos. The challenge is settling into the empty space even when the pieces of our lives seem to be crashing together around us.

We easily lose sight of the space in between, the quiet pockets amid the conflict. But this empty space is ever-present. It is pervasive. And it is just as much in the nature of this universe to command the space for peace and stillness as it is for the disorder. There is a gentle, uninterrupted piece of real estate inside every one of us – right now – that is as quiet as the night and as clear and bright as the moon-sodden sky. It doesn’t go away with the rising sun. It doesn’t disappear into the clatter of life’s challenges.

Let yourself open into the space of peace that is always near. Look up into the star-speckled sky and let your eyes soften to the dark wide breadth of the stillness in between.

Jump on the Bandwagon (Our Only Significant Activity, Take Two)

2011-02-14T16:15:00.000-08:00

It would be fitting today to talk about love. As it is, I do already believe that it is our only significant activity. And today happens to be the day Hallmark has appointed in its honor.

It would be cliché today to talk about love. It’s so obvious. It’s everywhere. Today is love’s heyday. It’s all anyone is talking about. Shall I spare you?

I don’t think so.

I’m sorry. It’s just that it’s much too big and much too remarkable not to be celebrated and worshipped and revered and adored at every possible moment given. Even today. Even when it’s exactly what I wrote about last time. Even amidst the cheesy cards and candy hearts and red roses. Even when the entire country is singing love’s praises and we’d really like not to jump on the bandwagon. Oh but just do it.

Me? I think we should do it every single day.

The thing about love is, it’s not just a feeling. It’s more than any emotion or sensation or worldly understanding. It’s so much more than a word, an adjective, a noun or a thing. It’s more than a gesture, a kiss, a box of chocolate. Love is the most pure and absolute medium, the most true channel to the center of the center of the center of the bottom of the vast enormous ocean of this life. Love is the vehicle through which we can sink into one another’s hearts and lean on each other and stand side-by-side growing old and wise and strong. Together, with love, we are stronger. We are better.

When it’s all over I don’t think we will contemplate the notion of our “self.” What we are - individuals, flesh and blood, is just this logical structure, a place to momentarily house all the abstractions. In the end, we all turn to dust. It is each other that we carry with us. And while we are here, for this very short ride, life rages all around us. And every moment, every life we touch, every friend and every lover, every brother, sister and mother we love along the way, every person we touch brings us closer to the magic of what it means to be alive.

Our Only Significant Activity

2011-01-30T16:51:00.000-08:00

Worry has a sly way of sneaking up on you, doesn’t it? It is ever present, a quiet steady drone, drip drip dripping in the space between migrant thoughts, picking up speed and sound with time and attention until we are drenched, soaked and heavy hearted, a fury of mind chatter and restlessness.

Mark Nepo says “there is no end to worry, because there is no end to what is out of our view, beyond our very small eyes.” Worry is a way to gamble with what might or might not happen. Why is it that we so often put our money on flawed possibilities, on what could go wrong? I think we are drawn to the dark. We are drawn to the shadows that are the yin to the yang of this universe. There is something comfortable and familiar and safe and oddly magnetic in shrinking back from the light. It’s easy. Instead of bearing our naked soul and casting our heart-rays into the sky, we stand still and weave sticky webs of worry around our spirit.

I’m beginning to think that our only significant activity is to love. Everything else is irrelevant. All of the worry and all of the fear and all of the doubt and everything’s that wrong with this life and in this world, don't let it swallow you. Love it. Love everything. Just love it. Love it with all that you are. Fill it with so much love and light that you squeeze out the angst and the fear and you break free from the web of worry and you rise above the shadows to which you are drawn.

Love everything you know and everything you don’t. Love it all to god damn pieces. Love yourself and your friends and your husband and your dog and your house. Love the hour long commute and the traffic and the man you see holding a cardboard sign on the side of the road. Love the color blue, the cellulite on your thighs, the way the sky glows before the sun wakes in the morning, a grain of sand, post-its. Love the chaos and the confusion and the not-knowing. Love this unending journey for all that it is, because guess what, it's all we've got.

Eat, drink, think, breathe and be the love that you are. Feel satisfied. Don’t let the residue of worry and the anticipation of what might go wrong encumber your spirit. Instead, close your eyes to it and hold one anothers hands tight and live straight from your heart. Keep it clear and open and plow ahead, loving everything in your way.

