Archives for posts with tag: be love

I’m sipping my morning coffee later than usual, after sleeping in a bit, unexpectedly. It’s too hot to drink. I’m okay sipping it carefully, “testing it” for future, safer, drinking. There’s no rush. The sun is up, the morning is unfolding into a new day. I feel rested… and eager. It’s Thursday! (Date Night) Magical.

Just a cup of coffee and some lens flare; we bring the whimsy, the poetry, the music. Magic moments are created by our perception, and acceptance.

Just a cup of coffee and some lens flare; I bring the whimsy, the poetry, the music. the joie de vivre. 

When I first met my traveling partner, I already understood my role in making the magic of things like Thanksgiving and Christmas, and after many years, I still happily and enthusiastically throw myself into the whimsy and fun of making that magic happen. I didn’t recognize, strangely enough, how much went into the magic of love and loving, and still held onto expectations that somehow it just happens. I over-invested pretty heavily in peace-keeping endeavors any time there was any hint of conflict or difference, fearfully driven by old baggage, chaos, and damage. I was generous, hospitable, and kind (if rather cluelessly so), but those behaviors were interspersed with some frightful (sometimes symptomatic, sometimes just nastiness born of having been permitted to continue with bullshit) bad behavior. Chaos. Volatility. Tantrums. I’m a fucking adult. It had to be hard for people loving me. Hell, it was hard; I was there.

Today, I make magic. Small magic, but nonetheless, magic. I’ll tidy up, and make a point to do some things I know matter more to my partner than they do to me, just because they do matter to him. I’ll put extra time and care into how I feel, myself, and how I look – it is ‘date night’, after all. 🙂 I’ll make a quick trip to the store for a handful of things I just don’t keep in the house, generally, that I know he very much enjoys, so those things are here for him, and I’ll double-check for pantry and medicine cabinet items he might need, and ensure I haven’t run low. All very practical stuff. I’ve learned some excellent practices for nurturing love’s logistical needs.

I still have so much to learn about love! There’s magic in intimacy, in connection, in touch… those are trickier, and rely on verbs with real nuance, requiring greater awareness, more sensitivity… I am regularly challenged to the limits of my current understanding of love, and still eager to take another step, love more deeply, love more intently, love with more skill… and we’re not even talking about the sex piece, yet. LOL So much to learn to love truly well.  There’s patience, and perspective, and listening deeply, and speaking gently, and making room for strong emotion, and surrender, and honoring the sacred ‘other’ that is my partner’s tender heart… So much to learn. I stay it’s a lot to learn less as a statement of frustration, and more like an eager student, opening an enormous text-book for the first time, and looking at the table of contents in awe. Every lesson is worthy. Every lesson builds on the lessons already learned, in anticipation of lessons to come. It’s big, “the book of love“, and I don’t expect to finish it cover to cover even in a lifetime.

Tears slide down my face – the weird happy/sad tears of profound joy experienced fully and also in the context of how fleeting joy must be, just to be joy. (Tears that actually become tears, because my TBI can be a major impediment to the sort of emotional regulation most people take for granted.) Then I laugh at myself – tears in the sunshine. I have this powerful love for this singular human being, without any real understanding why I feel the way I do, or whether it will outlast this fragile vessel, or even if the feelings I feel are ‘real’ – I mean, as real as this table top, or this sunny morning. We’re both so very human, dragging our own customized baggage all about everywhere we go, and sometimes sharing the load. Are the things that fill me up from the inside as real as the struggles that impinge on my joy from external sources? Maybe? Probably? Does it even matter? Maybe love is a placebo… would I suddenly stop loving if it were? (No. No, I wouldn’t…I’d probably use the powers of the mind to intensify the experience. lol) The tears don’t last – they’re more a moment of appreciation that became too visceral. 🙂

I sit smiling, sunshine spilling over my hands on the keyboard. I sip my coffee contentedly. It’s a lovely day – and a good one for love and loving. A good one for sex, too, sure, but that’s not the point – and as much as I want all that, too, I want to be clear (even with myself) that it isn’t ‘about’ sex. I conflated sex and love for much of a lifetime, and it’s hard to sort out all the baggage from that mess, but it’s a worthy project; the love matters most. Real love. Adult love. Romantic love. Sexual love. It’s just that the intimacy leads – not the other way round, that much I’ve learned. Without a foundation in intimacy, and an emotional connection (of some kind), sex seems (to me, at this point in life) repetitive, physical, distant, and somewhat peculiarly unsatisfying, however good the sex is technically, and suitable only for breeding. A bit annoying, really – I used to be good at sex. lol In my twenties I wasn’t even emotionally capable of actual intimacy, embarrassingly, obviously so, when I recall key moments when one lover or another with a deeper understanding attempted to get more from my heart that I knew to offer; I was still too broken for any of that.

