Archives for category: gardening

There are no guarantees, right? No promises carved in stone. No ‘happily ever after’. No Utopia. Only people, mostly doing their best, whatever that is at the time. Life doesn’t come with a warranty.

This morning manages to suck just about exactly as much as yesterday was awesome. 😦  Save the labels and bi-polar crap – it isn’t a good fit for me.  “We’ll get through this.” Yes, we will.  “We’ll figure this crap out.”  Probably.  Maybe not.  Maybe it is the attempt to understand, and caring enough to try, that matters more than succeeding at explaining the challenge of the moment, the hour, the relationship, the decade, or the lifetime?  “I love you.”  Well, that matters the most.  It matters a lot.  It will even be the important thing that lingers in my recollection long past this distress of right now.  Right now, however,  sucks.

Still a lovely morning, and flowers bloom without regard to my mood or experience.

Still a lovely morning, and flowers bloom without regard to my mood or experience.

Ok, ok. I know I could get my ass up from this office chair, and find a quiet space and take a few minutes for me… I probably will, too, once the routine of the morning is well underway.  During office hours work must come first…or so it seems. I resent the hell out of the perceived requirement to ‘put a good face on things and get on with work’, when more than anything I would like to take time for me.  I hurt.  I want to take all the time for me; every minute, every hour, every day, until my heart is healed, until I am unafraid, until I am whole and healthy, until love can always find me, and until I can always feel how loved I am.  I hear a bitter refrain from my own voice in another life … laughing angrily “how does it feel to want?”  It doesn’t matter what I want.  What matters is what can I do with what I have?

"Baby Love" blooms. Beauty exists and thrives.

“Baby Love” blooms. Beauty exists and thrives.

Mindfulness…how do I grasp  hold of that life raft right now?  What does it mean to feel discontent, dissatisfied, frustrated, hurt, anxious, sad, disconnected, or angry in a mindful way?  I know that the mindfulness practices and meditation improve my experience… and that’s completely been driven home this morning.  I woke, I showered, I made a latte…and I didn’t take time to meditate this morning. 😦  Stupid choice, apparently.  Stuck with it for now, I suppose.  Maybe a walk at lunch time… or something. I feel adrift and unhappy.  Shit. Welcome to Monday.

…I’m starting to feel like I’ve set myself up to make a series of shitty choices that I can already see are not going to be ideal for me if I go that direction… I feel a bit like I ‘got on the wrong bus this morning’.

All of the potential of spring...still doesn't count as 'roses in bloom'.

All of the potential of spring…still doesn’t count as ‘roses in bloom’.

Where’s the reset button?  How do I force myself to choose well, when I really just want to throw a tantrum? I could use some romance right now…or poetry…or something that lights me up from within and puts a smile on my face that can’t be denied or argued with.  Is that just a hurt soul looking for a distraction, or something more profound?  Oh well.  For now, I will set myself aside as ‘not my highest priority’ and go whore myself for a dollar get on with work.

Damn it…I can do better than this for myself…

"Cherry Blossoms" 2011

“Cherry Blossoms” 2011

Love.

I don’t know what exactly to say right now. I’m happy to know love. (I’m incredibly fortunate to enjoy the love of multiple partners.)  There have been times in the past, other lives, other ‘loves’, when I thought I understood…thought I was, in the moment, experiencing love…or Love…or … maybe not.  Usually not. I was cynical about love in my twenties; it had no reality for me, and I was damaged and numb. In my 30s, I was disappointed, disillusioned, and angry about love, or rather the lack of it.   I found love the first time in my 30s, actually, and the love I found was pure Greek tragedy, with no possible future to it in the world I lived in…in didn’t help matters that I was so consumed by personal shame, regret, and long-time self-loathing that I couldn’t possibly have understood or enjoyed love, or treated someone else’s heart well, at that point in my life.  I tried solitude, and found that libido would overrule my best efforts at good decision making for myself again and again – because I knew nothing about taking care of myself, or my own heart; I knew only that experiencing a physical need could be gratified by a physical action. Very mammalian. Very primate. Pretty far removed from love.