Bring It On

2011-01-16T16:51:00.000-08:00

Another new year. A shiny new year, bow on top, filled with all of the impending unknowns and eager anticipation that the last held. The promise of rebirth and renewal gleams, the promise of a clean palate and unsullied stretches of days ahead and the official closing of another chapter. It’s all very ceremonial. We put on our party hats, bid adieu to the mishaps and setbacks and disappointments of yesteryear, and turn our faces and hearts toward the seedlings of opportunity waiting to sprout from the 365 days ahead.

As we grow, so do our resolutions. Our aspirations and desires and hopes and intentions evolve and carry the weight of our years and the grit of responsibility. The topography of our lives is ever-changing. It gets more complicated and more messy and more difficult. And as I stand now at the foot of 2011, another year passed, another year to come, I see how all of the planning and hoping and mind jabbering is so much smaller than what we choose to do with the changing topography of our lives. What we choose to do when our dreams change shape and our aspirations fall short and the seedlings of opportunity we have planted stay underground. And whether we are able to open our eyes and our hearts to the gifts that are born from the turbulence that pains us.

Life does not go as planned. Thank God. I would have missed out on so much if it did. We mustn't forget how small we are. We are children of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars. We must love every minute. We must try. Even when life doesn't go according to plans. We must keep our eyes and our hearts and our arms wide open to welcome the quiet gifts that hide beneath our unanswered prayers and unfulfilled resolutions.

This year I will continue to dream. I will dream big. I will bask in the promise of rebirth and renewal as I welcome a shiny new chapter. And I will never lose hope. Not ever. Not if my seedlings don't sprout. Not if I stumble. Not if I fail. I will remember that even when it feels like I'm sinking, I will survive. I will remember that like the trees, my roots are deep and strong. I will remember that like the stars, my light shines forever.

2011, I am ready. Bring it on.

Here's the Story...

2010-08-21T19:01:00.000-07:00

We all have a story. We are all starring in our very own movie, wrapped up in the thick of a plot rife with problems and resolutions. We move about in search of contentment, fulfillment, solace, companionship, acknowledgment, money, power, security, love. We find these things and then we lose them. We meet new challenges, new setbacks, new opportunities. We change scenes, change roles, change beliefs, change hair color. We grow older, wiser, jaded, wrinkled. It's a lot. It's a really long movie.

Our stories define us. They complete us. They are a road map of the chapters of our lives. We cling to them and exploit them and obsess over them. We build little villages in our heads and our hearts to keep our stories safe and alive and a part of who we are, always. We get lost in the weight of our narrative and we lose pieces of ourselves in the tangle of the plot. Life becomes rote; we write ourselves into corners.

Life should not be lived on cruise control, heading towards the inevitable. Life is rich and chaotic and unpredictable. We can't wrap it up in a pretty bow and call it any one thing, The End. Don't buy into that. Don't believe you're someone who doesn't get what they want. Don't believe you're someone who is unlucky, someone who won't find love, who is getting old, who is failing. Don't believe you're trapped, it's over, the moment is lost. So long as we're still breathing, we never reach the end. We are radiant, spontaneous, organic, resilient, never-ending stories.

And we are all part of a much larger tale. We are each just a speck of dust along the corridor of this vast and magnificent universe. Lose yourself in that. Lose yourself in the moments for which there are no words. Lose yourself in the parts that surprise you, the unexpected joy and sorrow and commotion and jubilation that shake you, that make you feel full and awakened and alive. You can do anything. You can be anyone. Forget the story. Wipe the residue of your past from your mind and heart, and just make it all up as you go along.

Definitely Not the Dalai Lama

2010-06-29T14:11:00.000-07:00

I want things. Is that okay? Is it okay to want inner peace and a really large house? Is it alright to want to reach the pinnacle of spiritual enlightenment, while driving a black Range Rover Sport with tan leather interior? I apologize to those of you who expected more from me. I am owning up. And the list doesn’t stop there. I want things. I want material things, and despite all my efforts to find zen, these desires continue to badger.

What can I say? I’m not the Dalai Lama. I can’t seem to let go of this steady stream of desire. I want shoes and handbags and brand new pots and pans. I want chiseled abs and nicer hair and someone to read this blog and offer me a book deal and maybe a stint on Oprah. I do. I want to be rich and accomplished and look beautiful while doing so. Uh huh. That’s right, I said it.

It is so easy to believe that there are conditions that are prerequisite to finding happiness. We are filled with “I can’t wait until”s and “as soon as we”s. We live in anticipation of days to come. We believe that we need certain things and perfect situations in order to be satisfied and content. But here’s the big joke. Here’s the cliché of clichés. Here is the nugget of truth that we can find on bumper stickers and in graduation speeches and hung up in frames on the walls of diners across America: “It is not about the destination. It’s about the journey.”

