You are currently browsing the tag archive for the ‘thankful’ tag.
The only substance properly so called is the soul. (Henri Frederic Amiel)
Beware lest you lose the substance by grasping at the shadow. (Aesop)
Man is a substance clad in shadows. (John Sterling)
When I started this blog, my hope was to tell a real story. To say real things. To capture real moments. To talk about struggle and about joy in a real way, saying real things. To reveal all the stolen moments, and bits of life that make up our days and all the minutes and seconds and parts of seconds that weave themselves into a life. That culminate, someday, in a legacy of some sort. Yeah. That’s kind of a heavy goal, I suppose.
I wanted to talk about what it’s really like to walk a path of mastery. I think that people have the illusion that mastery is a goal, with an endpoint. The substance of the journey is that you fill your life with substance. That you fill those moments, and the quest for mastery with the substance of life. That you pick up in your hands, and turn over like stones, all the bits and pieces of what it means to be human – and what it means for you to be human – and you look at them (really look), and ponder it. Maybe you come to the conclusion that there is no conclusion to come to – that contemplation was the important thing, after all. That, and the willingness to engage the flexible world around you.
And yesterday, my dear friend Queen Dani passed on the award for A Blog with Substance… to me! A high complement (Queens have discerning taste, doncha know…it’s right in the job description). In Her Majesty’s words:
“I will buckle down and choose to pass on this award to……… Carolyn – a young woman, wise beyond her years, who shows up in life each day and opening her heart a little wider than sometimes even she thought it could go, leaves this world a better place for her having been in it. I love her and everything about her. I love what she stands for, what she stands up for and what she speaks up and out for. I love her style of writing, her words, her art, her “sassytude”, her courage and her strength. She reminds me of me at her age, and in doing that, she is a touchstone and an inspiration- also reminding me of what I came here to do, especially on the days I forget and/or stumble.”
One of the most unifying desires of humankind (something I stumbled onto while on this path of mastery thing…), is the desire to be heard, to be seen. I never expected to win any awards for this blog, but the recognition is great. Thanks for hearing me, and seeing me!
The irony of it is, that the gratitude is mine – I am deeply grateful to have made the acquaintance of Queen Dani at the moment I most needed her depth, her soulfulness, and her unique talent for bringing the fuzzy into acute focus. I am the one who’s grateful for her willingness to share with everyone around her the deep spirituality she’s cultivated throughout her life, for her willingness to share her own stories of struggle to light the path for others, for her deep commitment to serving others and to the example that she provides for so many to follow. For opening her heart to me, and to so many others like me. Thank you, Queen Dani, for reminding me who I am every day, and giving me the gift of myself through another’s eyes.
So, in order to keep this going, I need to follow the ‘rules’ of the award:
1.) Thank the person who awarded it to you.
2.) Pass it on to other blogs which you feel have substance.
3.) Sum up your blogging philosophy in 5 (five) words.
If you do read my blog, you’ll know that I’ll definitely have trouble with the last directive…brevity has never been one of my strong points! And, I’m taking the second directive literally, and awarding this to three separate blogs – the substance of which, and the authors of which have enriched my days and my journey. The first goes to Ebb Tide, (and to poetblogger Sarah Whiteley) for her bravery in putting her poetry out into the world for all to read, to examine, to critique. For putting into words the longing of the human heart, the nuances of the human experience. For bravely sashaying out into the internet jungle armed only with her poet’s soul and sensibilities, and planting her flag. For your bravery, your beauty, and your talent, I salute you.
The second blog I want to recognize is Living Out Loud (and the author, the Great Martina). Her continuing exploration into what it means to live joyfully is brave in a world which forgets to value joy. Her daring and her moxie for climbing back onto her pedestal, despite the detractors rattling away at the base of it, inspires me. For refusing to be silenced, for refusing to accept less, for refusing to allow her crown to be usurped, I grant you this award!
The third blog I would like to recognize is morethingsithink (and the author Faerian) for her uniqueness – for her willingness to be someone who is brave enough to “reach beyond the ordinary.” For being a joywarrior, for inspiring me to claim the same for myself, for putting out into the world your musings and your explorations. For sharing with all of us your beautiful spirit, your creative spark, and your journey to embrace your own beautifully messy soul, I salute you.
And now the hard part. To state my blogging philosophy in five short words. Since my blog attempts to reflect the way I live, that’s really a life philosophy. (*gulp*) Only five words, hey? Okay, here goes!
