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Simple Things, Complex Issues

February 19, 2016 //
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It’s a quiet stormy evening. I’ve gotten most of my laundry done, bringing it in warm and dry from the laundry room between rain showers. Between loads of laundry I’ve spent time meditating, as storm clouds and passing showers crossed the view out the patio window. I enjoy seeing the sky, a horizon, a view, and so placed my favorite cushion for meditating just there, where my view of the park beyond the patio is unobstructed.

Potted miniature roses drenched by passing showers don't seem to mind the rain at all.

Potted miniature roses drenched by passing showers don’t seem to mind the rain at all.

Tonight had been planned for love and loving, but love had other needs, elsewhere, tonight. Love isn’t always easy, and needs considerable investment in respect, in consideration, in compassion, and yes, even openness and reciprocity. I’m sure I’ve never felt truly loved in their absence. (That’s why they are my Big 5 relationship values!) Still, I don’t feel any lack of love for love’s lack of proximity tonight. I feel heard, cared for, respected, valued – I feel wrapped in the comfort and warmth of a strong partnership, signal boosted with clear communication and explicit expectation setting. I find myself feeling compassion (his are complicated circumstances), and hoping very much that the evening goes well for my tested traveling partner; his relationship building skills are considerable – love still requires that everyone involved make an equal investment of heart, and will, and effort. No one human being can hold an entire relationship together alone. There are so many verbs involved…mindful loving uses many more of them than I had imagined (and I still have so much to learn). Listening deeply is a practice worthy of practicing – and then practicing more; I’ve learned so much more about love in the silence between my words that gives my lover room to be heard, than I ever did in one moment of something I said myself. Still; verbs. It isn’t enough to wait to talk. It’s the listening that counts, and doing it skillfully requires more than a little practice.

Listening deeply is like looking at something distant, requiring attention, focus, engagement and presence; this is not a picture of branches.

Listening deeply is like looking at something distant; it requires attention, focus, engagement and presence. (This is not a picture of branches.)

The television is off. No background slide show, no cartoons or animation, no favorite series or new hilarious YouTube video, science documentary, or nature show to pull my focus from the quiet evening. I am giving myself my time and attention. There is music playing, but that too is subdued; jazz (‘fusion’) tonight, bass heavy, relaxed, complex, rich, and joyous, and turned down low enough to feel the quiet of evening nonetheless – the sort of easy, inspiring sounds that apparently compel considerable overuse of adjectives and adverbs – the musical equivalent of poetry, but the sort of uplifting simple thing easily remembered and happily shared.

Too many words. This is too many – isn’t it? Is it? I’m not sure. I think I’ve gone a tad overboard here, just now, but I feel content and filled with warm joy and a feeling of security. It’s pleasant – and I don’t feel quite this way very often at all. It’s the security, I think – a sort of calm strength just beneath the surface of the contentment and joy. It’s nice. I’m sure I ‘worked’ to get ‘here’…but I didn’t plan it, or seek it out, I’ve been busy on other practices, other verbs, other concerns in life. Maybe that’s the point of what I am saying tonight; I didn’t chase this down as an outcome. I simply arrived here. Practicing good basic self-care, treating myself truly well, practicing practices that build emotional resilience and self-sufficiency, learning skills that support my emotional balance – whether I am home alone, out in the world, or faced with a moment of someone else’s drama – each incremental change over time has been a step on a journey that brought me here. ‘Here’ is very nice, I must say…and it’s enough.

One moment of many. I am here. I am okay. This is enough.

One moment of many. I am here. I am okay. This is enough.

Today is a good day to enjoy what is – whatever it is, however much it can be enjoyed. Today is a good day to learn from what hurts. Today is a good day to watch storms pass over head, and to recognize the difference between ‘climate’ and ‘weather’. Today is a good day to take a step back from the world, and listen deeply in a quiet moment.

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Categories Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Parables, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, The Big 5, Words

A Different Way to Say It

February 19, 2016 //
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It’s Friday, early;

writing must wait for later.

I smile and walk on.

I'd rather be sleeping...