It is not about the destination. There is no destination. We will never reach the end. The Range Rover will rust and the abs will mush and at the end of it all we turn into dust. Nothing is permanent. Nothing will ever truly satiate us. The wanting is boundless. It’s an animal. It will always arise within us. We have to choose to find happiness and peace and deep satisfaction in the utterly unpredictable and impermanent journey that is unfolding right now. We have to choose to find contentment in the moments in between the wanting.

It is within the soft subtle breath between our desire that the marrow of life lies.

Spring Cleaning

2010-06-07T18:06:00.000-07:00

Excuse me, hello? Have I lost your attention? Are you quite sick of hearing me grasp desperately at figuring it all out, arrive at hopeful conclusions, and then tumble into confusion once again? Oh really? That’s’ funny. So am I. Yet here I am once more, having another go at it.

My head is on super-speed. My thoughts fly in and out faster than I can lasso them up and get them down on paper. I’m not boasting. It’s the human condition. We spend far too much time in the administrative power house that is our brain. I suppose we need it. To, you know, function and stuff. But I think it's overrated. And I'd like to turn the damn thing off.

I need a vacation from my brain. I need it to sleep for a while whilst I run up there and clear some junk out. I need to feng shui that thing. Swifter duster it. Get rid of the old. I need to go through those dirty old file cabinets and throw some shit out. It’s time for it to go. It’s time to let it go. It is time to make room for the new. It is time to stop beating the drum of what is and start looking with new eyes at what hovers right beneath those thoughts that pound our brains.

It’s so close. We’re so close, always, to the revelation, to the paradigm shift, the “ah ha” moment. It’s that heavy file cabinet that binds us, those old thoughts and ways of behaving, the deep ruts we’ve dug ourselves into after years and years of doing it the same way, the only way we’ve known, again and again and again. And then we sing, this is how it is, this is how it is, oh woe is me, this is how it is. I say get rid of that old tune. Climb out of the rut. There are new ways. Clean, new, shiny, better ways! Stretch those legs. Get a little uncomfortable. It’s alright. It’s time. It is time. It is time for some real changes.

So get out your swifter dusters, people. Summer's just around the corner. It is time for some serious spring cleaning.

A Noble Attempt

2010-05-11T19:10:00.000-07:00

I’m thinking about changing my blog to “A Noble Attempt at Finding Zen.” Or maybe “Finding Zen For a Fleeting Moment…woops, I’ve Lost It.” Or even better, “Has Anyone Found Zen?! If So, Please Call 867-5309.” I’m kidding. Don’t call that number.

Finding zen is no easy task. I wonder why it isn’t easier. Shouldn’t we want to be content? Joyful? Blissful? Shouldn’t we want to be at peace? Shouldn’t that be our default? Like a survival instinct? Because struggle can surely feel like demise. Heartbreak can surely feel like death. Fire is painful; we pull our hand from the flame. Struggle is painful; we are paralyzed. We sink into the hurt.

When it comes to matters of our non-physical selves, we are not very well-equipped with the means to heal. Emotional pain is sticky; it lingers. It can stay with us for a lifetime. It runs deeper than flesh and bone. Much deeper than the city of neurons and synapses that live beneath our skin. Mending our heart is a skill, not an instinct. It takes work to stitch up the nameless, bodiless, whatever-you-call-it that lives in the center of the center of our spirit. We can’t touch it, put a band aid on it, suture it up. We have to tap into it. We have to tune in. We have to connect with something that is much bigger than we are. And we have to love ourselves enough to want to make the effort.

It is in our nature to want a quick fix, easy and painless. I wish I had one for you. I wish I had one for me. I don’t. Not really. All I have is this: At the heart of all struggle, there is a peaceful and enduring center. It is the calm at the heart of the storm and it is the steady quiet pulse that carries on - undying. The storm can only be survived from the center. And so we must look to the center when we are struggling, suffering, lost. We must connect with the steady quiet pulse in that nameless, bodiless, whatever-you-call-it that lives in the center of the center of the center.

The storm of our experience can be endured when we come face-to-face with it, lean into it, walk through it. We spread our battered wings, become unstuck and the bleeding starts to stop. It takes time. It takes effort. It’s work. But in time, with effort, it becomes our default, our instinct. Feeling good becomes a habit. I know it’s not a cakewalk; it’s not easy, quick or painless. But for now it’s all I’ve got... If you find a better way, you’ve got my number.

