Back to normal?

Really, there is no going "back" to normal. There is only to find a way to exist in the "new" normal. I hesitate even to suggest "going forward," because it's all I can do to stay in this moment.

I feel suspended... it's a little like I'm locked in that moment when I realized she was gone, somewhere between the panic (oh my God, this is happening, this is really happening right nere, right now) and the pain (oh my God, this happened. She is gone).

When I lost her, I lost a big chunk of myself. I lost my best friend, my fiercest defender, my most beloved champion, my sweet little mommy. But, those are roles she played as a third person in my life. I also lost something I can't describe yet. It's like a primary filter through which I know the world has been clouded -- obscured, or removed: I'm not sure which. Is it clearer now or cloudy?

The giant black hole, inky and oily, centered beneath my heart, sucks the air out of the room, sucks me into myself. Now, I'm supposed to rise out of the darkness like a phoenix-- recreated in my own image, different, tested by fire and pain, reduced to ash and reborn MORE myself, less myself/my mother, my other.

How can I be"come" more of who I really am when I've lost so much?

Day 5

Dear Mama,

I'm up. I miss you.

It's raining and I know little Benny must be trembling. Dr. T is taking care of him, though.

Today is the day I need to start calling your people. I know you said not to tell anyone... but I need to. They will be so sad, but they will tell me how wonderful you were, how loving, how funny, how smart, how beautiful, how full of life... and it will help me.

But for now, I'm going to sit in my little house, watch the rain, and listen to the tenors, REALLY LOUD. (Lenny doesn't like it!) Usually I stay away from music when I am sad... but I want to be filled with the beauty of perfection and feel you in it. I'm taking Melly to the Waldebuhn in June. We will sing and dance with the Germans, and cry and be happy. I know you'll be with us.

I love you so much.
I tried to do everything I could for you that last day. I know you suffered so much, for so long. I know you must have been scared. I felt so helpless. I hope you felt loved.

What she said

I just read an article that summed up what I've been trying to say about discernment all this time -- it was a little moment of rediscovering what I already knew. The article was called Hot Buddha, Cold Buddha, by Judith Lasater.

I've been thinking a lot these days about the relationship between forgiveness and trust and thinking it had something to do with this concept of discernment. Lasater talks about the difference between acknowledgement and acceptance. Somehow this helped me make the connection. I've been thinking that forgiveness is about acknowledging and accepting something that happened in the past. Trust is about moving into the future with faith that those things will not happen again. It troubled me that there was no present in that explanation. No now. How do you get from forgiveness to trust? What action do you take?

Lasater says you don't have to accept everything you acknowledge. This is where your agency comes in, and discernment -- your ability to act to make change, your ability to move forward without being in denial. In a section on the concept of nonattachment, she writes:

The practice of discrimination leads to the next part of vairagya: understanding the difference between acknowledgment and acceptance. Many years ago, I somehow concluded that to practice letting go was to accept everything exactly as it is. I now have a different perspective. I have learned that there are certain things I will never accept: child abuse, torture, racism, willful environmental damage, the inhumane treatment of animals, to name a few. However, if I am going to practice—and live—with clarity, I must acknowledge that these things exist and not live in a state of denial.

Paradoxically, when I live with the deep acknowledgment of what is, then and only then can I live in clarity. Once I am living in clarity, I can choose my actions and let go of the fruits of my labors, becoming deliciously lost in the process of acting from compassion. If I just accept things as they are, I may never choose to alleviate my suffering or the suffering of others. This so-called acceptance is really complacency disguised as spiritual practice.

I have heard this called "idiot compassion." It means offering forgiveness and acceptance with no discrimination.

So... this helps explain the decisions I've made, the action I've taken. I can acknowledge and even accept past betrayal... but I choose not to move forward in denial of what has rightly been called my active mistrust because it is causing me to suffer. And this suffering just prolongs the suffering of those I love, those who love me.

That doesn't really help me answer the question of how to get to trust after forgiveness. But, it's a start.

So, what's it going to be?

Stay in bed all day, maybe all week?

or...

nothing else sounds any good. I'll keep "you" posted.

The rube in the third row

Where did June and July go? I missed writing about so much... It's not that so many things happened, or that I had so many amazing thoughts that just had to be shared. Actually, I guess that's exactly it... I had plenty of thoughts, but they didn't need to be shared.

One thing I could have written about was the amazing experience I had at the Jose Carreras concert. Since I'm listening to him now, I guess I'll write about it.

I had a sort of unexpected moment of "enlightenment."

I had so been looking forward to hearing him sing in person. I bought a ticket for myself -- center stage, second row. I was so excited that I would be close enough to see his eyes, his hands, his breathing. I thought, maybe he'll look at me and I'll have a moment of connection with greatness.