I’d rather be sleeping…

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Categories Mindfulness, Perspective, solo hiking, The Art of Being, Words

Savor the Juice

February 17, 2016 //
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Late last evening in a moment of pure delight I ate a tangerine. It sounds pretty simple. It even was a very simple thing. It was also… awesome.

What I actually wanted was a tall refreshing glass of orange juice, which I don’t generally keep in the house because it’s something I enjoy enough that it can easily override my limited impulse control and result in finding myself with an empty container of orange juice in my hand, and very high blood sugar – that ends up being a poor health choice. (Damn you, delicious OJ!!) Having no orange juice on hand, or any other fruit juice, and understanding that ‘a sugary beverage’ was not going to satisfy, when my eye landed on the fruit bowl and spotted the lone remaining tangerine – a medium-sized, thin-skinned, sweet seedless variety – I knew what to do about the juice craving; I would make that tangerine give up its sweet juice to me!

No juicer – not even one of the small citrus juicers so common in kitchen gadget drawers. I didn’t let lack of a ready-made tool stop me, why would it? I am a primate! Haven’t primates been eating fruits for… well, literally the entire time primates have existed? I sliced off a bit of the top with sharp knife and began gently squeezing the tangerine, pouring the juice into a glass as it ran from the fruit. I turned it in my hand to squeeze it uniformly, feeling the pulpy fruit within begin to break down from its sections. The sweet tangerine-y fragrance filled my senses and by that point I was most definitely eager to taste that sweet sweet juice. I looked at the glass, still holding the nearly flattened tangerine in my hand, which was a little sticky from contact with the fresh juice. The entire process resulted in a couple of tablespoons of tangerine juice – really fresh, actually entirely real juice. My eye traveled from the glass to my hand, and I unfolded my hand, revealing the split flattened tangerine, easily opened out to show the sectioned insides, burst, squashed, but… tangerine. Standing at the sink, without any reservations or hesitation at all, I tore into the tasty flesh, savoring the sweetness, the juiciness, the flavor of tangerine, consuming it all (except the skin) in just a minute or too of raw animal delight.

I stood there in the kitchen with a huge smile, feeling connected to my physical experience, and feeling open to how simple, meaningful, and delightful such a humble moment as eating a fruit can be… and how human. Damn that was tasty tangerine. I washed my hands, which were sticky, and wiped the sticky juice from my face (I hadn’t been especially dainty about eating that tangerine, frankly). I turned to leave the kitchen…and there on the counter that glass of juice sat waiting. Right! Juice! I felt a moment of additional delight and joy – there is still juice! I anticipated the flavor of it and it was my intention to savor it slowly… two swallows of tasty tangerine later, and it was done. It was a satisfying moment of pleasure, guiltless, childlike, animal, and without regret. I found it more pleasurable – and memorable – to take the time with it that I did, and to enjoy it fully without being distracted by any other experience.

It was just a tangerine. Just a shot of fresh fruit juice made with loving hands. It was also nourishment. It was the satisfaction of a desire. It was a sensuous pleasure. It was a moment of delight worth lingering over, and worth recalling.

We live in the world we choose to create. 🙂

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Categories Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Parables, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, The Art of Being, Words

Art, Music, Words

February 16, 2016 //
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This morning I am relaxed and alert after a good night’s sleep. I woke too early to a distant peculiar high-pitched whine; the train in the distance crawling slowly through the night, sometimes loud, sometimes noisy, doesn’t often wake me but in the wee hours this morning it did. It wasn’t relevant to the overall quality of my sleep, or this lovely quiet morning over coffee.

