the wings of the morning

epiphany

2007-05-28T06:14:00.000-07:00

Well, hello, internets. Guess I took a little break. I'm doing fine, though tending toward an even more intense degree of sensitivity than usual. I deal with this every year as spring explodes, and again as the first summery days descend like a massive cresting wave of hyper-beauty, sucking me under the onslaught of smells and sounds and memories. Usually I get pretty distressingly self-destructive. This year I've mostly just had to avoid or cut short any potentially overwhelming social engagements, though damned if I haven't also hit the Ben and Jerry's with unusual frequency. And fervor. How about that Karamel Sutra people? My, my, my my my.

Anyway, I think that old familiar wave is rolling back into the sea. And it's been a gorgeous spring out this way, and I'm glad of it. It's a joy and a real comfort to have G at home this year, and I find that taking walks with him, or even just enjoying the porch while he works at his computer inside, is much easier on my system. Doing most things with him tends to smooth out my experience, actually. And last week I spent some quality time with two different dear old (female) friends, which also bolstered me tremendously. One-on-one time with the right people seems to sew me up, as opposed to the canon ball-to-the-gut effect of group or (god help me) family encounters.

Okay, seriously - must learn some techniques for knitting up the ol' aura at will. Or perhaps for remembering or being willing to do so. I can do that during readings pretty reliably. And at other times when I know I have to stay cool. Why not just apply that skill more often? I think it has to do with not wanting to be "too strong," an obsolete holdover from the troubled past. I'll have to ponder this some more.

But speaking of the obsolescence of old tools, I've had an epiphany this morning. Actually, it may have been more of a slow-dawning, pathetically resisted but inevitable insight which forced its way into my consciousness like tree roots cracking the sidewalk: I need to find ways to be grateful to my mother. The topic of parenting has come up with unsettling frequency lately in conversations with friends, and I can simply no longer deny how talking about my experience with my own parents, especially my mother, makes me feel. I want to take more responsibility for the kind of experience I invite into my life, and walk away from the negativity. The "facts" of my past just don't matter that much anymore.

Since suffering what could only have been what's called a nervous breakdown at age seventeen, I have felt compelled to enunciate the major points of my family background at every marginally suitable opportunity, as if to explain to the world why I'm this way. As if to apologize. It's time to stop explaining myself, it's certainly time to stop apologizing, and I could really stand to leave my poor mother alone energetically, as well. She's had a hard time of it. She needs support.

This is where gratitude comes in. Mostly what I've come to on that front (until today) is that I'm glad she didn't beat, physically torture, or kill me. Of course, I've also become increasingly aware over the years that my circumstances, difficult though they were, made me who I am in all the good ways, too. Sure, I've had some residual difficulties: the coping strategies I learned to employ have not exactly been allies in the long term. But when I think through my strengths, I can see pretty clearly where they came from. Through the more painful aspects of my experience, I learned to forgive anyone for anything, and to understand that we're all doing our best with what we have. I learned that Love doesn't just come from others. I always managed to find whatever strength I needed. And eventually, I recognized the Source of Love within.

Those are some pretty great gifts. So who cares what manner of crap they were wrapped in? Maybe that was just the most direct delivery system available. I absolutely believe that my spirit chose it, in any case. So why cling to the bitterness? Why even bother to spell out how I came to whatever wisdom I may now enjoy? Is it in fact wisdom, or some sort of personal conquest? Much different! Well, here I am now. And the negative side of all this is beginning to evaporate. I hope I can let it go quickly. It no longer serves me, and it's beginning to feel false and encumbering.

I need to do some reframing, and I need a jump start. So today, I'm making a point to remember the good stuff. Not just the not bad stuff, or the stuff that was so bad it was metaphysically good. For instance, my mother taught me to listen to my gut. She gave me direct instruction on this, and for that I am very grateful. She also taught me expressly that being a little weird was highly preferable to trying to be like everybody else. Again--very cool of her. And when she was around friends she loved and felt comfortable with, she laughed often and generously, gushed gratitude and praise for every small gesture, made yummy noises, and sang her little heart out. Wow - I learned a lot of good stuff from watching my mother. And holy crap--this feels great.

happy birthday to me

2007-05-03T12:20:00.000-07:00

Last weekend's show, the Big One, was a blast. My entire family was there--both parents, siblings and a few cousins, too--along with a downright humbling number of dear friends. One of them pointed out that the place had gone nuts when I was introduced. I suggested that might be because almost everyone I knew was in the club! I got lots of birthday wishes, cards and flowers as I made my way from the stage to the dressing room between sets. But the best gift, of course, was the opportunity to play and sing that music.

And we had a couple of gooood sets. All my dear ones who had never heard the band before were clearly quite genuinely blown away. It felt really tight. The sound guy is a genius, and also a friend, and the system there is excellent, so with the exception of the first song in the electric set, I could hear myself clearly. What this means is that I know I sang well. Ahhh! The whole deal was recorded in 24 tracks, and there's talk of producing a cd. We'll see about that, I suppose, but, at very least, at some point I'll have a nice record of this great night in my life.

I've been laying low since then. There's a lot going on socially and musically this weekend, too, and I needed a break from being around people. It's been a nice, quiet week. I like my life.

