It’s Friday, early;
writing must wait for later.
I smile and walk on.
I’d rather be sleeping…
Archives for posts with tag: words
I purchased “Remembrance of Things Past” (an alternate title in some editions is “In Search of Lost Time“) by Marcel Proust. I suspect most people are familiar with Proust’s writing indirectly, and possibly often only through the fairly well-known “Proust Questionnaire“. Maybe in college a few people read “Swan’s Way“, or flipped through a condensed version, guide, or graphic novel of the author’s great work. I say ‘great’ because… wow. Yeah.
I don’t know why I’ve put off reading Proust. “Remembrance of Things Past” has clung to the edges of my personal ‘must read’ list since I was much younger (at a time when books were my escape from the unbearable). I read Milton. I read Plutarch. I read Rand. I read Tolstoy. I read de Beauvoir; I am not fearful of weighty tomes, nor voices other than my own. So…what’s been the hold up? Perhaps I have been waiting for a moment; I’ve only just begun it, and even a mere handful of pages into Swan’s Way (vol 1), I am completely blow away by the beauty of it. There’s the thing of it right there; it is singularly beautiful writing. Powerful. Complete. Authentic. I am not putting it off even another day, having tasted it and found it beyond worthy.
So… 2016. The year I read Proust. 🙂
How many ways exist to view the world?
I slept well and deeply last night, setting aside my reading some time before bed; these beautiful words are worthy of the respect and consideration of not falling asleep over them, and potentially missing even one shred of meaning over drowsiness. I woke this morning, smiling, with a heart filled with lightness, and empty of weight. My coffee is good. My yoga sequence felt helpfully pleasant, and comfortably eased the stiffness in my joints. I am not missing the opiate painkillers, and I suspect that more often than not any queasiness in the early mornings was due to the opiates, based on how I feel in the mornings since giving them up. Strangely, on the thought of painkillers, my consciousness both tries very hard to veer away from the thought of them, and also delivers a powerful moment of peculiar disconnected yearning. Craving in action. I breathe deeply, and let my thoughts move on.
This morning, the new place feels much larger than the modest increase in space measurably involved. Life is beginning to fit into the new space more fully. Morning is beginning to evolve to fit the space, routines adjusting to the changes in object placement, and room arrangement – for one thing, I have an actual dining room now, and I find myself now inclined to eat at the table, away from other things, rather than perched on the couch, which was the way of it for many of my adult years. Similarly, my studio is both real, and quite separate from the remainder of the household – and my desk is here in my studio, but the majority of my morning is not. It’s interesting how this one change actually changes so much; I do not spend time sitting for hours, fussing at the keyboard, scrolling through feeds, articles, tinkering with pictures aimlessly wondering if another email will come. Unproductive time is kept to a minimum here; I am in the studio only when I am in the studio, and at my desk only when I am actually writing. I seem to ‘have more time’ when truly, I’ve only stopped wasting so much of it … (wait for it…) mindlessly. 😉
Having moved from somewhat less than 650 sq ft, to somewhat less than 1000 sq ft, I sort of expected the feel of things would be mostly pretty similar… How incorrect was I?? lol Very. Vacuuming in the apartment I moved from took me about 15-20 minutes to do a nicely thorough job of it. Yesterday, after 45 minutes of vacuuming, and the sense that it would never end, I still find myself wondering how an increase in square footage of less than 400 sq ft still results in more than twice as much time needed to vacuum?! Realizing, as I sip my coffee, that being quizzical about housekeeping matters signals how very moved in I really am, I relax and smile and enjoy the moment; I’m okay with a few extra minutes of vacuuming, floors, windows, and tidying. This is a really cute place, it suits me well, and I am taking care of the woman in the mirror by investing my resources in very good quality of life day-to-day. Sure, there are choices, but it is in these choices that I find my way to being the woman I most want to be, living a life of contentment and sufficiency. Isn’t that enough? 😉
Today is a good day for taking care of me – even if that means vacuuming. Today is a good day to read Proust – because I earnestly want to experience his words. Today is a good day to live authentically, and to face the woman in the mirror with honest acceptance, and real enthusiasm – simply because it is time well-spent. Isn’t that also enough?
