This blog is dedicated to those people who inspire me, especially Cindy.
A funny thing happened while in Cindy's office. As is typical of most mornings, I popped into her office to talk about what was happening in our lives. The day before a relationship I had enjoyed and which had grown slowly over time had changed direction. Cindy had had her car broken into while running in a park on the weekend. We got to talking about running. She runs a lot. She even has a trainer. Wow! I have always been impressed because running makes me gag. I have a lot of fear around running because of all the injuries that I have seen.
She told me about the training session that she'd had with her trainer that morning. Sounded painful to me. Lots of pain. We talked a bit more about my relationship issues and I mentioned that I really should start swimming. You know, exercise makes one feel better. Right? Then she mentioned that I should do a triathlon. Huh? How did we go from ended relationship, to swimming, to a friggin' triathlon. She got all excited and started talking about an upcoming triathlon that is small and doable for a novice -- the Ramblin Rose triathlon. She pulled up the information on the web and started telling me that it is only a 250 yard pool swim, a 9 mile bike ride, and a 2 mile run. Huh! The sound of waves are crashing in my ears as anxiety sets in. She merrily talked about getting a coach, buying equipment, how to start running. Meanwhile I am hyperventillating. Where is that paper bag someone? 2 mile run? Bike ride? 2 mile run? bike? run? I don't do exercise.
I agree to do it. Did those words actually come out of mouth? I am screeching in my mind, "I can't this, really, I can't do this. Isn't anybody listening to me." Well off course not, you idiot, it is a silent scream. Cindy and I go out to lunch and we discuss all sorts of logistics and then we end up shopping for a new swim suit and some other athletic things. This is only the beginning. I am filled with fear, but I am going through the motions.
That evening, filled with a mixture of fear and courage, I swim. I love the water, until I start swimming. I mean swimming. Not just paddling. OK, now the water is heavy, I am heavy. I get the giggles. I do 4 laps. What's that? 100 yards. I am out of breath, legs are aching. Oh boy!! When is that triathlon? So I decide to do a few slow laps, breaststroke style, just for grins. After all I just got in the water. I can't get out now, can I? Can I? I thought about doing a lap or two doggy paddle, but the ego was not into that. A few laps later I am thinking "I am going to kill Cindy". But I remembered her excitement, her motivation, her pure joy in helping me. Cindy has no agenda except to help people become empowered. I feel honored to have such a friend.
So I do a flip and start down the lane again, this time like a pro doing freestyle. Then I decide to float on my back and do some kick exercises. This type of kicking burns the quads. And while I was into the burn I missed the cue of the flags as I glided under them and kapow, I hit my head on the wall.
Now, wasn't that a clear message from the universe -- I need to be present. I have been dreaming and being, now I need to find a balance and do. And to do this I need to get back in my body. I need to be present to everything around me, not just what is inside me.
Thank you Cindy for reminding me that I have the freedom and the power to try anything. I look forward to running with you.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Gotta Tri It
It's almost been a year since my marriage ended. A year! It's hard to believe. So much has happened to me. I went to hell and back. The way to hell is well grooved for me. The last 4 or 5 months have been better and I have met some great people. But still I travel to hell. U
More recently I have managed to turn hell into a creative soul space, but at times like now, it is an old pattern of destructiveness. What is different about now? Usually I am confident, and happy, but now "cruella" (read previous post) gets her friggin' claws into me and the judgmental, negative thoughts never stop. I recently went on a retreat and that's when they began. Ironic isn't it. I go to a retreat to feel good and I end up a basket case. What began were the past negative thoughts in abundance -- I wasn't good enough, I wasn't pretty enough, I wasn't nice like them, I wasn't open like them, I wasn't.... and the list went on and on. Cruella and her hordes were dining. The damage was done. And the insecurities of the past now loom BIG in my mind.
And to add salt to the wound, in my insecure, pity party, it seems as though my friends have been telling me that I need to be on my own, I shouldn't be dating, I should be getting my head right, I am doing this and that wrong. Months of this. I have been arguing with them that I am doing what I feel I need to do to heal. It may look wrong from their perspective and yes I may cry and get hurt but I am not going to cocoon myself from emotions or life. Am I going to look back and say they are right? I can't say right now.
In this time of feeling insecure I have become turned around. I have made some emotional mistakes that I regret. So you know what?