Elephant in the Room

2010-04-15T18:45:00.000-07:00

I want answers to all of life’s questions. Like right now. I want to know everything about everything about everything, and I want to digest it and I want to eat sleep and breathe it with every molecule of my being, with every beat of my blood, with every breath that I take til death do us part. I want to fill each moment with the truest, purist, most honest, unfeigned answers to quiet all of the questions that feverishly lash my brain. I want to unveil the mystery, the secrets, the “what-the-hell-is-it-all-about” that is a noun, a thing, the elephant in the room of all of the rooms in all of the places in all of the world.

I want to get to the bottom of it. I know I’m not supposed to. I know I’m supposed to sit cross-legged and breathe deeply and live in the moment and find peace in the experience, not the analysis of the experience. I get it. But I’m obsessed with the why and what and how. I’m addicted. I want to know, want to know, want to know. I want to know how I ended up here. I want to know why I was blessed with two of the most amazing human being as my parents. I want to know when it all will end. What it feels like when it’s over. I want to know how everything just seems to fall into place, and even when I’m digging deep into the dark, a part of me grows toward the light.

Because tell me there isn’t a reason. Tell me it is all happen-chance dumb luck. Tell me deciding out of thin air to move to Boulder, Colorado where I served my future husband a Grande 7-pump Chai Latte was a fluke. Tell me the psychic who told him he would meet a “petite blonde-haired blue-eyed” woman who would be his wife was full of it. Tell me those magical moments when we plummeted into love were anything but magic. Tell me Angelo met the head of Oncology one month prior to finding a lump because he was lucky. And that the head of Oncology got him in for tests and diagnosed the next day because of good fortune. And that his cancer turned out to be aggressive and rare and God knows where he would be today because he was “in the right place at the right time.”

I think there is no right place at the right time. The right place at the right time is every single moment we live and breathe. It is here now and yesterday and tomorrow and it is twenty years after we are gone. No one holds the answers to our questions. And twenty years after we are gone, no one will hold the answers to our questions. Our children and their children and their children’s children will be left with the same unanswered questions and the weight of the mystery.

And as for us? When we are gone? When it’s over? We become the mystery. We become the answers. We become the truest, purist, most honest, unfeigned answers to all of the questions. And we whisper life’s secrets into the ears of the elephant that carries us in the room of all of the rooms in all of the places in all of the world.

More Than Enough

2010-03-19T16:02:00.000-07:00

A beautiful day, warm, breezy. I sit with nothing to beef at except the slick sick feeling that time moves much too quickly. I don’t have enough, and what I do have is squandered. I have continually the sense that this time is invaluable and the opposite sense that I am paralyzed to use it, or am using it wastefully. I find myself wishing, wishing, wishing to have a corner of my own. I want to open mines of life, permeate the matter of this world. And how else to do it but plunge out of this safe scheduled time-clock wage-check world and into my own voids and the shimmering plasma that is life.

The minor hiccup of a problem is that I have not a very clue where to land. At least not in a solid, matter-of-fact, I-know-exactly-where-I -belong kind of a way. I tend to look outside myself, to be itched and kindled to some great work, something burgeoning, fat with the texture and substance of living. Where oh where do I belong? Life shines, beckons, and I feel caught, revolving on a wheel, locked in the steel-toothed jaws of my schedule.

I’m complaining, I know. I can’t help it. It’s the human condition. We are constantly giving birth to desire. We are always wanting more, always reaching, always looking, always lacking. But there is enough. There is enough time. There is enough space. There is a corner for me and my shimmering life mines. It’s all here for all of us. And until I find it, I will keep moving, keep working, keep making dreams to run toward. Because until I find it, I am satisfied. Truly. I am happy, anchored to life by deadlines, laundry and lilacs, the daily bread and a man, the most wonderful man, the dark-eyed stranger, who eats my food and my love and goes around the world all day to come back and find solace in my arms. And that - now - is more than enough.

My Heart is Raining Butterflies From the Sky

2010-03-05T14:47:00.000-08:00

I find lately that I am so filled with gratitude I feel I might burst right open. I feel my heart might just leap right out of my chest, sprout wings, fly up into the sky and start raining butterflies and fairy dust and daisies. I am beyond blessed. I am so well beyond blessed it is oozing out of me in bucketfuls, in boatloads; all I can do is dole it out here in verbal parcels so as not to completely drown in the stuff.

I don’t want to preach or boast or annoy, but I kind of feel like spinning around on the top of a hilltop belting “the hills are alive with the sound of music.” Okay, I won’t. But my god, have you looked around lately? The hills are alive with the sound of music! And so is the grass, and the trees, and the clouds, and even the perfectly dimpled orange sitting on my desk weighing sweetly against the post-it dispenser. It is all good. It is all God. It is all exactly as it should be.

