The Crosses We Bear

I sit looking out at the pristine blue water as I sip Jasmine tea and ruminate on A Moveable Feast. It's my first Hemingway experience and I'm devouring every bit. A friend said “I feel as if I’m rolling around in butter when I read Hemingway.” I agree with her completely. His writing is so rich and moving.

She walks in and sits at the small table next to me. She’s dressed in a smart designer skirt, matching jacket and leather belt at her small waist. I guess she’s around 32 years old. Big sunglasses and conservative diamonds on her ears and fingers. I’m thinking she’s in PR.

A few minutes later her friend arrives. Brassy, blonde, large sunglasses on her tightened face, enhanced lips shining with gloss and hands dripping with diamonds as she clutches a large designer bag on her shoulder. “Oh my god. I haven’t seen you in so long. Love your glasses. They’re the same as mine. Isn’t D&G just the best?” She leans over and presses her large lips in an air kiss on each cheek of PR girl. “How ARE you?”

Big sigh from PR. “I’m not doing well. Scott won’t let me have the house cleaner more than once a week, and the nanny just can’t do all that extra cleaning. And we have a dog, so the house is a mess. I’m trying to plan Scotts party at the wine bar and don’t know what to give as gift bags to everyone. And not sure if I should go with a full cake from Susie Cakes or just have them make the cupcake tower. What do you think? I’m also trying to find someone’s nanny who will watch kids at the park next door so that people can come even if they do have kids.” (She takes a small breath….) “It’s all just stressing me out. I’m having pains in my chest. The doctor is testing me for asthma and bronchitis. And also for some allergies. Maybe I’m allergic to gluten. I don’t know. And the dentist is concerned about my TMJ. I have that bite guard thing that I wear at night and don’t know if it’s helping. But I can’t sleep without it. What about you?”

“Oh honey,” Ms. Busty Blonde says. “I’m so sorry. I’m sure the doctors will figure out what’s wrong with you. You are seeing Doctor Yugishito in the city, right? I hear he’s the best.” Big inhale as her triple D chest rises and falls. “I’m trying to plan this wedding for next year but Jeffery just won’t sit down with me and look at the photos and the quotes. He says I should plan it and he’ll show up. I want him to go to Italy with me in July because you know I have that place rented on Lake Como, but he just won’t commit. So I’m gonna grab one of my girlfriends and go. Can’t wait for all the shopping in Italy. I can get a lot of things for the wedding.” She takes a bite of salmon and a sip of Chardonnay. “Maybe you can get Lisa’s nanny to help at the party. You know that one from Guatemala? She’s sweet.”

Wearing my invisible ninja suit, I watch out of the corner of my eye as they nibble on chocolate lava cake and sip an after lunch espresso. I think about how large and real these problems are for the two friends. And feel glad that they live in Marin and not in Calcutta….

Writing From The Soul - Rescued From The Trash

10 minute writing exercise.....

Rescued from the trash….the first one is always a little hard to get started. Like the engine of my car on these cold winter mornings in Utah. Warming up the fingers…

Rescued from the trash..hidden under the boxes and glad bags and apple peels. What is hidden there? Hiding beneath the other garbage so that no one sees. It doesn’t want to be seen but yet wants to be rescued without saying a word. Hiding but wanting to be seen and rescued.

She is small and quiet and cold and hiding. She doesn’t know if she wants to be found. But she does. She wants to be rescued from the trash, and not be a piece of the trash and more.

Unveiled and unhidden and known and seen. In all her glory. She is love. She is a goddess and she is ready to rise from the trash like a phoenix from the ash trash. Let her out. Let her be seen. Let her be all that she is already. Just peel away the trash from around her and she pops out like a stripper from a birthday cake. Ta daaaa….. Sequins and fishnets and heels shining as she steps gracefully down from the mounds of sweet icing. She is sweet and grace and love and she is here ready to be seen. Ready for her debut!

Rescued from the trash are my writings that almost didn’t make it. Hidden in the verses is my soul. The words just seem to be words until I read them out loud and then I know. It connects me to my soul. The words from when I was 13. Such a strange time in ones life. All hormones raging pimples popping boys looking boobs sprouting. What the hell is going on? The song on the radio says it all. Chicago – If You Leave Me Now….

