A confession: I struggle, big time, with projections of “the enemy” on all kinds of political faces. Around healthcare, immigration, Standing Rock, police accountability – oy – I shut my heart’s door faster than you can say “empathy,” and indeed, that closed door, drenched in right-ness, wins out.
The door is justified. It contains briefcases full, shelves full, hard drives full of evidence: the actions of the enemy are simply reprehensible, unconscionable, inconceivable. The enemy appears to be – but clearly is not – human. Clearly, they need to relinquish their flesh-like costume and evaporate back into the lower dimensions from whence they came.
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My partner and I recently took a trip to Savannah, Georgia, which, you might not know -- as I hadn’t a clue myself until we were approaching from 100 yards away -- is home to the world’s most frighteningly steep bridge.
The kind of bridge that you have nightmares about – where you’re driving along, thinking all is well, when suddenly the bridge turns into a roller coaster, and then your car is spiraling out of control, off the tracks of the so-called bridge and plunging rapidly toward the sea… at which moment you likely wake up, grateful to be in bed, not on the world’s scariest bridge.
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It's in there. I know it is.
The fool in you.
The dancer-in-the-dark in you.
The wild lover in you emerging in the board room with wisps of hay in her hair.
The one that doesn't have all the answers... but who loves anyway.
Who doesn't know where she's going... but shines anyway.
Who is clueless about loving and having the relationship of her dreams ... but who sings through the hills and valleys of this life anyway, no map in hand.
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We humans are so precious.
Loving light beings with aches and bruises and owies galore.
Doing our best to love each other. Doing our best to be kind. Doing our best to get the dang laundry done, the kids in bed, our teeth and theirs brushed quickly and on time, without hurting anyone or anything in the process.
We try.
And yet those feelings arise in us, the ones we would rather do anything than feel, the ones that have us lash out, say things we don’t mean, pull away when we actually want help, go quiet when there is actually so much to say.
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A dear mentor of mine recently shared about Mercury Retrograde being an invitation to review and repair relationships long broken. Soon thereafter, an old friend whom I haven’t heard from in years reached out to me, wanting to reconnect.
This particular friend was someone who had said some very painful things in the past, thus leading me to distance myself from them for some time. When they reached out during this current retrograde season (December 19th to January 8th), I should-ed all over myself.
“You should hang out with them.”
“You should forgive them.”
“You should be the big one, the enlightened one, the healed one sprouting her Popeye arms and third eye chakra galore.”
Those thoughts didn’t last long. About 23 hours, to be precise, before I remembered something about what the heck true strength is.
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This message is for those of you who struggle with a two-letter word:
“No.”
I’ve been in the Just-Trying-to-Say-No club most of my life. I know all too well the challenges of mustering a “no” from these lips when my pulse is rising, my chest contracting, and I’m breaking a light sweat, all telling me that death awaits on the other side of “no.” The death of likeability, wantability, love, approval.
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When the world, as far as you can tell, is falling apart,
A hopeless, mad, unraveling mess
Nations slamming their borders shut in fear of “the other”
Oceans warming, wildfires burning, lowlands flooding, polar bears starving
Our queer brothers and sisters, celebrating wide open to life, gunned down mid-song
And it’s more than your heart can take
And you yourself want to withdraw, or erect your own mile-high borders, or to clench your hands tight into fists and fight back, scratch back, throw missiles back across the border of us/them
Notice
Listen
Can you feel
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Gentle here.
We can't get the memo too much.
We can't hear it too often.
Tread gently here.
THE CURSE OF THE FUNK
I don't know about you, but these past two weeks, I'm pretty sure the planets have been in the constellation of Funk. It's been funky in the home, funky on the street, funky in the various circles of friends and communities. I'm pretty sure those midnight stars are getting down John Travolta-style to "You Should Be Dancing."
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THE S-WORD, AND HOW THE HECK TO WRITE ABOUT IT
For the last of my Shameless Summer Series, I wanted to write to you all with a message about "the S-word," identity to be determined in just a moment.
But a problem arose: I didn't know how to do it, without being regarded as spam and sent away to a far off mysterious land called Junkmail, never to be seen again.
And so I am resorting to sneaky sideways references to that three-lettered word that is, needless to say, a fundamental part of life, insofar as none of us would be here without it.
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You’re in a conversation with someone you care about. You catch a hint that one of you wants more closeness/more space than the other. One of you pulls away in silence, or perhaps pretends that “everything’s fine” with not-so-hidden undertones of hopelessness, while the other moves in closer, perhaps tightening in fear or impatience.
Angry, fearful, or withdrawn reactivity bursts like a flame onto the scene.Criticisms and accusations abound, feeding one another like logs on a fire.
Suddenly: disconnect.No one present in the room.
Sound familiar?
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