In the quiet, I've dived into ACIM practice with renewed vigor, and made some progress. One idea which has been particularly illuminating today is the notion that any sense of unease at all --anger, depression, worry, frustration, regret, etc.--is at its essence an unloving thought. Remember my long-ass post about my troubles with certain types of people in my life? I wanted to know what to do beyond forgiveness, which didn't seem to be helping me to avoid certain recurring problems. The wise and lovely Marilyn suggested I think less about what to do, and rather be forgiveness. That really stuck with me. And today what I am putting together is that a major way my negativity hides is in my frustration and disappointment over how (many) people don't "get" me. This may not be direct judgment of them, but those thoughts and feelings are certainly unloving in the ACIM sense, and they are keeping me in a sort of personal hell. They need to go. And I think I'm ready to let them go. Hallelujah.

P.S. - There are many photos on Flickr, and two videos on YouTube of Sunday's event, if you know what to look for. Here's a hint:

update/psa

2007-04-25T16:17:00.000-07:00

Been awhile... Ups and downs, and all is well. Radio show went well; REALLY looking forward to the big show this weekend: the 20th anniversary of the band's first club gig--an acoustic and an electric set at the now-posh club where they first played back then. Looks like we'll be recording the show with multiple tracks, so there'll be a high-quality recording of the event. And my whole family, along with most of my friends, will be in attendance. It even falls on my birthday! This is a significant event for me. Plus (and most important, really), everything is clicking with the music; it feels really together. Can't beat that.

The internet went away today, along with cable--not that I tend to watch TV during the day. I do dink around quite a bit online, however, and as I have been feeling a bit sensitive, this served as an interesting invitation to just dive in and feel, to show up rather than zoning out, as I would have preferred. In this case "showing up" meant reading, and watching a movie about Leonard Cohen. But G was out, working on his laptop from a restaurant with wifi, and somehow just this small break in my routine was all I needed to get cracked open.

I'm reading, among other things, a book kindly sent to me by an internet friend, an autobiographical work by a psychic. There are many ways to experience and practice that aspect of things, I imagine, and I am very very careful to maintain a certain detachment from others' accounts as much as possible, but certain bits of any other intuitive's story--the most spiritual elements--cut straight through to my absolute core no matter what kind of guarded I'm attempting to be. I got lanced thusly a couple of times this afternoon. But it's a good kind of (open, bleeding) wound.

And Leonard Cohen just kills me, too. I remember as a child of perhaps eleven or twelve, hearing his song "Suzanne" on one of my mother's Roberta Flack albums and being utterly arrested by the weight and depth of the words. This, I knew, was no ordinary pop song. In fact, hearing this song might have been the first time I considered Jesus in tangible, immediate, truly spiritual terms. I guess the nuns from my brief CCD [Catholic bible school] experiences did not exactly impart the sweet sadness of spirituality, and certainly not that of Jesus himself. Those teachings felt a bit more like a rat in a cage learning not to push the electrified lever. These words felt so very vast, yet so attentive and subtle:

And Jesus was a sailor when he walked upon the water
And he spent a long time watching from his lonely wooden tower
And when he knew for certain only drowning men could see him
He said, "all men will be sailors, then, until the sea shall free them"
But he himself was broken long before the sky would open
Forsaken, almost human, he sank beneath your wisdom like a stone

Yikes. Roberta Flack had changed sailors to brothers in that line with the quotation--a very seventies dilution--but even thusly adulterated the verse packed a serious wallop. My prepubescent mind reeled, and found a big piece of itself. I didn't understand it, exactly--and I still don't know if I do, or if I even agree with the theology--but I could feel and comprehend these words in a part of myself that was deeper than meaning or theology. And that's how I continue to experience much of Leonard Cohen's work. I don't know if I always agree with the guy's perspective, but the man is paying attention, and my spirit is still utterly seized by his art. And soothed. He sees so much darkness, but he seems to find beauty and light, and hope, everywhere.

And she shows you where to look, among the garbage and the flowers
There are heroes in the seaweed; there are children in the morning
They are leaning out for love, and they will lean that way forever
While Suzanne holds the mirror

I recommend the 2005 tribute concert/documentary film "I'm Your Man," by the way. Look out for Teddy Thompson's heartbreaking "Tonight Will Be Fine." I had a crying jag so intense I frightened the cats after replaying it a few times when the film was over. The song could not be more simple melodically or harmonically, but here its beauty is just transcendent. This guy's singing, and of course the words--the WORDS!--got right in there are jangled my everlovin' guts. It's interesting to me that it's ostensibly about a romantic relationship. I tend to get so bloody BORED by songs about those. But this reminds me of reading James Joyce, in a way. The characters and scenes are on many levels very common and quotidian. Most of us, most of our lives, on their faces, are! Yet in one day in Dublin, or in one love, is contained all the wonder and pain of all the world.