SEEK ● FIND ● DARE ● EXPLORE ● LOVE
Yeah. That about sums it up, actually – and my Sagittarian nature is probably pretty apparent in that micro-manifesto!
Thank you for seeing me, for hearing me, and for reading this blog. I can assure you that it is I, fellow bloggers, who is the one enriched by all of you and the bravery with which you show up each day and tell your stories. Namaste.
You know what? Last week sucked. Indescribably. And, that’s okay.
It was a week full of FOG (as one of my dear friends says – FOG = F’n Opportunities for Growth). Well, it seems to be clearing up now, and I can tell you that even in the midst of all of it, I knew that I’d be grateful for each moment of discomfort…perhaps not just then, but soon – and deeply.
And it’s true. I am. Each day of last week felt as though it were three days long – and by the end of the week, I felt like the world had turned round on its axis a few more times for me than it had for anyone else. And, that’s okay.
Presumptuously, thanks for understanding blogosphere folks, why I’d need to take a few days to let it all assimilate. I am okay – and even though I know this won’t be the last time I have a really FOGgy week, I know that once all the mist fades away, what you’re left with is clarity. And that is worth the price of any discomfort.
Once upon a time, I was a high school English teacher, and in that life, there was something that I sought out eagerly each day, attempted to create, and leapt upon like a tigress when it appeared – the teachable moment. That happy circumstance when I had attention, interest, engagement, and most importantly, opportunity.
The funny thing is, that when you’re a teacher down to your bones, from the moment of your birth, the way that I am, finding the teachable moment is actually a kind of sixth sense – one that (to the dismay, and eye-rolls, of many of my associates), I can identify and take advantage of no matter the circumstance. I kind of can’t help it – I see the perfect moment to provide illumination, and I take it. I’m a teacher – and I can no more let the opportunity pass by, than I could stop being who I am.
Today I went to my folks’ house to do laundry and hang out with my three-year-old niece, Abby. She’s both the best and most important ‘student’ I’ve ever had, and the best and most important ‘teacher’ I’ve ever had.
We had a great time today – she loves her Auntie, and we have all sorts of adventures together when I’m there. She has an incredibly rich inner world, which she’s pleased as punch to draw me (and anyone else who’s handy) into.
Today, we had one of those unexpected teachable moments. I was in the laundry room folding a load, and she grabbed what she calls her ‘Jesus book’ – a children’s book of Bible stories – and her duckie, and planted herself next to the washer. I sank down onto the floor next to her, and asked her if she’d like me to tell her the stories in her book.
With the dryer humming in the background, and the washer swishing away behind us, we went through the entire book – a rare thing with that three-year-old attention span. I didn’t read what was on the pages, but told her the stories from memory. I pointed out all the major players, and gave her the gist of each tale in a few sentences.
The last story in the book was the one about Jesus and the little children – the one where the man tries to shag off the kids who’ve gathered around Jesus, and Jesus stops him and tells him to let the children stay. Abby was really tuned in, and I could just feel all of the tumblers working in her quick little mind.
She’s had a kind of rough time of things for being only three – nothing horrid, but not a whole lot of stability. I told her that she could talk to Jesus anytime she wanted to, and He would always listen to her, always. I asked her if she wanted me to show her how – she nodded and then got to her feet to stand in front of me. I held my hands in prayer in front of my heart, and I started, “Dear Jesus, I had a hard time today…” She mirrored my every movement, repeated each word, on her own.
Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me; and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.” (Matthew 19: 14)
I am her godmother. Once upon a time, when my sister was pregnant, she debated whether, with my unconventional spirituality, I would be a suitable godmother for her child. That was like a dagger in my heart – and I’ve had a hard time healing it. No matter my own personal spirituality, I told her, that God-forbid, if something happened to her, I would do everything in my power to do all that I thought she would have done, and more.
So, I became Abby’s godmother – a role I take seriously, despite my distance from the faith I was raised with. No matter how far away I get from Catholicism, it’s never gone – it’s just become a part of the broad and deep pool of spiritual knowing and experience I’ve built for myself. Every child needs spiritual teachers, no matter what tradition.
Today, I taught my niece to pray. I told her that she did have someone to take all her troubles to – that when she has a hard day, and things feel crummy, she had someone to talk to in every moment. Someone who, though they may not answer back, would hear everything that she told them. She seemed to really take it in. She paused. She was quiet and thoughtful.