It is all exactly as it should be.

I don’t believe in God, I believe in everything. I believe in love. I believe in love until the end of time. I believe in happiness. I believe in the bright side and silver linings and it will all work out. I believe in kindness and compassion. I believe in chocolate and wine and french fries. I believe in pure indulgence. I believe in good company and good books and laughing to tears. I believe there is no mountain too high. I believe there is always up. I believe time heals. I believe dreams come true. I believe we can do anything. I believe we are all stronger than we could possibly imagine.

I believe we cannot possibly wrap our heads around it all. There is more than this; there is so much more than all of this, and even for that I am grateful. I can’t fear what I don’t know; I will immerse myself in it; I will wrap myself up in it and make friends with it and cozy up to it and lean into it and have faith that I will not fall. There is no beyond. There is only here, the infinitely small, infinitely great and utterly demanding present. It does matter. Every little tiny thing matters and must be found and picked up and redeemed. Every little tiny thing is an ingredient in this great big masterpiece, a note in the grand symphony, and if you listen closely you’ll hear it; if you listen very closely, and with much gratitude you will hear how the grass is growing beneath your feet and how my heart is raining butterflies from the sky and how the hills are indeed, alive with the sound of music.

Our Most Glorious Promise

2010-02-18T18:27:00.000-08:00

I’m beginning to realize that I’ve had it all wrong. I know what you’re thinking. How could I be wrong about anything? But it’s true. I’ve spent a good amount of my life trying to “figure it out.” I’ve questioned God and religion and faith, studied psychology and philosophy, read poetry and history and books on spirituality, the evolution of consciousness and Darwinism; always seeking, seeking, seeking answers. I have found some. I’ve found pockets of peace and moments of understanding through speculation or insight, through trial and error, falling again and again and figuring out how to pick up the pieces.

But in all of this trying to figure out why why why and searching for life’s promise, I’ve missed the point entirely. The point is (I believe) quite simply: To Be Happy. The point is to do everything we can to make ourselves happy. The point is to know that we have the ability and the right to attain happiness forever and always and no matter what the current situation looks or feels like. It is possible. It is possible.

Here’s how it works: You are here, wherever you are (mad, sad, happy, disappointed, rich, poor, married, single, young, old, black, white, yellow), now. Start here. Now. Even if here and now is not where you want to be. Even if here and now seems like an impossible never-ending trek into the darkness or a bad song on repeat. Because guess what? You don’t have to trek into the darkness; the sun will come out again and you can take a leisurely stroll if you’d like. And you don’t have to suffer through even one Michael Bolten song; you can change the station. No, really!

You are the only one in control of you. You are the only one inside your head, swimming in your thoughts, wading in your emotions. It is your experience. It is your world, you rule, and you have the choice to find joy in each moment. It is there for you; this is a fact. Love and fulfillment and utter bliss are always at your fingertips if you choose to see it. And I’m not suggesting denial; things must be addressed. But they mustn’t be obsessed over. They mustn’t spin your thoughts into wildfire and singe your world to gray.

The truth is, we may never know why. We may never figure it out. We may seek and seek and grasp and flail and throw our arms up and cry and think ourselves mad. We may never get to the bottom of it, never, never. But we don’t have to. We don’t need answers; we need to grab our life by the reins and choose to see the light and love and wonder behind every moment. Never getting to the bottom of it is a minor detail, a detour on our path to bliss. Bliss, that utter happiness waiting beneath our thoughts right now, is what we must take for our hope and our shield and our most glorious promise.

Word Play

2010-02-09T11:15:00.000-08:00

We’ve already established that I enjoy words. I enjoy the way they look – the circle, dip, loop, tail of a cursive “q”, the matter of fact, marks the spot “x” – the way they sound and how you can taste it on your tongue, the way letters thread together into little explosions of thought with a place and a purpose.

Words bring me great satisfaction, and if that makes me a complete loser or an utter bore, well, frankly I don’t give two {insert your favorite four letter word here and add an ‘s’}. So in celebration of my fascination and their existence, I am sharing some of my very favorites:

Discombobulate
Clobber (sounds best with that mid-western nasal-y twang)
Juxtaposition
Enunciate (e•nun•ci•ate)
Lackadaisical
Perpetuity (use this in a sentence today; people with think you are very distinguished and smart)
Luminescence
Elucidating (for you mom)
Perpetuate
Fuck (verb, adverb, adjective AND noun)
Relinquish
Profusely (often succeeds “Ang, you’re sweating…”)
Schlep
Shvitz
Shlimazel
Shlimazel
Shlimazel (really, is there anything better? Say it out loud. I dare you to disagree)
(….and while we’re going there, honorable mention to: tchatchke, shmaltzy, and chutzpa….oy vey, yidish is vunderbar!)
Gesticulate
Exacerbate
Razzmatazz (tell me that didn’t make you smile)
Articulate
Wonky (a recent fave…the perfect adjective for just about everything)
Lollygagging
Polypeptides (not entirely certain what they are, but so fun to say)
Smarmy

I assure you the list goes on. But I will relinquish as I do not wish to perpetuate smarmily or exacerbate wonky verbal gesticulation…

What are your favorites?

