Paradox of Perspective

When I am off-center, wallowing in self pity, feeling bad about my life for all the reasons I think are justified (the Alzheimer's afflicted Mother, the family and old friends so far away, the husband who hates his corporate job), I look at others' immensely positive and uplifting blogs, filled with creative projects and mindful meditations about life, and I picture a scene that's become cliche----the crazed character jerking the fully-laden tablecloth from the table or making a huge swipe with an arm across a desk filled with books, pens, inks, brushes, and paper, sending them all crashing to the floor, leaving a space, a blank space.

That space will be filled. Keeping it open takes as much energy as filling it.

But I also know that the carefully constructed images and words posted here on the Interweb (as my friend likes to call it) are just that. . . . Picture Toto grasping that curtain with his teeth and pulling it away from the frenzied, jerking movements of the "Wizard."

So I must remember that I'm not alone in my struggles. Even though others' lives appear perfect in this neatly formatted place online, beyond the edges of this snapshot, REAL LIFE happens, and it ain't always pretty.

Cropped photo of mountain cloud, taken from I-5 in Oregon with traffic whizzing by

"Building the Inner Sensorium"

I was happy to have the company of my husband on the two and a half hour drive to Ashland, Oregon, yesterday to hear Jean Houston speak, a woman whose works I've not read in depth (only in online skimming or listening to short recordings) yet who piques my curiosity as someone many consider to be a "great" woman, a genius, and world traveler (who's lived and worked with Margaret Mead and many other folk, famous in their fields, including presidents and their wives). I wanted to see what it felt like to be in her presence. Besides being a benefit for a local counseling center, the drive and the views getting there are always more than worthwhile.  

Dr. Houston (who lives part of the year in Ashland, part in NYC) had just returned from speaking at the United Nations, and everyone in the audience (including Jon and I) seemed glued to her every word. Some of what she said I'd heard before (as she has a message she's trying to spread, consciousness to raise), but even so, she's a wonderful storyteller, using her melodious voice and skills at mimicry to mesmerize us. 

I don't seem to be able to get enough of storytelling, and she reminded us all of the importance of doing this (and whatever arts we participate in) face-to-face, not only to visualize our various projects (as we dream them) but also to "embody" them through all our senses in order to give them greater potential.  

A flooded Smith River

Same spot (see prior post), flooded and a different color now. . . 

Ashland Springs Hotel

Facing Fear and Finding Balance

The Smith River yesterday, from Hwy. 199

Okay. Because my absence from posting here was purposeful (as opposed to oblivious---and I've had those kinds of absences, too), my return reminds me of childhood fears of unworthiness and of facing the fact that no one is focused on the energies and rhythms of your own life as much as yourself (and rightfully so).

I am prone to becoming overwhelmed, which is easy to have happen, especially since I've been reinventing my life since having retired when I turned 55 at the end of 2008 and moving almost 2500 miles away from all family and friends. When the slate's been cleared like that, you can drown in the depth of possibility (the number of books and blogs to read, movies to watch, projects to complete, places to travel, healing to happen. . . ).

But if I can manage to be patient enough to allow the water to clear a bit around me (no mean feat for me), the reasons for continuing a practice (such as maintaining a blog) can begin to pop up around me and I find them, well, lifesaving, even.

My tendency is to set up extremes from which to find a balance between. One extreme might be losing oneself in the endlessly interesting realm of taking in information and inspiration from others online, living one's life as if projected into The Next Blog Entry, The Next Photograph to Share, THE NEXT, oblivious to what is happening NOW.

The other extreme might be living as a hermit, not focused on sharing my life but on living it.

But those are the extremes. The balance is a joyful overflow of sharing, of the beauty of writing that is tasting life twice (Anais Nin), and the clarity that can come from learning what I think by seeing what I say (E.M. Forster). And while I'm spouting some of my favorite quotes, I may as well end on a Beatles summary: "And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love . . . you make." Balance.

Taking In, Giving Out

The image of a spiral----and how our energetic lives so similarly lie along such lines----presented itself to me this morning as I stared at our fire after checking the e-mail I'd received since yesterday afternoon, signing onto FB to quickly scan the posts, and then looking into my favorite blogs, albeit briefly: a silent hello and hug to heart-felt friends who share themselves so freely and beautifully, yet acknowledging to myself that I could spend all my time and energy taking in what others are giving and have no time left to do what I need to do!

Which brings me to this: I am thinking that I will not be writing here for the foreseeable future, and instead will be using actual pen and page, a common resolution of mine for the past 40 years (good grief!), but which feels different now because I have the time and the will and a plan to carry it out.

It's mold-breaking time again, as I'm on the outer ring of the spiral these days, feeling free, open, and spacious (as opposed to tightly wound and wondering what's next at the dark center), ready to take the next step.

I thank those of you who have checked in on me from time to time here for caring, for reading, for commenting. You have been a warm encouraging hand for me. May I be so for you.