Today, I was more grateful for my innate teacher habits than I’ve ever been – today, I had a golden moment with my niece, my goddaughter. Today, I was able to act as her spiritual teacher, the role I was given when she was born, and one I cherish the opportunity to fulfill.
It was especially poignant, because they will be moving in a few weeks, and I know she’s not terribly pleased about it. It will be her third move in as many years. I wanted her to have somewhere to go with all that she will feel about it.
I totally realize that she’s three, and that there’s a whole lot more to prayer than what I was able to tell her today, but this was an important moment. It was the first of many to come.
Tonight I facilitated another Reiki Share, and as I left, it struck me again how grateful I am to be who I am, doing what I am doing, where I am doing it. It struck me again how wonderful it’s been to have this opportunity – how wonderful it feels to be doing something that feels so exactly right for who I am and who I’ve longed to be.
I know that I write a lot about the discomforts of the path of mastery…and not a lot about the blessings. Tonight I thought about those blessings – and about how they are ever-present in my life.
I used to have moments when I felt utterly bereft, as though there was no solace, no corner of comfort for me anywhere, in my entire life. I haven’t felt that way in a long time – I have found my solace, I have found what gives me succor.
Tonight we talked about the Reiki precepts, and we talked about walking the path of mastery and what that means. I think that anyone who’s ever embarked on any kind of spiritual journey, or a journey to self-mastery can say that, at least once, they wished they’d been the kind of person who was content not to question every bloody thing. That they wished for a ‘normal’ and ‘quiet’ life. And tonight I said, “But that is not what it has been given you to do.” And as I said it, I realized that that statement was for me.
There is no way on earth that I could live another life than the one I have. There is no way I could just decide to derail this path, hop off, and get on another one. It is not given me to do. There is no way, because I would be miserable. This is what has been given me to do.
I asked for this – longed for it, in fact. As a child, I was fascinated by the Christian mystics, by the hermits, by those who heard a call deep within their souls to take up their banner and march down a rockier, steeper, bendier path than the others around them. I was intrigued by those who held aloft a lantern to light the way for so many others who trudged similarly fraught paths.
The conditions of the path are really immaterial – whether I was a nurse, or a police officer, or a nun, or a coal miner, or a Reiki master, what I could not forsake is this need to look deeply, to question, to ponder, to explore. That is what has been given me to do.
When I finally was able to pursue Reiki training in the way I’d longed for so long to do, it was like a homecoming. It was like some fretting bird finally quieted and was soothed in my soul. Because I’d found it, finally, the lantern I would bear for others, and for myself.
I know that this post is kind of ‘a day late and a dollar short,’ but I spent a good portion of my weekend with my mom and dad, which is the point of Mother’s and Father’s Day, anyhow.
My relationship with my father is intensely complicated…and it’s unbelievably simple. I love him, and he loves me. No matter how we’ve changed, or fought, or frozen each other out over the years, I had him and he had me, and we were lucky enough to have a relationship.
When everything goes completely off kilter in my world, and up is down, and right is left, all I have to do is go and hug him, and things even out, straighten out. I know it’s an illusion – he can’t slay all of my dragons (that’s my job) – but there’s something about his hugs that make all the bad things fade into the background, and that make me remember that I can do this (whatever it is).
My dad’s a ‘still waters run deep’ kind of a guy. He doesn’t spend words like they’re free – and you’re better off dropping an idea or a question in his lap and then coming back in a few days to see what he’s come to, instead of demanding answers on the spot. He’s the kind of man who has to chew on a thing for a while before he decides how it tastes.
You know you’re in his inner circle when he acts the goof and the clown in front of you. I get some of my playful and pranksterish tactics from having watched him. Every year, our family would sit down to watch The Wizard of Oz together on our ancient television. And every year, he’d wait until the three of us kids were completely enraptured and absorbed, waiting to see what would happen to Dorothy, waiting to see if, this time, the witch would triumph….and then, he’d scream at the top of his lungs, scaring the bejesus out of all of us! And, we’d go and cluster around him, seeking safety. Dirty rat (said in the most affectionate manner possible).
I get my work ethic from both of my parents, but mostly from Dad. He works so hard – too hard. And he’s spent more vacations painting our house or fixing something than any man should. (Thanks).