I have signed up to do a Triathlon. Me who can't climb 5 flights of stairs without calling for an oxygen mask. Me who can't run 500 yards without getting a stitch in their side. Me who splashes in the water and thinks that aqua aerobics (ok I can swim 250 metres without drowning). Me who hasn't been on a bike since 1996 and then I looked like Dorothy. I have until October to train. I have never been athletic. I look athletic, but looks can be deceiving. The one thing I know is that a consistent workout will boost my mood. I am going to take care of my body. I have been taking care of my mind and my soul. Now I need to mend my heart and my body.
Get the Epsom salts ready!!!
More recently I have managed to turn hell into a creative soul space, but at times like now, it is an old pattern of destructiveness. What is different about now? Usually I am confident, and happy, but now "cruella" (read previous post) gets her friggin' claws into me and the judgmental, negative thoughts never stop. I recently went on a retreat and that's when they began. Ironic isn't it. I go to a retreat to feel good and I end up a basket case. What began were the past negative thoughts in abundance -- I wasn't good enough, I wasn't pretty enough, I wasn't nice like them, I wasn't open like them, I wasn't.... and the list went on and on. Cruella and her hordes were dining. The damage was done. And the insecurities of the past now loom BIG in my mind.
And to add salt to the wound, in my insecure, pity party, it seems as though my friends have been telling me that I need to be on my own, I shouldn't be dating, I should be getting my head right, I am doing this and that wrong. Months of this. I have been arguing with them that I am doing what I feel I need to do to heal. It may look wrong from their perspective and yes I may cry and get hurt but I am not going to cocoon myself from emotions or life. Am I going to look back and say they are right? I can't say right now.
In this time of feeling insecure I have become turned around. I have made some emotional mistakes that I regret. So you know what?
I have signed up to do a Triathlon. Me who can't climb 5 flights of stairs without calling for an oxygen mask. Me who can't run 500 yards without getting a stitch in their side. Me who splashes in the water and thinks that aqua aerobics (ok I can swim 250 metres without drowning). Me who hasn't been on a bike since 1996 and then I looked like Dorothy. I have until October to train. I have never been athletic. I look athletic, but looks can be deceiving. The one thing I know is that a consistent workout will boost my mood. I am going to take care of my body. I have been taking care of my mind and my soul. Now I need to mend my heart and my body.
Get the Epsom salts ready!!!
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Battles on Mount self with the little "s"
Until recently I have never considered myself a writer. UGG, UGG, UGG. A writer? Me? Writers are those people that can keep me glued to my chair for hours as my emotions ride the rollercoaster of whatever images and nuances and feelings charge through me. Reading a book is similar to sex. Sometimes it is just a quick read, sometimes you sneak to the end because you just got to know how it ends, sometimes you throw it out, and sometimes you just sit back and enjoy the mystery of the emotional ups and downs that lasts for hours. And like sex, some wordy experiences are memorable, others you want to forget, and others you totally forget.
And then there's poetry. Double UGG. I yawn when I think about poetry. Reading poetry is hard work because in a small amount of words so much is said. Stories have the luxury of explanation. Poetry is a story in shorthand; cryptic shorthand filled with symbolism. Now my worst fears have come true. I am writing poetry (although I actually think of them as lyrics, a poetic song. What? Changing the name makes it more palatable?). I have joined all those blogging, writing fiends in spewing their thoughts and feelings on the internet. Am I crazy?
And so I fight my inner "Cruella" who wants to label me a no-talented, vain, idiotic, crazy, stupid, inarticulate nobody. It is a continuous battle. This battle is really the "self with a little s" or the ego, striving to keep change, growth and expansion in check. The ego likes to maintain the status quo. The ego is very smart in developing whatever mechanisms it can for survival. Whenever the ego feels that it is losing its place in the battle it rears its head. And because I believe that naming things gives them less power, I have named my little self or bad ego "Cruella". Cruella leads the battle with a horde of beasts that come in the forms of magnifying events, forecasting future happenings, labeling, musterbating, blaming the self or others, discounting the positive, jumping to conclusions, over generalizing. No longer are these mechanisms serving any purpose and a new battle is on; the "self" against the "Self". According to Jung the "Self" is the whole; the integrated individual's personality. It is when the unconscious and the conscious come together. Did I just digress? And to think that a very good friend paid me the highest compliment imaginable when he said that he loved the way I thought, the way that I processed information.