It’s a lovely Tuesday morning. I spent a couple chill hours over lattes and quiet conversation with a partner, (and friend, and lover) wrapped in harmony and love. I’d call it a delightful start to a nice Tuesday, but actually, I was awake off and on through the night, generally drifting back to sleep pretty quickly after footsteps, a door closing, or the sound of plumbing would bring me to wakefulness. By 4am my day had started; I was awake, meditating, then doing yoga before the alarm went off. Finding charming company, meaningful conversation, and love, waiting for me after I dressed for work was a bonus.
A metaphor? We dug this rose out of the ground last year, but it isn’t giving up.
My favorite April Fool’s prank this year came in the form of a blog post. First rate. 😀 I experienced a range of emotions as I read it, and not only got a relieved chuckle out of finding out I’d been pranked, but also found the content insightful and worthy of further contemplation.
Progress isn’t necessarily about speed, as much as a sense of purpose.
I have begun to understand that the most nurturing and supportive relationship I have, ideally, must be the one I have with myself. Counting on anyone else for that seems less wise the more I learn about treating myself well. I had an interesting moment recently, where it dawned on me that this process of learning to treat myself well, to be more mindful, and to be genuine is rather like falling in love…with me. I didn’t know it would be this way. I find it easier to respect and honor myself, my own values and needs, and my strengths, without having to deny or minimize my weaknesses, or skills where I could clearly use some remedial work. It seems entirely acceptable lately that I’m not ‘good at everything’ or beyond error. Self-acceptance feels pretty fucking amazing. 😀
Sweet spring flowers – what else needs to be said?
Learning to be genuine, and practicing using language in a more clear and simple way, has had the interesting by product of finding myself very alert to evasion, misdirection, spin, and misrepresentation when I listen to people talking. There are some fun bits to that, but now and then I am also faced with really hearing what someone I care about is saying, and experiencing how it can present an uncomfortable moment or two for me, and I’m learning how urgently important it is to take that moment and decide if I want to ‘poke that hornet’s nest’, or observe the experience and let it go. I can choose to be genuine. I can choose to be candid, open, honest and vulnerable. I can’t choose it for someone else. That’s totally ok, too, I’m more than busy enough with me. 😀
A worthwhile moment for loveliness on a Tuesday commute.
The walk in to work was nice, and it felt good to feel my steps, and breathe in the spring scents of flowers and bark dust and mown grass. I saw wee birds at play, slow-but-purposeful snails, and a rather fancy slug. My eyes and my heart were open, and the smile I woke with is still with me. Is life perfect? Nope. Are there moments that leave me doubting some of my choices? Yep. I have some unpleasant moments, and an assortment of challenges, and I deal with pain every day…but I am learning to experience ‘now’ differently, and to value what feels good and to cherish and nurture what meets my needs over time. I’m enjoying being this woman I am – and learning to do that mindfully may be one of the best gifts I have ever set about giving myself.
Being special is sometimes as simple as being who we really are.
Did you miss me? Ran out of internet while I was gone? Printed word long forgotten in the wake of local political scandals, fear-mongering news-media, and the impending zombie apocalypse? It is possible, perhaps, that someone out there in the wide world rolled out of bed, flipped on their technological connections to the world, and felt bereft of this fleeting handful of words we share between us so regularly… I might have doubted it, but for two things that were delightful reminders that we do indeed make our presence felt in the world, however small our piece of that puzzle happens to be; an email, and a conversation.
Saturday, as I rode the train home from a visit to a lovely big local farmer’s market, I had a casual meeting with a young man who, as it turned out, reads my blog. That was a little odd, and very serendipitous – what a privilege and an honor to see and connect with someone unknown who reads my words, and gets his own value from them…a stranger on a train…a moment of connection. I felt so open to the world, to my experience, to all the potential that exists for each of us as we move through the connected spaces in our lives. It was profound and moving. [And hey, please thank your Mom for me for sharing my blog with you – and good luck with life and tough choices!]