I enjoyed quite a nice weekend, and although I started it having to deal with my challenges it was skillfully done, generally, productive, emotionally nourishing, fun, relaxing, and fairly entertaining. I spent much of it at home in this beautiful space I am creating for myself, and a lot of it painting. I’ve been needing this so much – over the years of adult creative lifetime I have yearned for adequate space to paint. I’ve done some amazing work perched on the edge of couches, crouched on the floor in a corner, spread out across kitchen counters, dining tables, or on an easel of good quality and sturdiness wedged into a corner of one room or another, cautious about paint being flung thoughtlessly here or there… attentive to immediately clean up, every day, every time… I’ve gotten close to have real studio space once or twice, only to see it jerked out of reach at the last minute. I was well into my 40’s – almost 50 – when I understood how much I yearned for dedicated creative space to work. I put it aside as a fantasy. I put it aside as unreachable – so many times. (If this isn’t obvious; it was often my own choices that put fulfillment of this desire out of my reach.)

Most of my partners and lovers have respected my artistic side, some of have truly loved my work; I feel certain that had it been commonly understood how badly I needed more room to work – understood by me, myself, too – I’d have been ‘here’ sooner. One of life’s many missed details – handled. I smile thinking about how many conversations with my traveling partner over the years have come back to making a viable solution to the need for room to paint become a reality for me – even our very first conversations as friends often wound around back to quality of life matters being needfully inclusive of this thing I did not have at that time; he recognized it as a ‘need’ when I still thought of it as a daydream without substance, forever out of reach. Over the course of our 5 years together, he has regularly pointed out potential solutions – and when it was clear that there was profound value for me (and us) in my living quite separately day-to-day, it was the artistic space that sold the idea first, healing was a bit of an afterthought (for me). I’ve been well-supported in this partnership – as an artist, as a woman, as a human being, and as a friend. How the hell do I say ‘thank you’ for all that?? Well… by painting, I guess, and making the choice to live alone have value beyond the separateness of it. 🙂

One of the faces of Love, and another way to take care of me.

One of the faces of love, and another way to take care of me.

I spent the weekend in my studio. I love the way that sounds. I spent it getting it set up, and using that time of making order out of chaos to ‘get my head right’ on Saturday morning (Friday afternoon and evening I wasn’t really good for much, dealing with a flare up of my PTSD and focused on very basic self-care). By midday Saturday I was painting. Sunday I was painting. Monday I was painting. Somewhere in the midst of all that, I found time to read, to eat, to shower, to love – the love matters most, perhaps, but without all that other stuff, who is here to be loved? I enjoyed the time I spent with my traveling partner Sunday – and there was no awkwardness in his departure. “What would you be doing if I left now?” he asked pleasantly after hanging out a while. I smiled and gave it some thought, the answer was an easy one, “I’d be in the studio, sitting with the new colors and the canvases I am working on, thinking about that”. He smiled back at me and observed that the timing seemed good. No stress, no emotional weirdness – an easy (for both of us) comfortable (for both of us) departure, freeing us (both) to move on with the day quite naturally. It was quite lovely, both the time together, and the time apart. What more could I ask of love?

There are now four canvases in various stages of completion in my studio, and they are not a frenzy of similarly themed work using a similar palette for economy. They are not being rushed through to avoid inconveniencing a household starting a new work week. Each is an entirely unique experience with color, texture, subject; I am able to slow my pace to a moment by moment approach that feels completely different – and worth exploring. Mindful painting? Is this a thing? The path veers in a new direction…

…I walk on, enjoying the view as I begin again. Today is a good day for art, for music, for words – a good day to feed my heart and my soul, not just this fragile vessel. 🙂

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Categories Art, art and the artist, Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being, The Big 5

Love’s Magic Mirror

February 14, 2016 //
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I considered not writing today at all; my most popular post, historically, is a Valentine’s Day post from another year. I certainly don’t need to compete with myself for attention. I took time to read it again, this morning, myself – it still rings true with me, and it was a nice start to my morning to ‘see what the fuss is about’.

Be love.

Be love.

My lovely morning continued with pleasant conversation with my traveling partner. We exchanged catching up details, words of affection, Valentine’s Day pleasantries, and shared affirmations of our continuing deep romantic commitment to each other. He moved on with his morning, and I with mine. I feel well-loved and secure. Moments of hurting only threaten that feeling for those moments of hurting and moments are brief in the scale of an entire lifetime; it’s very easy to lose sight of that in the midst of a hurtful moment, but losing sight of it doesn’t change the truth of it a bit. It’s one of the best things about impermanence; the stuff that sucks is also impermanent. 🙂

Words of love - the most valued words.