I knew it was important to write when I was 13 and now I’m glad I have the words to look back on. It’s a path, a story, of feelings, songs, paved with tears and lessons and loves along the way. Travels too. Around the world and back again. New languages, new food, new souls. It makes me whole. I’m getting antsy to hit the road again. It’s been 1.5 months in one place and I’m ready to go again. Feeling boxed in inside the room with the forced air heat to ward off the winter chill of the mountain air.

Gotta get someplace warm. Gotta be by the ocean again. Smell the salt air and feel the open minds of people in California. The mountains are good but not so much when I can’t get out in them in the brittle cold. I’m a warm weather gal. The cold chills my bones and makes them stiff as they wrap around my insides and heart. I need to thaw out. Get out in the mountains of Cali.

Writing from the soul

I started attending a Writing From the Soul group when I was in Bali, and now, thankfully we continue online. We meet on Sunday nights for a very powerful hour and a half. There are people in Bali, Canada, Equador and the U.S. in our little clan. We are given a short prompt and then we write for ten minutes. Not thinking, not editing, just writing from the soul. Not from the head. Hearing what our unconscious has to tell us. I close my eyes and type and the words flow and I don't even know what they are until I read it aloud to the group. It's been an amazing exercise and I am continually surprised at what happens. 

One of the recent prompts was "In A Place Where Trees Can Speak" 
This is what my soul had to say about that:

In a place where trees can speak it’s a magical forest. Where fairies live and flit around in the trees as the trees speak to them. They tell the secrets of the ancients. They know all the wisdom there is to know in the world. In this place the trees stand in a circle and share the truth of the universe. We only have to listen. It’s damp and mossy and warm there. I am enveloped in the trees. They hold me with their branches and warm me and care for me. They speak to me and tell me all I need to know. I just need to listen. To put my hand on the rough bark of the tree and listen to what they have to tell me.

The ancient souls. Keepers of the universe. The trees may laugh at us as we fumble through our lives. Thinking we know everything and that we rule this planet. We know nothing. But we are learning as we go. Falling down and making mistakes along the way. Skinning our knees and putting many band aides on the scrapes until we forget the mistakes we made. When the last one heals we forget. But how long before the scrape does not heal? We may have one scrape too many. Do we have enough band aides in the bathroom mirror cabinet? Enough salve to keep the bacteria out?

In a place where the trees can speak is where I want to be. They know their stuff. They write books and speak a beautiful soft whimsical tree language. It’s there is we want to hear it. The face on the trees…. Reminds me of the wizard of Oz. Magical place where trees can talk and dance and wave their limb arms and tell stories and warn us of our misdoings.

Let us sit in the center of the trees of wisdom. Gather and soak in the message. The meaning. The love the encouragement. We can do it. We can pull out of this mess. Turn the tide. Pull back from the edge just when we’re about to fall off into the abyss.

Listen. Listen to the trees. The bark is rough but the words are soft and silky and warm and inviting and enveloping. The roots are as deep as time. The first bit of time started with the trees roots and all that knowledge is soaking up in them. Dancing with the trees and the wind. Blowing the dust from out of my roots. I want to be a tree hugger. Why is that a negative term? We should all hug trees as part of our everyday existence. Maybe things would be different then. Holding hand with the trees. Listen to their language and their hearts. Wooden hearts. Not a bad thing for a tree.

Coming Home

On this day, November 1, 2011 (11-1-11) I wake up very early and feel the need to write. The pen flows across the paper at lightening speed. I am not thinking, just writing.

I'm in my bed, in the Native American room at the Moby Dick Hotel, week four and I ask myself Why Am I Here? What has this last month been about? 

It's about hibernation. Quiet time. Resting. Gathering my strength and my courage. Ready to jump off to the next adventure. I have been spending time with Me. Loving myself. Trusting myself. 

The closer I get to my soul, the less far ahead my vision becomes. I don't need to see the future. The future is right now. The next moment. I enjoy each one. Each breath, each sip of hot rosella tea with slices of fresh ginger, each morsel of food that passes my lips, each sip of red wine and each square of chocolate. Each dish I wash in the hot soapy water, each page I turn of my book, each episode of Ally McBeal or Arrested Development I watch on the DVDs rented from the library. 

It's SO quiet here. Quiet quite unlike any I have ever heard. The stars and the trees, the ocean and the bay and the crow of the chickens keep me company. 

The fear that creeps into my mind and my stomach in the dark of night are here to teach me. I am strong. I am protected and I am loved.

How strong are my beliefs and my practices when I am alone? It's easy when I'm around like-minded souls, but when I'm alone for long periods, then the truth comes out.

And I like the truth that I see.