On to the PSA. I have discovered that a very serviceable chocolate sauce can be made by mixing a cocoa powder ("baker's" cocoa) and sugar with a little hot water. I think my proportions of cocoa to sugar are about 3 or 4 to 1 (but I like it super chocolatey and not very sweet). I stir it with a whisk to get out the lumps. You could pour this over ice cream and it would taste a bit like Hershey's Syrup, only better--and it has only three ingredients, one of which is water, and all of which tend to be around in case of chocolate emergency. LOVE IT! I personally just scoop a chocolate or strawberry whipped yogurt into the chocolate sauce bowl, and top it off with crushed granola bars. A healthy sundae! A nutritious one, anyway. And quite yummy. This makes me so happy, I do it every other day or so. Grinny face.

live radio show

2007-04-12T09:06:00.000-07:00

Go here to listen to a live set by the band I'm playing with--the acoustic side of things--this Monday, April 16th, from 11:23 am - noon, est.

On the fence? Here are some quotes from reviews of their last acoustic record (the creation of which I of course had nothing to do with), cherry-picked by the label that released it:

"revitalize these songs of love and death with passion, taste and talent"
-ALL THINGS CONSIDERED

"unusual and refreshing"- CMJ

"unpretentious...winning and warm"- SING OUT

"Incredible!"- TimeOUT (London)

"most exhilarating....fiercely performed" - Hartford Courant

"There's no affected lack of sophistication or fawning respect in the music. The band members just play, and they don't hold back"- Chapel Hill News

"exquisite and ominous" - Columbus Dispatch

"Those harmonies are scandalous" - Dwight Diller

"tastefully heavy" - Chicago Tribune

"ploughing a unique furrow" - FolkRoots (London)

"You may have been on the planet Mars for the past few years, but there are few other bands to match the potential and scope of [this band]...Absolutely fabulous. THE band to catch"- First Hearing (Manchester England)

-ROLLING STONE

- PULSE

I like "exquisite and ominous."

Another show has been scheduled, and more are in the works. So glad this project continues, at least for another couple of months. It's been good for me.

Speaking of kicking ass and taking names, G's company may not have massive funding yet, but he has kept his mind on the work--on doing his absolute best with what is in front of him--and he is consequently on fire. He came home from a meeting yesterday a changed man. To him, it was just another meeting, which happened to go well, but I could tell that the consistent, subtle changes he's been making energetically as he approaches his work, his attitudes and inner landscape, had quietly resulted in a tectonic shift from which I do believe there can be no return. He exuded an irresistible, matter-of-fact confidence. He spoke about his business so articulately, with such focused animation, that I was utterly drawn up into his observations. This stuff could be a bit dry in other hands, I imagine. But my man? Genius! So smart, so funny, so powerful. He seems happier and more comfortably confident all the time.

So I'd better go! I have work to do if I'm going to keep up with him. Yay.

onward

2007-04-04T14:24:00.000-07:00

Another m/c. This one is more like a late period--about six days late--but still. Bleah. Talk about detachment practice--G and I were just taking it a day at a time, and I can tell, now that we're at square one again, that we weren't just pretending. We're disappointed but really okay. We once again only feel closer to the finish line, somehow.

In other not good news, G's car died suddenly. Only two weeks after putting $659 worth of work into it, the engine ran into other, more serious problems which would have required a larger investment to repair than the car was worth. We got $500 for it as a trade-in. *sigh* On the plus side, we found something else we liked right away within the narrow range that was both finance-able and affordable for us. And we got a great rate from our credit union, which we double extra pink heart love now.

At least my voice is (mostly) back. It got so bad for so long, I began to wonder. I'm still taking it easy and saving it for band practice, since it's still not quite a hundred percent, but it seems clear that it will be soon enough. Just in time--the acoustic incarnation of the band is scheduled for a thirty-five minute live broadcast on a regional public radio station in a week and a half. Fun!

That project continues to go very well generally. My contributions are well-received, and I keep hearing from the founding members about how easy it all is these days. It really does seem as though things come together virtually effortlessly. I'm sure it helps that I knew the songs well as a fan. But I'm adding new harmonies and instrumental parts, and they seem to fit nicely and to add something. It all just flows. It feels great, actually. And that's something.

So, my challenge today is to keep my momentum going. I've really ramped up the self-care lately, especially since learning I was pregnant a few days ago. I recently conducted a small ritual, actually, inviting healthy new habits and routines. I also invited pregnancy, of course. And I realized when I saw that longed-for second pink line the other day that I'd received all three: Pregnancy instantly summoned the Will I needed to correct my days' work more fully. That motivator may be gone again for now, but the Will is still palpably present, and I know now much more immediately what it feels like to summon and rely upon it. So I can keep this going--the yoga, the prayer and meditation, the revitalized ACIM practice, the produce and the exercise. The happy clean slate with others; the lighter energy. It's like a cool breeze has been cleansing every corner of my life. Why not keep letting it fly? Leave these windows open...