Those earlier attempts to love, and accept love in return, hurt everyone involved at some point, on some level, and I doubt I’ve yet learned not to hurt people with my novice efforts at love.  Still…there came a day when love found me, reached me through my walls and mirrors, touched me and demanded my attention in spite of my pain and my baggage and my cynical jokes about love – and I was blown away.  I still am.  There’s no forcing it, either, love is what it is, and there’s an ebb and flow to those powerful emotions of connection, romance, passionate affection, and heart…and I am very much aware of how little I know, yet, about love.

Why am I writing about love? Because love demands my attention today, and I am celebrating an anniversary of love – two years ago today, one of my partners and I chose to underscore our romantic attraction, our affection, our enjoyment of each other, our shared life together…by signing a contract. lol.  🙂  No regrets here, either.  I could say something syrupy about ‘couldn’t be happier’ or go overboard with the hyperbole…but life is very real, and loving someone with my issues – or his – has its complicated moments.  Damn though… I love him with my whole heart and no reservations. I don’t know what more I could say about that – I am motivated to grow and become and thrive, largely on the basis of knowing love. Any love. Real love. It’s…indescribable at heart.  I paint instead.  “Cherry Blossoms” was painted to celebrate love.   So was this…

"Communion" 2010

“Communion” 2010

I’ve painted about 2 dozen canvases inspired by love – this love, this man, this time in my life.  I don’t know where life will take me, or us, or the world.  Love isn’t always easy…but so far, it is always worth living the experience of loving and being loved in return.  I don’t expect perfect 24/7 bliss from love…I hope I enjoy it for a long while to come…I am enjoying it in my now. Happy Anniversary, Love. ❤

"X-Rated" kissed by rain drops.  Love, too, sometimes feels the weight of tears on tenderness.

“X-Rated” kissed by rain drops. Love, too, sometimes feels the weight of tears on tenderness.

…And yes, practicing mindfulness seems to have value for love, too.  🙂  I am learning that many of the everyday moments of distress or misunderstanding, the sorrow or anxiety in the sleepless wee hours of a lonely night, the hormonal fury that sometimes still takes me over, all benefit from mindful moments and taking good care of my own heart…because when I do not find love for myself, within my own heart, I lose my way and struggle feel the love offered by others.

Time to listen to love songs…it’s so hard not to post links to each and every one on my lover’s Facebook wall. lmao

A mossy wall; a tiny world all it's own.

A mossy wall; a tiny world all its own.

Here it is, already Tuesday. I feel vaguely annoyed with myself that life got my attention with such a firm grip that I simply haven’t taken time to write about it, too busy living it.  I’ve been immersed in experiences of a variety of sorts, some definitely share-worthy, some definitely too personal to make that attempt.  So…pictures and words, and a handful of observations…some without the context that would render them fully meaningful, but perhaps the words themselves have value.

I rode on the train with a young woman on Friday. She was headed somewhere unfamiliar and asked about the stop.  She was strikingly beautiful – always difficult for a woman her age (not older than 14).  Unexpectedly, she complimented my eyes, although rather shyly.  I stayed open to the possibility of connecting with this interesting young stranger, and we conversed as we traveled.  She shared her challenges with ‘the mean girls’, from whom she had heard how ugly she is.  I assured her that my experience was that ‘the mean girls’ are no more secure in themselves that she herself feels, and that the greater likelihood for many of them is that they will blossom at a young age, treat themselves poorly, settle for less than their dreams out of fear and insecurity, and slowly fade away into mediocrity. lol. She seemed reassured that she wasn’t alone, rather than pleased that any ill might befall even these who treat her so ill.  A very pleasant young woman, and I’m glad I met her. I hope she does well in life.

I ‘had a moment’ the other day, and really needed to connect with some very special women in my life. I took time to email them, reaching out as though we could just sit down for coffee – I miss that closeness with old friends; so many are so far away.  The first email I got back was rich and warm and long… and felt like we were ‘just hanging out’ talking. Wow. How is it that a few words between friends can have that power? I have so much to learn. I have hurt so many people who are dear to me.  50 seems a good age to be a better person than I have been.