I got all dressed up in my favorite Betsey Johnson, wore my grandmother's antique glass beads and carried her dainty little black beaded purse. I got there early enough to have a glass of wine and watch people. Everyone was all dressed up and ready for a glamorous evening of his beautiful tenor.

They flashed the lights and I went in. I felt so fancy being in the second row with people who I imagined must be rich or interesting or like me, just really into beautiful music. I thought going alone I might make temporary friends for the evening with these obviously like-minded people.

And then, this voice came up from right behind me. It was the voice of an older woman, loud, unrefined, completely unaware of its intrusiveness. Her west Texas accent grated on me. She was practically screaming, "I was JUST listening to the Three Tenors in the car and NOW we're HERE! I hope it's even better in person!" etc etc etc

People on the front row turned around. People on the second row glanced at each other out of the corners of our eyes, and looked sympathetically at the people in the front row, as if to say, "We're sorry! It's not me!"

The the lights dimmed and Carreras walked out. Everyone applauded. In the silence before the music an old man somewhere behind said, "He has George Washington hair."

I was mortified. Carreras whispered to the pianist, "Que grupo!"

And the Voice behind me snorted and laughed whole heartedly.

The music began. The Voice GASPED audibly. Gratefully, she stayed quiet during each performance. But in between, she shouted and snorted and talked to everyone around her.

The wholetime I was telling myself -- do NOT let this ruin your night. Pay attention. She will NOT ruin this night.

After the final aria, he left the stage, but came back for an encore. The Voice gasped again and stood up and shouted, "Thank you for sharing your gift!"

And it hit me... She was just really into this. She was having a great time and was truly grateful that he would come to Austin, Texas and sing for us. And beautiful music should be for everyone... even the rube in the third row. She was just expressing (maybe not in the most appropriate way) the same thing I was feeling ... and she got him to SEE her! I felt ashamed and embarrassed about my judgmentalness... I had so wanted him to see me, to validate my appreciation for ... his gift. I finally saw myself in her and it humbled me.

SO, he sang three encores, the best songs of the night. Finally as we were all getting up to leave, I turned around to look at her. She was a very elegantly dressed older woman with a very sophisticated short hair cut and beautiful jewelry. She looked up at her younger companions and said with a smile, "Are we going to go play now?!"

And I wished I could go with them...

Keeping the metaphor going... and going... meandering blog post

Yesterday I went to a yoga class. As we were beginning the class, and I closed my eyes and began to focus on my breath, I realized how in just a few days, I had gotten so far away from the practice. It is a practice... and it's the process of returning to it that establishes the contrast for waking up.

It was a good feeling. I must be getting closer to some truth. In recent times, I would probably have felt guilty and started telling myself that I should have been doing this every day, scolding myself for not practicing, and making pledges to myself that I would start again now, or tomorrow. But that doesn't really work. That's the kind of intention I always rebel against. And so... it doesn't happen. And the cycle repeats.

Yesterday this didn't happen. Instead, it felt like a release. It was refreshing and I was thankful for it.

And then I realized how I'd been neglecting my garden. What with trips to Vegas and El Paso and electricians and tree guys and plumbers and swarming mosquitos, I hadn't been paying attention to my little plants. I hadn't watered in a week. I've check on the zucchini, but, I've missed other developments. I missed the fact that my peas have pods, but the leaves are getting eaten by something and look all gray. I hadn't noticed that the banana pepper has a second pepper, or that the eggplant has two beautiful, purple fruits and a new flower about to bloom. The corn has silk!

So today, I got up and watered. And then I noticed... the weeds.

Crap! You literally can't just water the seeds of things you want to grow... somehow you also inadvertently water the weeds.

SO, now I know I'm going to need to spend some time out there pulling the weeds... because they are sucking the good stuff from the plants I want to grow. But I know it. They aren't going to take me by surprise. I guess that's the key.

Meet Mulchie

My compost pile is actually one of my favorite things in my garden. I have so been looking forward to making dirt! And, it turns out, it's also a little habitat for wildlife. Today when I turned it, I found the cutest little toad, and a big spider with an ENORMOUS egg sac. Very cool.

Water the seeds you want to grow...

An imperfect expression of some things I am thinking about... have thought about and will continue ot think about...

Yesterday I attended a Tibetan Heart Yoga workshop called, "For the Love of Yoga: Learning to Live in Your Subtle Body." Sounds pretty mushy, gushy, huh? Probably lots of talk about "imaginary" things like chakras and "honoring your true self" and I'm ok, you're ok, just as you are, let's just breathe and hold hands and everything will be ok.

Wrong.

First let me tell you -- chakras aren't imaginary. That's the topic for another day. But let me also tell you, there was nothing soft or mushy about this yoga class.