And it occurred to me that G and I might have had a much harder time with the inconvenience and financial stress of major car problems if they had happened during any other three days this year. Yesterday, we were still untouchable. It's a small blessing under the circumstances, but significant. I'll take it as more evidence of God's perfect timing, and move on in confidence.

inspiration

2007-03-27T08:38:00.000-07:00

Well, that felt good. The last post, I mean, which I spent something like four hours writing last night. Of course, this morning I woke up with some new ideas. That's what happens when I yell help, I guess--inspiration. Mostly, I can see how I'm finding tricky ways to essentially judge people, even as I see past all the meaningless ego stuff. This pattern is old and there are understandable reasons for it, but--regardless of what people around me think or do--if this all breaks down to is me feeling persecuted, then I have answered my own question, and I know how I'm colluding in the proceedings. And I know why nervousness makes it worse: To expect persecution and misunderstanding from others, no matter how many times it may have happened in the past, must be to participate in the perpetuation of that experience.

A Course In Miracles makes very clear that there are two types of forgiveness, and only one is at all helpful. If we're regarding other people or ourselves as having done something bad, which carries "real" consequences, but we sort of magnanimously decide that we will find it in our hearts and blah, blah blah--that accomplishes nothing but to underscore the unhelpful and incorrect view that we are not God's perfect children, but rather that sin is real. It's contradictory. That kind of forgiveness is more like a form of hate than Love. Real forgiveness, on the other hand, looks past all error as unreal. I believe this firmly, and I do apply it. However, if I'm allowing myself to also remain so concerned with how to function socially, i.e. on superficial/ego terms, then that must just be the ego wanting to reclaim its bogus control.

So screw it! I'll stop worrying. People will think what they think of me. If I let go of all these fears that they're going to see me wrong and I won't know what to do, I bet the odds of things going smoothly will go up sharply. Just from the absence of fear! I may be crippling myself and creating these self-fulfilling nightmares, fanning the flames rather than pouring cool water. I have wasted a lot of energy worrying about my social challenges. But it hasn't just been wasteful--it's been counterproductive. Wouldn't it make sense that if I feel chronically wounded that I might give off a defensive vibe? What effect must that have? And what's the friggin' point? I know this crap has never touched the real me or had any detrimental effects at all. And on the level of experience in the world, if anything, it has taught me more and more about Love and real forgiveness.

I may be becoming increasingly eccentric. I just don't see things like most people I meet. But do I trust that my spiritual path is right, or don't I? Do I trust God and Guidance, or not? As I have pursued this learning, I've become afraid to be too different! On the level of fear, I have fashioned my spiritual progress into yet another reason I'm likely to be "attacked"--I have feared that others will get uncomfortable and take my personal detachment, well, personally. As a judgment on them. And that has happened, perhaps proving once again that we make our own experience in this world, and that we always get whatever it is we're asking for. Well, I don't want to be a monk. Actually, part of me would love to be a monk, but I have made different choices. Anyway. I'd love to find more kindred spirits with whom to share my life's experiences, and I hope I can finally realize my goal of bringing only peace and light to everyone I touch. I hope as well that I can find more ease. But my inspiration this morning is that I need to let go, and leave it all to God to heal. Settle much more deeply into what I know to be true about me and about others. Release my fears and my projections of the past onto the future, show up for the moment, and trust. It can sound like a daunting proposition until I remember that I really don't have to do anything for this healing. It's much more about stopping doing, and staying out of Love's way. Whether or not I see it, I am always held up by much more powerful forces than my own wits.

I'm remembering something from a recent ACIM lesson, which is particularly timely considering my recent bout of laryngitis: Let me remember all I do not know, and let my voice be still, remembering. But let me not forget Your Love and care, keeping Your promise to Your Son in my awareness always.

That's not to say that letting go and trusting God more fully will immediately stop all unpleasant interactions from happening with other people. But it will certainly heal my sense of brokenness, and make it possible for me to find a new way to function. It may not remove all worldly discomfort, but--I do believe --it will bring peace. I feel better already.

Coincidentally, I finished the ACIM Workbook for the second time yesterday, having struggled and staggered my way through the last section. Actually, I skipped the final five lessons because I know I'm not up for them. I've gotten so much out of whatever effort I've been willing to make, but I have simply not been able to learn to meditate the way the Course prescribes. Though I experienced many unspeakably beautiful moments of prayer, I never accomplished prolonged mental focus, and I continued to forget all too often to pray/meditate hourly and to turn immediately to Truth in all challenging moments. So I started at the beginning again today. I want peace. I can find more willingness to open to it. To bring it.

time to unload

2007-03-26T15:27:00.000-07:00

Whoah! Two weeks since I've posted. The funny thing is, I haven't been able to speak for almost that whole time. You'd think that might make me want to write more. Guess not. Till now, I guess.

It's been two weeks of ups and downs, and introspection. There's a peculiar social challenge sort of haunting the margins of my thought lately, a specific recurring situation which seems to contain the most implausible number of angles on several of my life themes. I can tell that larger forces are at work, because not only it is perfectly clear that I have been, and am, on both "sides" of this type of challenge, its two-sides-of-the-same-coin aspect is so prominent as to verge on the comic. I like when God makes things so obvious that the only sensible option is a big cosmic stooge slap. (God as Moe? Oh, dear.)