I listen to love songs in the sunshine. I let the smile on my face become a slow groove that sends love-chills up my spine and butterflies to my tummy. I love Love. 🙂 I have a near infinite capacity for it (you probably do, too) – I’d happily love everyone good and decent and loving with all the infinite moments of love my heart has to offer… if only I knew how to connect deeply with each one, on their own terms (and mine), in an authentic and intimate way. I’ll keep practicing – there’s too little love in the world as it is. Practicing love more often is a goodness. Every moment we practice to treat those we love just a bit better than we did before really matters; from there we can learn to love the world. 🙂

Today is a good day to practice loving. There are verbs involved. Today is a good day to be love. I think I’ll grab some verbs…

 

…isn’t what I thought I said. I woke up with those words in my head, and the soundtrack to my dreams still playing in my head. My impression was that I was the source of the music, myself. Funny how the bits and pieces of my days fills my dreams – or at least fills in the details, and provides a bit of familiarity to the strangeness.

I spent Sunday practicing on my bass guitar, taking breaks each time my forearms began to ache again. I’d watch an episode of Cowboy Bebop, which has theme music in a genre I really enjoy, musically. Sometimes I’d fill a break with live performance videos of bands with great bass players. Saffron Monkey. The Brothers Johnson. Stanley Clarke. There are a lot of amazing bassists. It’s sometimes hard to get a good look at them; most of the focus is on the lead singer, lead guitar player, or other ‘showy’ elements of a planned performance. I enjoyed the day filled with music. I kept coming back to the Seatbelts, the source of the day’s inspiration.

I found myself generally disinclined to be part of the everyday fuss and bother of the media outrage machinery, and although I quickly skimmed the headlines for the day, early on, I quickly lost interest and set it aside. It was enough to sass the headlines to myself, for amusement. I mean, seriously? It’s not likely there is going to be ‘real’ actually new information in most articles headlining today’s news, either… shall we take a look together?

I choose a mainstream retailer of information and head to the home page. “Baton Rouge Bloodbath!” – nope, yesterday’s news right there. Moving along… “7 Things You Need to Know”… about the Republican convention? I think not. That’s not news, it’s click bait. lol If I’m Republican, I already have whatever information is presented, probably days ago. If I’m a Democrat, Independent, or other sort of voter, well, I don’t actually care about the Republican convention at all. It’s a performance piece. “Obama Pleads for Unity” – with a very sorrowful, somber picture. Well, that’s part of his job. Done. Next? “Turkey Detains 6000 People” Yeah… messy when a coup attempt fails. Things are hard over there. Will I get the best perspective from a news retailer seeking ad revenue, clicks, and viewers with their highest priority on gross margin? Probably not. Might have to wait for the history books before a broad global perspective is really available… or wait for Noam Chomsky to write about it. Civil war is ugly stuff. I know that, and for now that’s enough. “Donald Trump Floats Grotesque New Conspiracy Theory About Barack Obama” Huh. They almost got me with this one – maybe because they used more words, giving the impression this really matters, but truthfully? Does it? I mean… do I even care what some rich nut bag makes up on the fly to smear peers or competitors? Don’t I just play the game by even taking time to read the story? I move on, with a hint of a smug smile; I beat the game on this one. I go down the list of headlines, finding nothing of real substance worth my attention [at least not in the presented format, by the providing news source]. Why should I get all churned up over bullshit first thing in the morning? Seems silly.

I watch the neighborhood cats prowl the edge of the meadow. After weeks of laughing at their efforts, I saw one catch some small mammal down in the grass the other day. I stopped laughing at them. Pampered predators, surely, but quite lethal. Cats, I mean, not people. (Well… yeah. People, too. We’ve a way to go before we’re really any more civilized than our less talkative cousins.) Now I watch the cats prowling their wilderness for exotic treats with greater appreciation; they just keep at it. Most days, no cats [visible to me] catch anything at all [that I see]. That doesn’t ever seem to stop them. I smile. I have time for some bass guitar practice before I head out for the day. I think I’ll do that.