Love, In Little Parcels

2010-01-31T19:02:00.000-08:00

Today is Sunday and I slept in, awoke refreshed to bright sunlight and words from last night’s conversation a hazy blanket of contentment, assurance. Now I sit on the cool concrete of the driveway, bare arms soaking in rays of light filtering through the swaying trees, raped deliciously by the sun. Every querulous fiber is satiated into a great glowing golden peace, and I feel there is nothing more than this moment.

It seems this happens every so often…the forces of the world come together in a thunder crack of understanding and I peer into the window of infinity, binding the passage between heart and mind. I am a feather of perception, unbodied.

I think it’s time I get serious about taking myself lightly. Too often I live in fear that I’m falling short of some abstract perfection. Life becomes a form of safeguarding or conquering or boasting. Thinking I can “attain” happiness with a given situation or accomplishment is a fallacy. Happiness is not a fleeting possibility, a means to an end. It’s not a “something” to attain. It’s a feeling that no matter what the ideas or conduct of others, there is a unique rightness and beauty to life which can be shared in openness, in wind and sunlight, with a fellow human being.

I am not perfect. And perhaps I won’t be famous or wealthy or renowned. But I will give of myself and my passion in minute homeopathic spoonfuls to the world. I can give my love, in little parcels (and perhaps the occasional baked good), and this just might be enough.

Love can melt doors.

Spill Your Tainted Heart

2010-01-21T19:23:00.000-08:00

We are all imperfect. We walk around this world in our own little orbits, taking things in, filtering them through our little built-in perfunctory sorter-outer that is shaped by our temperament, our parents, our past experiences, our egos; and then we spill them out into the universe and onto other people who take them through their own little filter sorter-outer and on and on and on we go. Information is lost, feelings are misinterpreted, thoughts misconceived, beliefs misconstrued, and things can get really messy.

How do we pour our hearts to one another without it getting all muddied up? How do we get back to what is true and pure and good, that virgin untainted center, unaffected by the pollution of life’s circumstances? It seems that somewhere along the way we start taking things with us, collecting baggage from heartache, disappointment, grief. We get older, our load gets heavier, and soon we can’t even remember what it was we threw onto our backs years ago; it is buried.

I don’t know why we do this – why we carry things with us, why we are unable to forget, unable to start anew each day and live in the moment. We are shaped by our experiences. We are fundamentally changed; we create our little orbits and we lose a crucial connection to what life is all about: Love. Connectedness. We are all the same – you and I, those we don’t know, those we don’t like and even the things we fear. Everything at heart follows the same beat of life pulsing beneath the distractions we create and the baggage we carry.

Indeed, we are all imperfect. And it’s okay. Go ahead and walk around in your little orbit. Spill your tainted heart into the universe. Carry your load. But take a look at what you’re holding onto. If you can’t remember why it’s there or what good it’s doing weighing heavy upon you, put it down. Lighten up. Clear out your filter sorter-outer. Love, connectedness, and the common beat of life will be much easier to notice without all the mess.

Restless Ramblings

2010-01-12T02:28:00.000-08:00

It is 2:00 am and I lay, restless, in the dark. I have given up my battle with sleep and decided to plunge fully into the fluttering vigor beating through my veins. There is nowhere to go at this hour, nothing to do really, accept sit here stewing inside myself, marinating in my rambling thoughts and this body that begs sleep.

I feel anxious. Afraid of something. What? Life passing by? Angelo thinks about this more than I. Each heartbeat, each clock-tick is a fatal subtraction from the total number we are allowed in the beginning. Or not being such a complete fatalist, from the variety of numbers we are allowed to work from.

Time is such a sham. It is so sly. It slithers past us unsuspectingly and all of a sudden the sun has set, the calendar turns, years pass, we find ourselves with a (beautiful) husband and two dogs, paying bills, worrying our ‘grown-up’ worries and amassing wrinkles.