Words of love – the most valued words.

I’m sipping my coffee and savoring the flavor of it; I selected a different varietal coffee bean than I generally do (in fact, I purchased a small assortment this last time, specifically with this weekend’s enjoyment in mind). No reason, other than feeling adventurous, and not wanting to become complacent with what I know I enjoy. Taking a chance on what is new can be very rewarding itself – or a shortcut to a reminder of what works best. Today I am fortunate – my choice is pleasant and satisfying as it is, and I feel rewarded for taking a chance on something new.

Even a cup of coffee can show love.

Even a cup of coffee can show love.

I am enjoying life in the context of being well-loved by the woman in the mirror. Romantic love is a wonderful roller-coaster of emotions, sensations, and moments, and there is nothing quite like it. I thrive on feeling loved – but how limiting if that feeling can only come from the love I receive from another?! Fortunately, that does not seem to be the case, and quite the contrary; if I am unable to love the woman in the mirror, treat her well, and enjoy her as the being that I am, I will be severely challenged to actually love any other human being well. Certainly, experience has shown I am only able to love another with whatever skill I have at loving myself – any illusion to the contrary is a staged production based on social contracts, marketing, and mythos. I’d rather have ‘the real deal’, myself; authenticity is different, and yes  – better.  The romantic love shared between connected engaged lovers is a very different experience than love of self, to be sure, I’m just saying I am doubtful it is possible to love well without loving oneself; I haven’t seen it done.

Getting here was a journey - it is a journey to sustain love, too; there are verbs involved.

Getting here was a journey – it is a journey to sustain love, too; there are verbs involved.

The skies are a dismal leaden gray this morning, and there is a soft tapping here and there of raindrops on windows and walls. It’s not raining hard enough to make hiking unpleasant. I see geese and ducks making their way across the soggy meadow through the window of my studio, and wonder if the crow that visited my patio yesterday might return today. The grasses are so lush, and the willow tree is now covered with green-gold whips of spring budding, about to burst forth as leaves – spring so soon? The twisted gnarled pine in my view is near enough to see the tiny cones and dark needles with silvery gems clinging to them, raindrops not heavy enough to fall farther, waiting to sparkle in a moment of sunshine breaking through.

A thread in my tapestry, a color in my palette, so much of life is fueled by love.

A thread in my tapestry, a color in my palette, so much of life is fueled by love.

I feel a surge of restless energy and love pouring through my veins and my consciousness – but what to do about it? Paint? Hike? Bake? Masturbate? Being human certainly provides plenty of options. Considering the choices in the context of the best possible self-care takes baking off the list immediately; I don’t need the spare calories, and managing my weight over time requires continued awareness of my lack of impulse control.  There’s room in the day for the rest, and more; I could get the week’s housekeeping done today, setting myself up for a leisurely day off tomorrow, and a relaxed work week. My day begins to take shape as I sip my coffee and write: a hike through the park on a drizzly morning – maybe down to the hardware store (a pleasant 3.5 mile round trip) to check out bird feeders and such – basic housekeeping, painting…

So many ways to say "I love you" to the woman in the mirror...

So many ways to say “I love you” …

I pause to laugh over the sight out my studio window; a rather large flock of Canada geese making their way across the meadow – by way of the gravel path between the community I live in and the park, walking slowly single file, quite evenly spaced and seemingly in order of size (largest first). They file past for some minutes (big flock – 30 or more geese), and bringing up the rear are some ducks. (I wonder where they are going.. and remember that I often used to see geese and ducks floating in the community pool early in the morning from the patio door of my previous unit.)

...so many ways to say "I love you". Are you listening?

Are you listening?

So…yeah. Valentine’s Day. There isn’t much to say about it that I haven’t said before, and it’s still another great day to take the very best care of the human being in the mirror – every day is – and in so doing, be more easily able to love others. 🙂 I think I’ll go do that.

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Categories art and the artist, Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words
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