Still, my ironic big-picture detachment on how hilarious it is to be feeling inclined to complain about the very sort of thing that I detest most to experience complaints around when I do it, for instance, and even my lack of personal engagement on any painful or negative level at all, seem not yet enough to facilitate healing and mutual understanding. It will come eventually. It always does, in some form. But in the meantime, I wonder yet again at the gulf between my thoughts and intentions about people and (some of) their perceptions of me and corresponding reactions. I seem to have a special knack for pushing buttons. If someone within a five hundred-foot radius is nursing a painful insecurity or spoiling for a fight, there seems to be a better than decent chance that they will decide that I am provoking them and lash out accordingly.

I'm definitely no angel. I can get negative when I feel frustrated, which is more often then I'd like, and I can certainly be bitchy when I'm emotionally strung out. But even at those times, I'm usually just doing my best to deal with my own discomforts and sensitivities. I tend to take on too much rather than too little responsibility, and although, for this reason among others, I can really get riled when singled out unfairly, I'm usually painfully aware that when I feel prickly--though a hundred lifetimes ago it may have been tempting to blame someone else's annoying behavior--my prickly-ness belongs to me alone; it's my responsibility. And that's hard enough. Anyway, I don't mean to whine, God, but some people do just seem to project the most fascinatingly dark motives onto my speech and actions, even when I'm at my most happy and relaxed.

It's been a pattern all my life, of course, so I'm sure I'm inadvertently colluding in the proceedings somehow. Wish I could figure out how. One thing that I see happening is that I can tell when someone's on edge in this way about me, and I start to energetically walk on eggshells. Nervousness just never seems to help anything. Funny thing, though--when someone has decided I'm judging them, even sincere niceness and genuine, heartfelt overtures can be perceived as disingenuous, even nefarious snarkyness. When that happens, which is way too often, it's absolutely stunning. There's just nothing I can do.

Here's a garden-variety example of my experience of this type of misunderstanding: One day when I was about nineteen and had just returned home from college for the summer, I saw my sister in the kitchen and said hello. She had bleached her (dark blonde) hair since I'd seen her last. I smiled and said, "Your hair is so blonde!" Her face instantly contorted into a mask of seething rage. She called me a f@$%ing bitch, stomped away, and stayed palpably mad at me for about three weeks. I think it may have taken years, actually, to finally live that down. She had simply assumed utterly that I was critical of her appearance, and therefore expected the worst. I think she thought I was patronizing her, criticizing her with a smile. Her new hair color was noticeable, and it would have been rude not to acknowledge it, but I can assure you, I felt nothing critical at the time. I thought nothing much of it at all, really, and was just making conversation, so any attitude she perceived from me was pure projection. But project she did. Hoo-boy. I had been very, very bad.

But that's my sister, and sisters just have this sort of stuff, you say? Well, how about this one: A massage therapist once yelled at me so hard that I left sobbing, for walking into her workroom at my appointment time instead of waiting in the room outside. I didn't even know that was her waiting room. I'd seen her three times, and had always just walked through her open door. She knew that this was my first experience with massage therapy. She also knew why I was there--on the recommendation of a doctor, for stress-related neck and shoulder pain. I had even explained to her at my first appointment that I felt a little uncomfortable with the whole idea. I was concerned that my nervousness and discomfort might impede the process, and I even told her that I was stressed and might seem edgy. She assured me that she was a professional and a healer, smiling warmly.

And the first two massages seemed to go fine, even amiably. I thought it was possible that this could be helping. But on the third visit, on the third time that I went to walk through her open door at the time of our appointment, she blocked my entrance and barked some awful rhetorical question like did I have any idea how disrespectful it was of me to just march right into her space. I was beyond stunned. Tears welled up right away, and I stammered something about how I had no idea that I was meant to wait, but it only got worse from there. It seems it had never occurred to her that I might simply be ignorant. She yelled more--I can't possibly express just how out-of-left-field this all seemed to me--, telling me about other things I had done wrong, how she thought I was ripping her off because insurance companies never paid her, and how terrible my attitude was. I tried to defend myself between sobs. But on she went, not softening in the slightest. A therapist from another office came out into the hallway--we were making quite the racket, I'm sure. I wished he'd come down and administered the stooge slap. I almost called for his help. Eventually I just fled.

One of the cosmically comic things that happened over the past couple of weeks is that when I could not speak at all, when I struggled just to whisper and was trying to avoid doing even that, G kept getting angry at me during the resulting absurdist pantomime interactions for "copping a 'tude." I may have been a bit frustrated trying to express myself, plus I really didn't feel well, but I don't even remember feeling all that edgy. I was trying to be straightforward and as brief as possible. Makes sense, right? You'd think. But it turns out my "tone" is misread even when I can't make a sound! It was just too much.

Of course, I am also very free with my thoughts generally, "good" and "bad." I lavish praise and thanks. I make yummy noises when I eat. I also think nothing of outwardly acknowledging my own personal foibles and failings, but I'm correspondingly loose-lipped about others'. I just don't take my own crap very seriously, and I'm afraid I tend to expect, perhaps irrationally, similar detachment from others. If I have something to say, I'll say it, to their faces. For me that's just the Golden Rule--I feel respected and trusted when someone brings an issue to me rather than stewing about it or griping about it to others. I'm not a big fan of talking negatively about others behind their backs, actually. When I do it, it's out of frustration rather than malice, and it's generally tempered with acknowledgments of my own stuff, observations about the difficulty of growth, and lots of praise for effort made. If you look deep enough, all of us have good intentions at heart. I see people as perfect in Truth and doing their best in this world, and my heart is often broken by the sheer pointlessness of personal difficulties, even as it seems to be being stomped on.