Sunday a simple email from a cherished friend; a playful inquiry and a loving reminder that there really are people out there, reading my words, hearing me, and preserving our connection through this space. I felt, for a moment, a tad neglectful of friends and loved ones, and let that go quickly; it was a wonderful weekend of connecting with people and experiencing moments. It was a weekend rich with love, Love, fun, humor, and a very good slow roast of beef, and I can’t find fault with myself for enjoying that with my whole heart. 😀
Now, Monday arrived rather gently, and I woke slowly to a later alarm and enjoyed a solitary coffee as the dawn broke. I took time to meditate, and it seemed only moments had passed when the rest of the household woke, too, and we shared a few minutes of smiles and harmony before I headed to work. Even the walk in seemed gilded with love itself, and the birds enjoyed it with me, sharing their songs of morning, losing my attention only now and then – I am sometimes distracted by the sparkle of frosty dew on blades of grass.
I am finding today to be a very good day indeed.
Words are powerful. We even have words to dismiss the power of words (“sticks and stones may break my bones but names can never hurt me” is a good example). Words can hurt. Words, in my experience, can be and often are used in ways that amount to abuse, even torture – ‘water-boarding the mind’. I can give examples, from my own experiences in life. How about these:
- You wretched, worthless child – god damn it, can’t you do anything right?
- F*ck, you’re stupid.
- You’re a girl, you only have to be good at cooking and blowjobs.
- I brought you into this world, I can take you out!
- No one will ever love you like I do.
- You can not survive without me.
- You owe everything to me.
- Without me you are nothing.
- Well, some people have talent, I guess you have to do the best you can without it.
Words used to imply the threat of violence in the face of non-compliance…words used to punish, to damage, to confuse… we use words to communicate, but we also use words to control, and hurt each other. Words seem powerful indeed; they can deliver lasting damage without contact of any kind. And the more we hear the same words, the more believable the words seem to be. Eventually, slogans, phrases, ideas, even insults become internalized and part of ‘who we are’. Scary.
I know I’ve lashed out at people using words – mostly operating on a very harmful assumption that although hitting people is not ok, hurting them with words isn’t ‘violent’. Oh, but isn’t it? Is the emotional pain we deal with as a byproduct of unhealthy relationships any less painful than any other sort of pain we feel? Is it easier or more difficult to heal? Something to think about… treating people well, by using language in an honest way, without the intent or will to cause harm, damage, punish, or control doesn’t cost anything, and immediately makes the world a better place for everyone.
Pursuing mindfulness is taking me some very interesting places as a thinking being.
A question for Wednesday – if you could choose a life free of guilt, worry, or resentment, would you?
I find myself inclined to immediately answer ‘yes!’ I admit, however, I have made a lot of choices that brought one or more of those my way pretty reliably. Worry and guilt seem easiest to dispense with, from my perspective. Worry is about something that hasn’t, and may not, happen. Guilt is about something already in the past – and unnecessary when I am accountable for my actions, and willing to take ownership for mistakes. The resentment piece was where I started this morning – because I was very aware that I had none in that moment, and then… uncomfortably self-conscious that that seemed noteworthy! I found myself understanding how mindfulness could ease worry or guilt, and seriously puzzled by resentment in general. Should resentment even exist if I ‘take care of me’? If I live honestly with my partners, communicating my needs clearly, and taking time to understand theirs? I have reached levels of resentment in prior relationships that aren’t even describable in a rational framework – because it makes no sense to have gotten to that point! Good choices, honest choices, and treating myself well – and compassionately – wouldn’t leave room for resentment, would it? Is there any moment of resentment that isn’t based on my own choices? Is resentment always self-inflicted? I have no answers, just something I plan to think about more. “Treating myself well” is beginning to look like a vista, not a challenge… and thinking more constructively about some things is having results I didn’t expect. Good ones. Artistic ones. Emotional ones.
Yesterday was a good day. The evening was hardly marred by feeling ill and being in physical pain; I stayed in-the-moment with that, which was a very new experience and quite different. I woke feeling better this morning. Today seems like another good day… how much of this is me and how much is something other than me? Do I have so much control over my experience, in fact, that good days come so easily when I don’t expect bad ones? More to think about… but for now, mindfully forward into Wednesday’s work.
Evening Light 