Is it ever really “too late” to begin again? If we become what we practice (and experience suggests we do), isn’t the choice to practice something that makes us somehow ‘more who we are’ a good step on the journey, regardless what other direction we may head in life?

Choose. Begin again.

Choose. Begin again.

 

I woke with a terrible headache. I woke much earlier than I needed to be awake. I used the opportunity to open the windows and patio door to the pre-dawn breezes and fresh air, and cooling the apartment before the heat of the day. Doing so had no effect on the headache. I didn’t really expect it would. The headache made me ill with vertigo. I made it to the bathroom in time for nausea to avoid becoming a mess that requires cleaning up. A migraine? No, I think it over and realize it’s just one of the occasional outcomes of taking Rx pain medication (for me), pretty commonly; I was in enough pain last night to take pain medication.

I made coffee, did my morning yoga and physical therapy stuff. The headache continues. I take some Tylenol for the headache. I have a mammogram today. I barely care; this headache is kicking my ass – and winning. Half-way through my coffee, the nausea wins, too. 😦 Sometimes being a human primate is fairly disgusting.

I write a bunch, delete all of it, deciding I don’t prefer to write about war, violence, or hate today. My heart aches for the victims of violence, the living and the dead. What action am I taking? I am living my life peacefully, refusing to take up arms, and treating my fellow human beings as human beings; we’re all in this together, each of us quite human. Each having our own experience. Each likely thinking we’re the good guy, regardless what the other guy thinks of our actions.

Love matters most.

Love matters most.

My evening with my traveling partner was delightfully well-spent. Even this cursed headache doesn’t dim my smile when I think about our evening together. It wasn’t fancy, but love isn’t about fancy things, or planned events, or expensive trinkets. Love depends on a quality connection, not a fat bank account. 🙂

Be love. It's a choice. Love is a verb.

Be love. It’s a choice. Love is a verb.

This headache continues to mess with my enjoyment of the morning, although it has begun to fade after a third round of nausea becomes a third opportunity to become really skilled at vomiting. (So gross.) Wow. Headaches, puking, violence, love… this blog post has it all! I chuckle to myself, aware that this morning’s writing hardly amounts to ‘content’ at all. I feel very human, in the most limiting sense.  There’s no disappointment in that awareness, in spite of the headache, the violence in the world, or a few moments of nausea on a Friday morning; being human is so much more than those details. I love. I am loved. Each morning I face a new opportunity to choose well for myself, and to be present, to love – and to love more. Good stuff.

"Emotion and Reason" 18" x 24" acrylic w/ceramic and glow details

“Emotion and Reason” 18″ x 24″ acrylic w/ceramic and glow details

There’s so much fear and violence in the world. Fear. Violence. Fear and violence. Fear of violence. Bleak. It’s both bleak and tragic, on top of being so entirely unnecessary. Today I’ll do my small part to change the world by engaging strangers in genial conversation: brown strangers, dark strangers, fair strangers, ginger strangers, foreign strangers, male strangers, child strangers, woman strangers, strangers of no obvious gender or ethnicity, strangers of poetic beauty, strangers who appear disengaged and uninvolved with the world around them, strangers who want conversation – we are all human beings, and in that sense, we are not strangers to each other at all. There’s no reason to be afraid.

Today is a good day to choose peace.

 

…I use the words I have. I mean to say, I write more or less the same way I actually talk. It’s not always easy to read, and I’m sure cumbersome at times when simple clarity might have greater value. I’m tad surprised to have readers, and doubly surprised that many of them are my friends. It’s more than a little bit humbling, particularly when I feel those sensations of creeping self-doubt moving in to take over.

Self-doubt is a commonplace demon, honestly, and I’m pretty sure we’ve all kept company with that one at some point. Self-doubt can be so paralyzing, stopping me from painting, writing, or even connecting comfortably with others. Self-doubt backs me into a corner, and holds a fun house mirror to my face that shows me only flaws, until I question my worthiness as a human being, as an artist, as a lover, as a partner. Harsh. Self-doubt lies – using what appears to be truth. Oh, to be sure, if I can breathe through the panic, dry my tears, and take another look, self-doubt can also guide me to do more, better, and to reach for the next thing, and make it the next awesome thing about me… but… As likely as not, doubt will knock my enthusiasm into the dirt, and take away my joy for some little while, until I let go of the attachment to the target of the latest attack, and make my peace with being an imperfect being.

Begin again.

Begin again.