Life wears us, no doubt. And we’re all here working through it without any real idea of what it’s about. We walk around with this drive, this determination. We make plans. We work hard. We move forward with our blinders on. We take things for granted. We lose perspective. We seek solace outside ourselves. And then where is there to go? Either we break the surface shell into the whistling void or we grind ahead, turn jaded, learn to live with the daily bread? Suffer and become Shakespeare? Paradoxically, we suffer and do not become Shakespeare.

We suffer and become cynical, angry, discouraged, sad. We throw our demons around and drown our pain in another more palatable distraction. I myself prefer baking a batch of cookies, eating the whole bunch warm from the oven and going to bed in a nice carbohydrate-induced coma. So in finding myself awake at 2:00 in the morning, husband and dogs sleeping sweetly beside me, and no mind for baking at this hour (although, believe me, I am tempted), I come face-to-face with my demons and the endless questions that weave my fibers.

And because I have not the ability or genius to write a big letter to the world about it, I write you. And go in circles, writing the same thing over and over again, asking the same questions that keep knocking at the gate of my daily (and nightly) reality. With any luck, tonight, I will spin myself dizzied into slumber, sinking dreamily into the night, black velvet sky weighing heavy upon me...

New Beginning

2010-01-04T18:24:00.000-08:00

Where have the days went? I feel I have been swallowed into time’s vortex and spit out at the foot of this new summit, 2010. Good riddance 2009; goodbye forever. I have tucked you into a dark corner of my memory where time will turn you into dust. I have thrown you into the wind, let you sink to the bottom of the ocean, left you in Laguna Beach to dance in the echoes of the past.

This New Year marks a New Beginning. I feel I should write something inspired, inspiring, about moving forward, resolutions, goals, hopes and dreams. After all, here we are, in a beautiful new home in the foothills of the glorious Trabuco Canyon, starting anew. But the truth is, I don’t want to await the future, anticipating salvation, absolution, or even enlightenment. I want to subscribe to the premise that this flawed perfection, this now, is sufficient and complete in every single, ineffable moment. Because it is. After the dark days of cancer and the turbulent waters of its wake, I finally feel my world slowing, settling. I am back to my breath. And I breathe in now, sitting here on this wooden bench overlooking the pasture, grazing horses, and a sunset so magnificent I think I hear it singing. Oh how I am blessed.

I bask in the quiet. It is so quiet here. The quiet is thick; it’s tangible, heavy, sweet. It is the pause at the end of an exhale, the stillness in between in between. The roots of the deepest things that shape our lives live here, I am certain. Under this bench, beneath these fallen leaves, inside the silence that envelopes me now. We spend a lifetime slowly gaining grain after grain of this wisdom. We grasp and search, wanting more. We turn the calendar and resolve to reach new goals. We take years of living trying to understand what is already here. It is here; it’s already written.

I am not suggesting we stop striving. Keep creating. Keep growing. Just know that there will always be more to want. And perhaps we will never be satiated. Each new year will bring new resolutions and new challenges and life will always be hard. This year, dare to be present in this flawed perfection, this now. Every day is a new beginning. Watch how the moon goes down into the night. Open your eyes. Gaze at the stars. Open your nostrils. Smell leaves. Sink into the quiet and let life happen. It is going to be a great year.

A Prayer to Break the Lull

2009-12-16T09:48:00.000-08:00

It seems to me that there is a universal lull permeating the cosmos, a magnetic pull downwards as of late. Maybe it’s the collective sigh of our “hard times,” the residual pang from a nation in peril. Or maybe it’s just the shadows that descend with the dark and the cold this time of year. Or maybe - it’s just me.

Nevertheless, I think it’s time to snap out of it. So – I’m snapping out of it. Right now. I am sending a virtual request to the powers-that- be, to Father Time, Hare Krishna, Santa Claus, whoever is listening. I am calling on the God above and the God within, to the angels who watch over us in all that we do, for myself and for those I love, on behalf of everyone who is down and out and just can’t seem to pick themselves up. Hear my prayer:

Give us perspective. Give us new eyes everyday so we can truly bear witness to the marvel of this life. Open our hearts to all things beautiful and help us recognize it is never lost. There is always up. We are never alone. Give us the space to take deep breaths. Give us the faith that all things are unfolding exactly as they should. We are exactly where we need to be. And we are perfect as we are. We are perfect in this moment. Let us live in this moment like it is all that we have. Let us stop wasting our time on appearances. Let us not spend one more second squandering our fat rolls, our wrinkles, our bodies, our so-called imperfections. We are beautiful. Give us the strength to stop the worrying, the anxiety, the fear. Soften our hearts to forgiveness. Quiet our minds from remorse. Give us the strength to let go. Help us find balance. Help us realize we are worthy. And we are powerful. We are capable of anything. Give us the courage to leap. Take risks. Exceed limitations. Help us see beyond our own battle wounds and the scars of our past and through to the goodness glowing within. Still. Always. Forever. In all of us. Let us love ourselves and let us be loved. Let us love. Allow us to lean into the pillars of the universe and trust we won’t fall. We will not fall. We will not break. Remind us always that something larger than our bodies and our minds and all of our material possessions lives within us and above us, cradling the seed of our spirit, spinning the webs of our lives. We are all spun from the same thread. Let us be there for each other and love one another without judgment, without reservation and with all that we are made of.