I spent a different kind of time with him. We used to walk around the yard and ‘visit’ each of the trees, each of the gardens, and I’d ask him questions. It was quiet time – meditative, but I know he’d balk at that term. He’s philosophical, but he’d deny that, too.
When I chose to go out on my own, and become a Reiki Master Teacher and go into business with Dani, he didn’t understand exactly what I did, or why I’d want to do it. And, being a father, he worried (worries) about me. Despite that, he’s proud of me, and believes that I can do whatever I put my mind to.
Thanks, Dad, for being there.
Thanks for having my back, even though you don’t understand why or what I’m doing half the time.
Thanks for every talk in the basement, watching you plane out a new piece of furniture.
Thanks for singing along with the radio – I could hear it come up through the air vent into my room, and I will never forget the sound of it. It comforted me in ways you cannot imagine.
Thanks for going along with (most of) my grand schemes, even though you wondered why I’d want to bother – and especially thanks, since most of them involved some labor on your part.
Thanks for shellacking all of the odd things I bring to you. I know that it’s a lot more work and effort than you make it out to be.
Thanks for being a brave enough guy to ask your daughters what kind of tampons we wanted from the store, and going to get them.
Thanks for thinking that no guy would ever really be good enough for me.
Thanks for all the late night chats. Thanks for always taking my calls.
Thanks for fixing my car before I even knew it was busted. Thanks for coming to the rescue when it busted before any of us knew it needed fixing.
Thank you for all the things that you are: from the persnickety to the playful, from the silly to the serene.
Thank you, Dad. Happy Father’s Day!
For it was not into my ear you whispered, but into my heart. It was not my lips you kissed, but my soul. (Judy Garland)
I’m a perverse creature. On the surface, I am all calm, cool, and collected – a lot of the time. At first glance, I don’t allow much softness to come through. I’m working on that, actually… At first glance, you wouldn’t take me for a woman much given over to sentimentality or easily swayed by romance. At first glance.
The truth? Just because something seems to be true, doesn’t mean that it is…
So, last night, Jeremy and I watched What Dreams May Come – a movie I always watch with a handkerchief. It was his first time seeing it all the way through, and there were a few parts that got a little tough for him. He (politely) didn’t comment or make a big deal out of it when I dabbed surreptitiously at the corners of my eyes.
The movie over, my emotional needs satisfied, he thoughtful, we sat there. We each have our own blanket, and our own end of the couch, and then our legs tangle up and take over the middle. Sometimes we duel for dominance of the middle territory (this increases as warm weather increases, fueled by me), but today we were content and lazy and comfortably entwined.
And then we started talking about the movie. And he said, “I’d do that, you know. Find you.” And I just smiled in the way that only a woman can when a man pledges to do some knightly deed for her love (a smile that’s one part entranced, one part dubious, and one part patronizing).
He was quiet for a minute. He asked me if I thought it would be like that, when we die. I said I hoped so, that it would be something like that – reunion with friends and family, communion with others and with God, the presence of joy.
At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet. (Plato)
And then he blew me away. He said it didn’t matter to him – that if he died and it was all blackness and endings, and not the heaven that any of us hopes for or dreams of, that he would have spent all the days of his life hoping and dreaming with me and that was heaven enough.
I pretend that my heart is resistant to melting, but it isn’t. It puddled, instantly. He meant it. That is how he really feels. And it was equally humbling and exalting to know that.
Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage. (Lao Tzu)
It made me think of all the times I lost my patience when he took forever to make a decision. All the times I got in a snit because he forgot to do something or I tripped over his shoes. All the times that he left a job half done (I saw it as half-done) and I got an attitude. It made me think about how that couldn’t possibly feel heavenly. And I wanted more for him, and for me – to see our lives in the now, in every moment, as he saw them – a little slice of heaven. Guess I really will have to quit “sweating the small stuff,” hey?
Seeing our life through his eyes, let me see it differently, too. I always say that we’re building an empire – I think he sees us already enjoying the one we’ve built. I always focus ahead, on all that’s left to do – he sees all that we have done, and all that we are and have. I see the promise of heaven, someday – he sees it now, in the moment.
Love makes your soul crawl out from its hiding place. (Zora Neale Hurston)
After I started working at the shop, and Dani saw Jeremy and I together for the first time, she told me later that I was different around him. I, somewhat panicked, said, “How? What do you mean?” And she said, “You’re softer.” And I thought, Hmm – that’s not so bad, I guess. It’s hard not to be when he says things like that and means them.