Through a process of being curious, I have discovered that poetry is one way that I can let the spiritual or the unconscious part of me have a conscious form (see I didn't digress). While Cruella is at my side as I write, the battle is stemmed with the emergence of the Self. The Self becomes bigger and more powerful as I tune in to what I want to write. When you engage at the Self level you can't stay the same. That's the way it works. Writing in this manner gets me to talk about things on my own terms, in a poetic way, in a way that’s inspired from the authentic Self. I am stunned at this urge to write, a form of expression that I detested. And not only do I write, but I actually make it public. I am crazy after all!
What I love the most is receiving feedback. I thought that I would be defensive when people read my poetry because currently my writing is autobiographical. What hurts the most is when I ask friends to read it and I get no response. Then my "Cruella" greedily climbs Mount self with the little s as I think, "They obviously think that I can't write but they are too polite to say something" or "I am too intense" or "blah blah." But that's Cruella and her hordes at work and knowing this provides a way for me to be less judgmental on myself and others. In addition, I have more curiousity about myself as opposed to judgment. I love hearing how different words mean different things to people, how some poems touch some people and not others. Some people think that I am dark while others see beyond that to a person who is seeking and being curious and brave. Most people want to talk to me about the poems and what they mean. They also see it as a way to connect with me about their lives. I have found that while I feel vulnerable I am more approachable. Sharing my writing, while scary, has provided me with humor, trust, connectedness, and deeper friendships. My expression through writing, poetic or blogging comes from my authentic self and when I put it out there it is free. It is free from being personal, it is free from Cruella.
Not all is perfect in this growing and unmapped world of mine. Cruella continues to be happy as she finds new battles to fight on Mount self with the little s. I would never have guessed that something I was so scared of has become a compass that is helping me find my way. It's been about learning to recognize when the "self" is readying for battle. It's been about discovery and remapping my thinking. The "Self" is released from the battle.
I use the words of Pablo Neruda's poem titled Poetry, to express what it feels like to be in a creative space...
Poetry
And it was at that age ... Poetry arrived
in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I don't know how or when,
no they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.
I did not know what to say, my mouth
had no way
with names,
my eyes were blind,
and something started in my soul,
fever or forgotten wings,
and I made my own way,
deciphering
that fire,
and I wrote the first faint line,
faint, without substance, pure
nonsense,
pure wisdom
of someone who knows nothing,
and suddenly I saw
the heavens
unfastened
and open,
planets,
palpitating plantations,
shadow perforated,
riddled
with arrows, fire and flowers,
the winding night, the universe.
And I, infinitesimal being,
drunk with the great starry
void,
likeness, image of
mystery,
felt myself a pure part
of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke loose on the wind.
Pablo Neruda
And then there's poetry. Double UGG. I yawn when I think about poetry. Reading poetry is hard work because in a small amount of words so much is said. Stories have the luxury of explanation. Poetry is a story in shorthand; cryptic shorthand filled with symbolism. Now my worst fears have come true. I am writing poetry (although I actually think of them as lyrics, a poetic song. What? Changing the name makes it more palatable?). I have joined all those blogging, writing fiends in spewing their thoughts and feelings on the internet. Am I crazy?
And so I fight my inner "Cruella" who wants to label me a no-talented, vain, idiotic, crazy, stupid, inarticulate nobody. It is a continuous battle. This battle is really the "self with a little s" or the ego, striving to keep change, growth and expansion in check. The ego likes to maintain the status quo. The ego is very smart in developing whatever mechanisms it can for survival. Whenever the ego feels that it is losing its place in the battle it rears its head. And because I believe that naming things gives them less power, I have named my little self or bad ego "Cruella". Cruella leads the battle with a horde of beasts that come in the forms of magnifying events, forecasting future happenings, labeling, musterbating, blaming the self or others, discounting the positive, jumping to conclusions, over generalizing. No longer are these mechanisms serving any purpose and a new battle is on; the "self" against the "Self". According to Jung the "Self" is the whole; the integrated individual's personality. It is when the unconscious and the conscious come together. Did I just digress? And to think that a very good friend paid me the highest compliment imaginable when he said that he loved the way I thought, the way that I processed information.