We did begin with discussion. One of the teachers, Mira Shani from Arizona's Yoga Oasis, asked us why we love yoga. People said the usual things people say in yoga workshops. And I sat there, struck with the fear that this workshop just might be a nambi pambi little love fest. Was I going to spend three hours this way?

Mira said, "I practice yoga because I don't want a crappy life. I don't want to have crappy people in my life. I don't want crappy relationships. I don't want to be in crappy situations or have crappy conversations. Yoga is not about coping with things better. It's not about being calm and ok and not getting pissed when someone cuts you off on the road. Yoga is about not getting cut off in the first place."

I loved this. So, the metaphor wasn't perfect -- you really can't help getting cut off on the road sometimes... but the message to me was clear, and resonated with a Buddhist saying that I have been thinking about:

Water the seeds you want to grow. Don't water the seeds you don't want to grow.

Discernment is key. Discernment and effort. Life takes both. Yoga can help get you there.

"Enlightenment," "happiness," "contentment" are not easily achieved. They sound nice, soft, but they take fortitude.

I love the open, tender feeling I have after a yoga class. The stripping of the armor, the quieting of the mind's chatter... but if you haven't strengthened whatever lies beneath the armor, that weakness that needed armor is left unexposed... and then there you are: momentarily blissfully loving, but ultimately vulnerable and without your defenses.

I don't want a crappy life! Building that inner strength means discerning what things make your life crappy and NOT feeding them. This can be harder than trying to find your strengths and nurturing them. Neti, neti. This, not this.

NOT this.

Do you know which seeds you are watering that you don't want to grow? I'm finding mine.

Squash blossoms soon, and other things...

This is the cutest little pea plant.

This, not this

More on the oak tree...

It's true -- you can't change the oak tree. You must accept what it is. But you don't have to accept your particular relationship to it. This is discernment. In yoga, the mantra "neti, neti," the heart of wisdom.

If the oak tree springs up in your vegetable garden, you can transplant it somewhere else, somewhere more appropriate. You have to accept what it is. But you don't have to accept where it is. As for my sunflower, I decided since it wasn't in my vegetable garden, depriving my little planties of precious nutrients, I would let it stay where it is. I want to see it grow and make a flower bigger than my head.

But if you don't want a relationship with that oak tree, or that flower, and what you really want is a rose bush, you better plant one of those. And watch out for the thorns.

Morning ... afternoon

I wish you could see the detail of the scalloped edges on this little bud. I loved how you could see the little bit of red peeking out.


Glorious little thing.

A mountain is a mountain

This is a weed. It's four feet tall and I just noticed it! OK, it's a sunflower (I think). But I didn't plant it. I wasn't expecting it. And it was four feet tall before I ever noticed it.

I was stunned. I come out to the garden every day and look at everything. I thought I looked at everything. I wish I could describe the feeling that came over me when I realized it was there. And there are two more just like it within a couple of feet! Incredible! Impossible!

There are so many apt metaphors in this, I don't even know where to start.

There's something about awareness.

There's something about only seeing what we want to see, or what we expect to see.

But that would be all about me!

It's also a pretty amazing thing in and of itself. The stalk is almost an inch thick and covered with fuzz. The leaves are big and hardy, broad and bold, brazenly hogging up all the sun. It reaches decidedly skyward, with abandon, arms outstretched, piercing the clouds like a dare. It was designed to spring up out of nowhere, to shock and awe.

A yoga teacher once advised me: don't be mad at the oak tree because it's not a rose bush. You can prune it and feed it, yell at it, coax it, make promises to it... it is still going to be an oak tree.

I'm going to keep this weed.

Hey! I found something to blog about!

Does the "world" care about my garden? Probably not... but I feel the need to write about it and I think this just might be the perfect place to do so. It even fits in with the over all theme.

I've never had a hobby before. But I wake up and I want to come out to my garden.
I want to see what's grown... or what's been eaten, and by what. I want to sit down and pull weeds, methodically, one by one. I want to look at every little plantie and see if there's a new flower or a veggie.

Since some things were already there in my garden, it's also been fun to see what "weeds" pop up. These are things deliberately planted by the former occupant/gardener. There's some kind of persisent little vine that wants to come up. I've replanted it somewhere else as landscaping. Maybe it will grow there and be something. Also, I never saw purple shamrock before, but that came up on its own. I bought some more and now have started a purple shade garden beneath the magnolia tree. It has the shamrocks, purple heart (formerly known as wandering Jew), and purple and green bugleweed -- so cute.

The magnoilia tree has so many buds! I can't wait for it to bloom.

So, I will keep posting updates about my garden on FaceBook, because it's fun to get the comments and advice. But I'll also be writing here. I'm learning things from this garden. It's probably the most yogic or zen thing I've done. And it's so healing.