A favorite rose is already blooming…still? Have I already shared?  I have, I see. Not that I think there is a real limit on the number of times a rose is lovely. 🙂

'Baby Love' in bloom

‘Baby Love’ in bloom

The sunny days in the garden over the weekend didn’t do enough to distract me from things on my mind.  I’m having a hard time ‘finding my way’ on a couple of things very dear to me…and one of them will require skillful confrontation to address, resolve, improve, or act on… so… rather than that big big bummer to deal with, I took lovely pictures of the sunny garden.

Even in real life, some flowers are 'magenta'.

Even in real life, some flowers are ‘magenta’.

Some of the pictures are quite mundane – I’m an artist, but I don’t consider myself so with a camera. lol

Some blue flowers.

Some blue flowers.

…it isn’t as if there’s some huge crisis happening around me (aside from the usual this-n-that we all struggle with)…still…lovely flowers, sunny days, wholesome young women, friendly strangers…any distraction is enough some days.

More purple than blue, still flowers.

More purple than blue, still flowers.

I have things on my mind that are important to me.  Hard to communicate the urgency or magnitude sometimes…at least to people who ‘matter’ to me.  Why is that?  I so want the easiest communication to be with those I love, those who are significant, those who ‘have a place’ in my life…it so isn’t.  I meditate…and sometimes find myself holding my breath, struggling to ‘figure it out’ instead of just taking a moment to be.  I’m already learning – and it seems solid and true like the surface of a rock or a table or the embrace of a trusted friend – it is being that makes the difference for me.  I can think anything.  When I take time to still my mind, breathe, just ‘take it all in’ and ‘let it all go’ – I find myself.

Future blueberries...very promising.

Future blueberries…very promising.

 

The first rose of spring has opened in my garden. It is just 48 days until my 50th birthday, and for some unclear reason 50 feels rather like ‘the middle of life’ – although I am hopeful about living well past the century mark. A beginning, a middle…and an end; I am wearing a long-favored, old black sweater, and I am considering today to be it’s ‘last day’…

'Baby Love' is the first rose to bloom in my garden this spring.

‘Baby Love’ is the first rose to bloom in my garden this spring.

My old black sweater is an ordinary enough black sweater, of mixed synthetic fibers, soft and worn and comfy, with rather mundane cable stitch down the front, and quite large.  I bought it some 15 years ago, during a career change, and a point in my life when I was heavier than I am now. A lot heavier. This is a size ‘3X’ sweater.  It’s huge on me now, mostly pretty shapeless, and not particularly flattering. I’ve never cared about that – it has also been reliably comfortable, effortless to care for, and predictably rather invisible, in the sense that wearing it allowed me to fade into the background at a point in my life where anxiety and unpredictable temperament so ruled my experience that I appreciated having a way to hide from the world in plain sight.  Now, though, life feels very different and I am less inclined to hide. I also feel…healthy, beautiful, and alive – and I’m ready to say good-bye to being so wounded and afraid of the world that only being wrapped in a comfy old black sweater feels safe and warm.  Hugs are better. lol.

 
A sweater is only a sweater, after all… it isn’t a time capsule of memories and events associated with the wearing of the sweater, it isn’t the embodiment of who I am, or who I was, and it isn’t a cherished object of sentimental value clasped relentlessly by possessive withered hands frightened to let go for fear of losing beloved memories to the passage of time. (I may have once thought it was…)  It’s just a sweater: too old, too worn, too big.  It doesn’t fit me anymore.

 
I still like sweaters. I still like black sweaters. I even still like this sweater… but it is time to move on. Time to let go of some things that are not helpful to hang on to. Time to let go of things that get in the way of better things.  Time to accept and encourage and nurture change.  It is time for a new black sweater; sexy, fun, soft…and perhaps in a ‘slightly darker black’?