Please.

Thank you.

...Oh, and Amen.

Stars, I Have Seen Them Fall

2009-12-09T14:12:00.001-08:00

Stars, I have seen them fall,

But when they drop and die
No star is lost at all
From all the star-sown sky.
The toil of all that be
Helps not the primal fault;
It rains into the sea,
And still the sea is salt.

Get Out of Your Own Way

2009-12-07T19:33:00.000-08:00

When did it all become so complicated? So much effort? When did we begin to wear the dust of our past like a second skin? Has the act of living in modern times battered us into obstruction or is it simply that we are getting older? The thicker the plot of our lives, the wider the web we spin, the more convoluted it seems.

I think…we need to stop thinking. Our minds are relentlessly jabbering and judging, twisting experiences into tangles of thoughts that sit and grow roots into our hearts. We are taken captive by our pasts and the anticipation of our future, experiences and expectations distorted into whispers of truth that weigh heavy upon us. We want to understand, problem solve, analyze, rescue, fix. We relive and await, relive and await, over and over and over - until we are no longer present in this moment. And it is only in this moment that we find peace.

No amount of thinking will quiet worry. And when it comes to the most worrisome matters, our thoughts often only add fuel to the fire. Our churning mind muddies the waters; it doesn’t bring clarity. Clarity comes when we open ourselves to the story that is unfolding now. Right now. The grass growing beneath our feet. There is no conclusion to draw and no answer to obtain. So stop. Stop grasping. Stop analyzing. Stop chasing. Stop trying to understand. The universe is here to support us. We just have to get out of our own way.

The universe is here to support us. We just have to get the hell out of our own way. Miracles abound. Every single day is a gift. Our chattering thoughts cloud our ability to see what’s clearly in front of us: a beautiful morning. the sky. rain. unconditional love. friends. family. freedom to choose. It’s all there for us - waiting. Once we stop our mind’s preoccupation, the dust and grit of experience lifts and our lives open up like a flower. Effortlessly.

I carry you behind my heart

2009-12-03T13:22:00.000-08:00

My grandma passed away yesterday. She had been slowly leaving for some time and yesterday morning she said goodbye. How can I say goodbye? I find myself immersed in her memory, filled with her company, flooded with echoes of her laughter and our moments together. How she used to call me honey and sweetheart and dolly. The way her house always smelled like something was cooking and the feel of the carpet under my feet. Her hands that were always so soft and warm...my dad’s hands. The way her eyes lit up when she smiled and how proud she made me feel no matter how small my feat.

Grandma was unconditional love. She had no agenda, no judgment, no attitude. She was warm and kind and humble, and so generous with her heart. So generous with her spirit. She offered her whole self up, and when you were with her you felt all wrapped up in it like a down comforter.

I miss her.

The emptiness of her absence is tangible; grief feels like a slow ache that never seems to stop rising. Remembering brings everything to the surface. We grieve and we remember, and we celebrate the gifts she brought to our lives. We remember who she was and in doing so, she becomes more and more a part of who we are. We who loved her and we who she loved will never say goodbye. She will always live on. She lives on. Her essence lives in our essence. She fills our insides with her insides like the sun opening up to the sky. We will always carry her behind our hearts. Together, our hearts will sing her song and all that she was and all that she is will carry on forever.

Thank you for all you have given me, grandma. I love you.

Gratitude Overflowing

2009-11-25T10:12:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-22T20:05:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-20T17:13:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-17T12:09:00.000-08:00

(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

2009-11-13T15:52:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-10T16:09:00.000-08:00

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...

2009-11-06T21:07:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-03T15:36:00.000-08:00

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.

It's All Good

2009-10-29T10:30:00.000-07:00

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.

Cubicle Life

2009-10-26T12:01:00.000-07:00

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.

Root of the Root

2009-10-24T06:23:00.000-07:00

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.

Change In Weather

2009-10-20T09:05:00.000-07:00

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.

Never Lost In Love

2009-10-14T14:44:00.000-07:00

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.