Through a process of being curious, I have discovered that poetry is one way that I can let the spiritual or the unconscious part of me have a conscious form (see I didn't digress). While Cruella is at my side as I write, the battle is stemmed with the emergence of the Self. The Self becomes bigger and more powerful as I tune in to what I want to write. When you engage at the Self level you can't stay the same. That's the way it works. Writing in this manner gets me to talk about things on my own terms, in a poetic way, in a way that’s inspired from the authentic Self. I am stunned at this urge to write, a form of expression that I detested. And not only do I write, but I actually make it public. I am crazy after all!
What I love the most is receiving feedback. I thought that I would be defensive when people read my poetry because currently my writing is autobiographical. What hurts the most is when I ask friends to read it and I get no response. Then my "Cruella" greedily climbs Mount self with the little s as I think, "They obviously think that I can't write but they are too polite to say something" or "I am too intense" or "blah blah." But that's Cruella and her hordes at work and knowing this provides a way for me to be less judgmental on myself and others. In addition, I have more curiousity about myself as opposed to judgment. I love hearing how different words mean different things to people, how some poems touch some people and not others. Some people think that I am dark while others see beyond that to a person who is seeking and being curious and brave. Most people want to talk to me about the poems and what they mean. They also see it as a way to connect with me about their lives. I have found that while I feel vulnerable I am more approachable. Sharing my writing, while scary, has provided me with humor, trust, connectedness, and deeper friendships. My expression through writing, poetic or blogging comes from my authentic self and when I put it out there it is free. It is free from being personal, it is free from Cruella.
Not all is perfect in this growing and unmapped world of mine. Cruella continues to be happy as she finds new battles to fight on Mount self with the little s. I would never have guessed that something I was so scared of has become a compass that is helping me find my way. It's been about learning to recognize when the "self" is readying for battle. It's been about discovery and remapping my thinking. The "Self" is released from the battle.
I use the words of Pablo Neruda's poem titled Poetry, to express what it feels like to be in a creative space...
Poetry
And it was at that age ... Poetry arrived
in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I don't know how or when,
no they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.
I did not know what to say, my mouth
had no way
with names,
my eyes were blind,
and something started in my soul,
fever or forgotten wings,
and I made my own way,
deciphering
that fire,
and I wrote the first faint line,
faint, without substance, pure
nonsense,
pure wisdom
of someone who knows nothing,
and suddenly I saw
the heavens
unfastened
and open,
planets,
palpitating plantations,
shadow perforated,
riddled
with arrows, fire and flowers,
the winding night, the universe.
And I, infinitesimal being,
drunk with the great starry
void,
likeness, image of
mystery,
felt myself a pure part
of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke loose on the wind.
Pablo Neruda
Thursday, June 12, 2008
I Want To Be...
A new poem was born while I was on a retreat. The poem came to me while I was sitting and being with my feet cooling in the H2O of a waterfall. It is an invitation to be.
----------------------------------------------------------
I Want To Be
I want to be the honeysuckle vine that grows limitless in shadow and sunshine
I want to be the bubble in champagne that tickles up a smile
I want to make the noise of cicadas as I love with abandon
I want to be water, running with clarity
I want to be a firefly, dancing with childlike magic
I want to be a rock that can safely carry the weight of my intensity
I want to be space, knowing the rules of the universe yet still forming
I want to be night, where my dark soul can wander in creativity
I want to be light, in touch, in thought; a beacon from the dark
I want to be a chameleon who has the memory to adapt, yet remains authentic to form
I want to be the moon, happily chillin' out alone
I want to be a dolphin, part of a family swimming deep yet resurfacing
I want to be a rainbow that inspires others to search for their pot of gold
I want to be the spirit of me.
----------------------------------------------------------
I Want To Be
I want to be the honeysuckle vine that grows limitless in shadow and sunshine
I want to be the bubble in champagne that tickles up a smile
I want to make the noise of cicadas as I love with abandon
I want to be water, running with clarity
I want to be a firefly, dancing with childlike magic
I want to be a rock that can safely carry the weight of my intensity
I want to be space, knowing the rules of the universe yet still forming
I want to be night, where my dark soul can wander in creativity
I want to be light, in touch, in thought; a beacon from the dark
I want to be a chameleon who has the memory to adapt, yet remains authentic to form
I want to be the moon, happily chillin' out alone
I want to be a dolphin, part of a family swimming deep yet resurfacing
I want to be a rainbow that inspires others to search for their pot of gold
I want to be the spirit of me.
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