That being said, in keeping with this pattern of judgment and ill-will being projected onto me, God help me when I actually do take issue with something someone has said or done. That's when the boom might really come down. Oh, Lawd. Like I said, I tend to take too much responsibility when things go awry, so even though I will speak up when I feel hurt, I know what it feels like to have the worst assumed, and I'm careful to keep it in terms of my own experience. Sometimes that works great. But with the Eggshell crowd, forget it. "Ow, that hurt," rather than becoming an opportunity for communication and greater understanding, is heard instead as "I think you are a bad person." Then I'm really in trouble.

Of course, I do believe there is such a thing as douche-y behavior, objectively speaking and without regard to motive or intentions. And in this world, we all seem to do stupid things and adopt attitudes which hurt each other, whether we mean to or not. It's not always about misunderstanding--sometimes it is about a kind of judgment. But it's judgment in the sense of discernment, not condemnation. Even if I were to comment on the unprofessional behavior of that massage therapist, for instance, I would merely be making a factual observation, and I don't care what might be said about negativity or judgment, facts is facts.

In any case, this tendency of mine to unwittingly act as a projection screen, as well as my general lack of restraint with regard to self-expression, have over time made me better suited than most to see and accept that some of my own behaviors and attitudes, however they are intended, may tend to be problematic under certain circumstances. I may not always see a reason to modify how I act, but I sometimes do. I'm generally willing to at least tone it down here or there as needed. And in any case, I'm truly, definitely, always eager to talk objectively about how the way I act might be affecting someone else, and to work with that person to find a solution to any resulting problems. The solution is often the talking itself, and the resulting mutual awareness and--hopefully--understanding.

When it comes to it, what is so terrible about dealing with that stuff? When you find someone who's equipped to deal, those corrective conversations can be the most fruitful and healing. With folks who can just show up, meet you halfway, take you at your word, and offer their own perspectives with an open heart and an open mind, it's just not a big deal. I have seen the promised land. We can talk to each other, sisters and brothers. Do not fear.

Of course, I have to allow that not everyone is equipped to deal. Or willing. Or... something. Sometimes emotion complicates things. And sometimes two people's stuff seems just too negatively complementary to ever get ironed out between them, even with repeated attempts at open corrective communication. At least in the short term. I really do believe that it all gets healed eventually.

But back to objective douche-y-ness. Once, a relative of mine, who is also in a mutual social subset, sent out invitations to a party at my house. The party in question, a double birthday celebration for her and G, had been hosted by her in previous years, and I had offered to throw it this time. I was waiting for a list from her of the friends she wanted me to invite (it was her birthday, after all) when I got the email invitation with the date, time, and my address, complete with a menu and food assignments. Needless to say, I was pretty upset by this. I saw no graceful way out, as I did not feel emotionally prepared to just let that party happen in that way--it would simply have been too uncomfortable for me. I had wanted to host them, to entertain--not just provide a space, for heaven's sake. What was she thinking?

This of course was one of the Eggshell folks in my life. It had always been pretty easy to spot that she was projecting critical attitudes onto me. She seemed intimidated by me--many of these folks do. She always seemed guarded, and sometimes hostile. But she was a family member--she hosts Thanksgiving!--and I did my best. Up to that point, she had been a social friend mostly of G's. They're all quite a bit younger than I am, as well as much more inclined to enjoy sitting around drinking (G only occasionally), so for the double birthday parties in previous years, along with many other such events, I often either made a short appearance or none at all. It was understood that it just wasn't my scene, and that was fine. But this was going to be my chance to offer something fun back to this group that I could enjoy, too. I'd planned to cook like mad and keep the focus on some great party games I know--on interacting rather than "partying." I figured we could all get to know each other better, and I was looking forward to it. It was not to be.

The message I sent in response to the invitation I'd shockingly received to my own party basically said, wow, I'm really upset by this and I just have no idea what to do next. I said, please call me; we need to talk. I think I asked her why she hadn't called before. I also complained that she used an email invitation format that I find tacky and would never have used--a snarky error, for sure, but it's not like I impugned her moral fabric. Anyway, the next thing that happened was that she canceled the party without talking with me. After that, she told me just how horrible I was to have attacked her like that.

It came out over the following days that she had basically pretended to assume that I didn't want to host the party, because she was afraid to talk with me about it. She never did apologize. So the question for me then became, what the hell do I do now? Did I forgive her? Sure. That's necessary for my own well-being. And I find it tends to be easier when a personality seems this messed up, anyway. But on a practical, gotta-see-her-around level, it wasn't easy to know how to actually proceed--what with not only the lack of an apology, but the ferocious insistence that we were somehow mutually culpable, since my response to her action had hurt her feelings. (By the way, she didn't like my dissing her evite, but she wasn't dwelling on it, either: She was hurt and angry because I was upset. Because I had told her that I was upset.) But besides, it was all just so awkward and embarrassing. Where do you go from there? I mean, I'm pretty clueless about social niceties. Maybe I should have consulted Emily Post. What the hell do you do in a situation like this so that everybody gets to save face? Not in a demanding, petulant way, but sheesh, just in a practical one for heaven's sake. How does one politely proceed?