Self-doubt withers in the bright light of non-judgmental awareness. It’s a simple enough thing, requiring practice; I try to meet self-doubt with the certainty of change, a general attitude of acceptance, and a willingness to ‘just let it go’. If I’m not attempting to hold on to that which drives the feeling of self-doubt, it’s much less likely to undermine my feeling of worthiness overall. It works. An example? Well… It’s sort of personal, but here we go! Last night, toward the end of the evening, I felt waves of self-doubt wash over me after my traveling partner left… Maybe he’s been hinting he doesn’t want to be with me, and I don’t recognize it? (Holy shit – where did that come from??) Maybe he’s tired of me… not young enough… not thin enough… not easy enough to deal with… not rich enough… interrupt too much… too demanding (now damn it, that one’s just mean – I rarely make demands at all!!)… too something… not something enough… It cascaded one piece of internally directed criticism at a time, each seemingly built on something ‘real’… or at least real enough to drive doubt. By the end of the evening, I’d very nearly talked myself into feeling quite certain I was on the brink of breaking up with someone dear to me…without even exchanging harsh words, or enduring an uncomfortable scene. It was entirely, as far as I know, in my head. (Note that even now, many hours after this whole mess was put to rest, I still insert the ‘as far as I know’ clause in a sentence admitting I was tormenting myself with doubt? It’s weird how insidious doubt actually is; I felt it necessary to leave room for those fears and insecurities to be true…just in case they are. Doubt, you are a bitch.)

The temple of my heart is powered by my own feelings of love.

Love is a verb.

Other days, other doubts, I have been known to ‘stir the pot’ with foolishness like reaching out for reassurance, only… instead of just straight up saying “I feel insecure, and awash in self-doubt. I’m worried we’re heading for a break up, but that I can’t tell it’s coming. Can you please say something reassuring about your feelings for me?” (This would immediately put the issue at hand to rest, either with the requested reassurance, or the dreaded “Well…actually…” and the needed follow-up conversation.) That’s the fear, though, right? I don’t say that, because I’m terrified that the “Well…actually…” conversation would indeed follow. So. I often chose to wiggle into it sideways, fishing for compliments, or starting shit, sending an otherwise nice day spinning sideways into drama. This was not an effective strategy for me. I am surprisingly bad at asking the direct question, too; [lacking simplicity] I sometimes lose my way in the words, and head down the path toward drama in spite of myself. Ouch.

Doubt can be undermined so easily when I fill my awareness with the things that matter most.

Doubt can be undermined so easily when I fill my awareness with the things that matter most.

What did I do with this mess last night? It worked sufficiently well that I woke feeling comfortable in my skin, content, and fairly motivated to take on the day this morning. What I did was ‘let it go’. I practiced letting go of my attachment to the current relationship I share with my traveling partner. Sounds scary to see it text that way, but yeah, that’s what it takes [for me]. Your results may vary. I let myself really accept that ‘worst case scenario’ and made room for those feelings – the fear, the hurt, the doubt, the anger, the insecurity – and allowed myself, also, to make room for the awareness that I am okay right now… and likely would be quite okay even in the absence of this cherished relationship. Relationship comes and go, even the long ones. Ends are as commonplace as beginnings. It’s often the attachment to some tiny fragile detail that causes the cascade of painful self-doubt in the first place, but failing to notice that small detail as its own thing, I make things much bigger than they are. So, last night, I took time to appreciate small things I enjoy greatly about my relationship with my traveling partner. Distress took a back seat to the pleasure of savoring small things I greatly enjoy about ‘us’. My doubts kept chiming in with all the ways things have changed. Things we’ve lost over time. Things we didn’t/don’t have… but other people do (seem to, seem to, I remind myself – because appearances are only that).

Is love a journey or a destination? Or... is love a verb?

Is love a journey or a destination? Love… is a verb.

Before I went to bed, I’d achieved a harmonious equilibrium within my heart. Last night, I managed to avoid being pwned by self-doubt, which this morning seems an unreasonably large victory. It’s a new day. I love. I love deeply and well, and with my whole heart. As it happens, a very large portion of that love goes to my traveling partner, and I’ve got plenty more. If he did show up some evening and tell me “we’re finished as lovers, thanks for the lovely time”… I’d be okay. I’d be more than okay – I’d still be every inch and every moment this woman who I am, still very much able to love and be loved. I’ve worked to reach this place, and I won’t be so easily toppled from a comfortable sense of self… although I am aware how defining-ly dreadfully sad I would feel, for some time, to have to bear witness to the end of such a love as this one.  It seems fitting, really, to endure sadness when love ends, and the greater the love, the more terrible the sorrow.