 
…Or perhaps not black at all.  In 48 days I shall be 50, and I’m clearly not a little girl, anymore. Some of it has been rough, but I think it will be fine if I stop wearing black…beginnings, middles, ends…this is what 50 looks like through my eyes, reflected in my mirror, considered in the context of my experience.

...on the other hand... approaching 50: my right hand, my right mind.

…on the other hand… approaching 50: my right hand, my right mind.

 

Morning in the garden.

Morning in the garden.

I enjoy love songs. That wasn’t always true. There was a time – and it amounts to most of my adult life – when I thought love songs were at best saccharine nonsense, and at worst outright lies.  I dismissed them with cynical derision, frankly, often, and out loud.  I couldn’t connect with love songs – what did I know of love?  I really figured sex, and a basic mostly supportive sort of affection, were all that went into the matter of love, and all that one could get out of it.  I wasn’t lonely much, and because I enjoy solitude and can easily entertain myself for hours and days with the content of my own mind, I barely noticed how difficult it was to really ‘connect’.  I couldn’t feel the lack of what I didn’t know.

Lovers came and went (lol) and life did what life does. Time passed. I aged. I experienced events. I met people. I had relationships.  Eventually, long past the time I had given up on any notion of love as a profound connected emotional experience, I fell in love. I fell hard. I fell fast.  Initially, I struggled to understand – or even accept – my experience.  I treated it as lust – I was comfortable with that emotion.  At some point I began to understand it was truly new, and slowly let myself feel the raw power of it, to be open to it – all the way, heart and mind and soul.  ‘Powerful’ doesn’t describe it, really, and I have not yet experienced anything else quite like it.  I changed my lifestyle because love is too powerful to dismiss as a catalyst for change.  Again and again, I have revisited who I am; questions of values, of taste, of experience, of will, of intent became not only important, but seemingly truly urgent for the first time since I was a teenager… love is amazing stuff.   More than once since I fell into the warm embrace of love, I’ve found myself sitting with my lover and listening to love songs…laughing, crying, singing along, hearing precious heartfelt words being sung to me, souls connected.  It is simply the most precious and amazing feeling in all my experience… there really aren’t words to describe it, and no winning argument to convince someone who hasn’t experienced love that it is real.  In that regard, it is rather like mindfulness… and I’m finding that mindful love goes even beyond what I’ve already experienced, although I am so new to practicing mindfulness, I expect life will continue to unfold in amazing ways on a lot of levels. 🙂

Yeah…I’ve learned to appreciate love songs.

…But…love isn’t the every day experience in our lives, is it? Maybe for a rare or fortunate few, but for ‘everyone’? It doesn’t seem likely, although it does seem possible.  There’s just this one thing, though…what’s up with people treating each other so badly? Is it really necessary to bring emotional weaponry to every conversation, every moment of conflict resolution? Is the default assumption for most people that even their lovers, their families, their best friends are actually just waiting for an opportunity to fuck them over or hurt them? No? Then why do so many people behave as if that is their experience? What’s up with the defensiveness? What’s up with being mean to each other? What’s up with not taking a moment to hear that someone we love is hurting, and accepting that it is their experience, and offering our regret in a sincere way first, before leaping to our own defense to explain, deny, mitigate, deflect, or actually counter attack?  Seriously? How can any human being justify treating their loves less well than they treat the world?

We’ve all got baggage. Everyone has their turn hurting. Sooner or later even people we love may cause us pain or stress.  Does that mean we stop loving?  I don’t at all understand the lack of consideration and every day decency I see all around me.  What the hell, people? Is it that hard to treat one another truly well? Why do we lash out at the ones we love? I don’t have answers.  I am a simple student of life and love, and there is so much I do not know, or understand.

I’m very fortunate – I easily could have been someone who would never know love. I didn’t exactly make it easy for love to reach me through my walls, or find me midst my mountain of baggage.  I love, though, I love fiercely, and I love with my whole heart…and I want to master treating my loves well.  Turns out I will have to start with treating myself well, and as a result of that effort I am experiencing a love affair with a most amazing being with whom I have long been acquainted…myself.  I admit – that’s a love I never knew would also be profound.