I'm sure I could have made things easier if I'd thought to suck it up and say, you know, I'm sorry that you were hurt. That was the big lesson/reminder from that one for me, and a huge duh!, not that I always remember to apply it even now. At the time, I was just so flabbergasted that she had perpetrated what appeared to me a clearly, objectively massive faux pas--on the face of it!--and yet would not even begin to approach responsibility for the resulting difficulties. I did not know how to clean up the mess alone.

Things eventually just mellowed with time. I wish her well. I still see her, and I wish her well often, and sincerely. But in this situation and in others like it, even over time, the question still is: beyond forgiveness, what do I do? After something like that, my only option generally seems to be to go away and stop trying to make it work. As one friend sagely and perversely put it, you don't have to join the golf club just because you hate golf so much. I was on eggshells! Why did I try to host her damn birthday party in the first place? G and I put that situation to bed by acknowledging that while she might not be great at being a friend, she's quite cool for a relative. We backed off. I don't know if she likes it, exactly, particularly since G is no longer her pal, but the arrangement does seem to work okay. It's just sad. Lonesome.

So. Does anyone else out there have this problem? It's self-fulfilling. Someone gets over-engaged with what they think I'm thinking. They feel insecure. The projector comes out, and they decide I'm judging them. Then their guardedness makes them say or do something so clueless or hurtful that, in the name of self-respect, as well as the hope of social stasis, I feel compelled to say something about. All that does is "prove" how I'm judging them. Sometimes things improve through communication. Sometimes they don't. I get more and more nervous around people, and somehow (how, for pete's sake?) that only makes things worse.

Then there's the other side of perceived judgment, the spiritual cops. When I went to one friend to share my difficulty about the story I just told as it was happening, she shut me down before I'd even gotten started, glowering at me as though I were poisoning her lunch with my negativity, and then--patronizingly, it seemed to me--reminding me that maybe I needed to forgive. She was pregnant at the time, and therefore possibly somewhat impaired, but I had two issues with this, both of which I decided to just table permanently after this disastrous lunch date: One--as I've been saying-- is that forgiveness, for all its ultimate and immediate rightness and goodness, did not seem to provide me with a road map for how to navigate around these land mines or how to proceed in day-to-day interactions after one has gone off. I'd been hoping to compare notes on that. And two, where's my forgiveness, forgiveness lady? I've been hurt and confounded, and I'm upset. I truly do not wish to be coddled or enabled, but I need a friend, not a spanking. I mean, come one! I see her on her path. I see her struggling. And she did something clueless and fear-based that hurt and embarrassed me! How 'bout a kind word? Even if in my anger I had somehow suddenly forgotten who I am as well as all my spiritual work, even if what sat before you was a fallen shell of a person, an egomaniacal harpy bent on revenge, seriously!--even then, how could your cold sternness have helped? How could it teach forgiveness, or Love, or understanding? What are we coming to?

I understood that I had inadvertently whaled my friend with my intensity, and that she had not been prepared to field it. I apologized, forgave her and let it go. She remains largely guarded around me. Just so pointless and sad. So lonesome.

There's one more aspect of this chronic craziness that I need to unload: Sometimes people refuse to believe I'm being honest when I tell them my side of things. They simply cannot accept that I'm anything other than judgmental. It complicates things that I'm intuitive, I think. Others can tell that I see them, but they fill in their own ideas about what specifically I see. One of the sometimes problematic peripheral characters in my life play actually said to me recently, "You think you see me. You think you know me. And you think I'm mean and sinister." This interesting guy definitely does douche-y, and his behavior has made me uncomfortable and/or unhappy from time to time. He's not what I would call careful with people's vulnerabilities. But I identify with him in his freedom of self-expression and boldness around just saying things. I like that. And we've also been friends! How did he think I missed the rest of him, the 98% that's not douche-y? Or for that matter, the Truth of who he is! And how did he miss seeing me? It's all just so sad and stupid. I wish I could show him how I do see him in this world: sweet, sensitive, too smart for comfort, conflicted and frustrated and striving to be good. So much like me, and--come to think of it--, how I wish I were seen, even through the bitchy moments (which by the way are really not particularly numerous). Why not?

Well, world. Well, brothers and sisters. I don't know what I'm doing wrong, but I am doing my best. And I do love you all. Fellow students of A Course In Miracles or for that matter any other spiritual discipline, if you've made it this far, by all means, chime in. How do you deal with the seeming gulf between the Truth and these bumps along the road of temporal experience?

kersploding

2007-03-12T09:28:00.000-07:00

Wow! What a weekend. Beautiful. We had nearly four hundred folks participate over the two days--our biggest singing yet. And not only did everything go smoothly, but even in those unwieldy numbers, we were able to really come together as a community for our shared purpose and enjoy a pervasive sense of unity. There are always annoying little snags in the social and structural fabric of an event like this, and some of my singing brethren seemed as satisfied as ever to occupy a large portion of their time and energy in homing in and dwelling on those, but this year I was able to witness the inevitable element of negativity without feeling overcome by it or in any way responsible for it. And anyway, that element seems, objectively speaking, to be growing smaller and less potent with every passing year. The unity, on the other hand, is increasingly unmistakable.