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Read all the books, and there is still so much more to know.

Emotions are so much of what we are. I’m incredibly fortunate to feel such nuanced complex emotions. With practice, over time, I’ve become more skilled at recognizing each basic emotion, the complex combinations I am capable of feeling and what they mean, or can tell me, as well as more comfortable with emotional experiences, generally. I am learning to recognize (and accept) that some emotional experiences are more like having taken a drug and being ‘high’ on that chemical cocktail, rather than an emotional experience specifically tied to real-life events in an obvious way (the difference between inexplicable irritability, for example, versus feeling sad over something obviously hurtful, like a death or a break up). Sometimes the body and brain get together and just ‘make shit up’ on the fly. It’s okay to recognize that and let it go, as a best practice [I find]. Your results may vary. I have definitely found that insisting every stray emotion be validated and insisted upon as an urgent communique from my heart is not helpful, because some of them are just biological noise.

Cautionary reminder: I am not a neuroscientist. I am not a doctor. I don’t have a ton of relevant research experience in the field of emotion, neurology, brain chemistry, the human experience, psychology, or medicine. I’m a human, sort of muddling my own way through this human experience, very appreciative for all the science that is out there (now), and a tad overwhelmed by how rich (and complicated) this being human thing really is – and hoping to do my best for the woman in the mirror. I read a lot. I practice. I continue to practice the practices that definitely improve my experience.

I’m glad you’re here. I’m moved that you’ve read so far! I hope some moment of that is worthwhile, or at least enjoyable. We’re all in this together… I recognize that we are also each having our own experience. Maybe we’re so very different that none of this applies to you, ever. That could be a thing. 🙂 You’re human though… maybe you’ve doubted yourself, too? It seems a bit cruel to take nearly 1500 words to basically say ‘I deal with self-doubt by letting go’. It’s overly simplistic stated that way. I hope I was clearer, earlier! Is your coffee cold, now? Mine is. The sun is up, too, spilling in through the open window, warming my hands and showing their years. It’s time to begin the day for real.

This moment.

This moment. A good one to begin again. 🙂

Today is a good day to recognize how complete I am, precisely as I am, outside the context of relationships, jobs, addresses, connections, hobbies, skills, experiences… all of those things are because I am, not what I am. Today is a good day to be present in this moment, simply to enjoy being, and being who I am. Today is a good day to embrace acceptance, and let go of attachment; it won’t change any detail of reality, itself, but it definitely has potential to change my experience. 🙂

I woke up this morning to see, reflected in my Facebook feed, more news of more killings. It saddens me. Black lives do matter. All lives do matter. It’s a statistical given that not all cops are the bad guys. It’s apparent that black lives and white lives are treated differently under the law; the statistical, factual data regarding outcome, analyzed by racial characteristics, make that quite clear. Human beings have great potential – and great potential for violence. Doesn’t seem to matter whether those human beings work in law enforcement or not. Our culture is sick, and as so often happens when an organism is ill, the culture itself has no idea how vile the sickness is, how at risk of collapse this sickness puts us, the true nature of the illness, or how to cure it. It’s beyond sad, it’s indescribably depressing, when one additional detail is added, and it’s a very true thing; we’re choosing this.

Choose something different. I don’t know what else to say about it. Don’t kill people. Are you a cop? Don’t kill that person – yes, there are other choices. Are you a citizen just minding your own business? Don’t kill anyone. Even if you think, in some strange moment, that it seems ‘the only choice’, choose differently anyway. Angry that someone broke your heart? Don’t kill them. Angry that you’ve lost your job? Don’t kill anyone. Angry that life seems to favor some group of people you are not part of, at your expense? Don’t kill them. Seriously. Damn. When was the last time you – yes you, right there – read a news article in which someone was killed and thought to yourself, “well, that makes sense, that was just, and rational, clearly the only choice, and that human being – that dead one – their life had no actual value to them, or anyone else, as it was and killing them was entirely necessary for the remainder of humanity to survive and thrive”? I’m betting… oh hey, never! It has to stop. Doesn’t it? Why are we choosing this, of all things?

I’m frustrated, and I’m frightened. The world doesn’t feel very safe. I still don’t think taking up arms and going around killing people is the solution to that problem. Today let’s not kill people. Let’s choose differently. Let’s change the world.