We are an odd group, really diverse with regard to age and religious and political orientation. We come from all over the country, but the areas of particularly concentrated activity comprise both the rural south and the bluest of blue states and metropolitan areas. It feels a bit superficial to even be focusing on this aspect of things, but--just to get it across to the uninitiated--seriously, where else will you find skate punks joyfully engaged in the same activity as both aging hippies and pious, conservative southerners? Yet our love for the music we share connects us so immediately on the level of Love and Spirit that none of the sort of social challenges you might imagine for such a scenario ever seem to materialize. We simply don't discuss religion or politics. It's enough to have this music in common.

So what is it about the music? Well, the singing is raw and intense, startlingly loud, as richly and gorgeously imperfect as we are, and--when we're really together--absolutely transcendent. There's just nothing else like it. And perhaps because there's nothing else like it, and no convenient accessibility-increasing reference point for it on the radio or anywhere else in pop culture, people tend to either love it or hate it. Imagine ecstatic punk rock with overt religious/life/death themes, where the whole audience is the band, and you might be approaching the ballpark.

You can listen here to some samples of our local singing events from a few years back.

And the weekend for me, personally? Well, I woke up Friday with some cold symptoms; by the beginning to the third session on the first day, they had manifested as laryngitis. I was able to sing a bit in a lower range for most of Saturday, but by the end of the day I had to push hard to make any sound at all, and when I did so only the most unmusical croaks escaped my lips. Crap. I spent most of the Saturday afternoon and Sunday morning helping out with the business of keeping the event ticking, and for a while I was happy to be of service, but by late Sunday morning this routine was getting old. As someone once said about S. H. singing, "I'd travel across the country to sing it, but I wouldn't cross the street to listen to it." Or something. The point is that listening is not the point: the juice is in the participation. And I was beginning to get tired and sad from the frustration of only being able to listen.

Then came the time of the weekend when we sing for singers and loved ones who have passed away in the last year, and also for those who are sick or struggling. It is frequently one of the most powerful moments of the event, as we come together in unity of purpose and gratitude for the community. The first singer to share her thoughts touched me immediately with her ideas about the depth and substance of the sharing that we do at this time, and in general as a community. She has struggled with serious illness over the past few years, and she said she understood from direct experience how much it meant to be sung for at those times. She lead one of my favorite songs, which includes the following text (which I have found especially helpful in times of struggle): When through the deep waters I call thee to go, the rivers of sorrow shall not overflow. For I will be with thee, thy troubles to bless, and sanctify to thee thy deepest distress. As the names on the list were read, I resolved to make whatever sound I could in order to participate in remembering and supporting these people. And by the end of that song, I could sing again, though still just in my lower range.

Things just got more beautiful from there. The second half of that lesson, for those who had died, was even more moving than the first. The songs that were sung immediately following served as a sort of extended remembrance. I connected during this time with a woman who lost her son fourteen months ago in Iraq. It's an honor to have participated in supporting her and her family through that painful time (some of us sang at his funeral; she walked behind his casket holding her S.H. book, and she sang with us), and it's a joy to have her beautiful, joyful and resilient spirit among our local singing family. I only know her in the context of singing, but she's clearly an amazing and wonderful person. All I did yesterday was move to stand closer to her when I noticed her crying during the lesson, and offer a hug and a few awkward words of support. Yet she went out of her way to thank me after, "for being such a good friend." I can't describe the loveliness and fullness of intention that she focused on me as she took my hands and said that. These are small moments and small gestures, in a way, yet in that moment I understood that they are the biggest things in the world.

So I moved through the sea of hungry hearts, and I sang all afternoon. At one point late in the day, despite the unimaginably ample supply of reasons to be grateful, my ego managed to get me feeling sorry for myself. I hadn't been called to lead a song yet that day! I'd end up having to go as an afterthought, I bitterly mused, as mass overwhelm and exhaustion set in at the end of the long weekend, as socially not-all-there types became unmoored and started leading redonkulous tunes we were all far too satieted to dedicate ourselves to with any meaningful focus. Plus my voice was going again. (Though, hmmm... that seemed to kick in after the pity party began...) But, lo--what's this? The really, really not-all-there guy DID call the redonkulous tune, and he tried to make it even more arduous by talking about how hard it was, saying that if we got stuck, we could start over. But we came together before we even started singing the song. We effortlessly and good-naturedly guided the misguided singer along the most expedient and joyful path available. The song went fine; it was fun, even. No derailment. No deflation. It would take more than that this year. By the time I was called to lead a song, I realized I had been saved for last, just before the traditional closing song and prayer. It was an honor. My energy and my voice returned. I sang something joyful and fast, and many singers enthusiastically thanked me for closing out the session thusly as we all said our goodbyes.

I am filled with gratitude. And I'm actually not even all that wrung-out or strung-out emotionally. I think not being able to sing much this year may in a way have made it possible for me to have an easier time of things. Though I wouldn't want to lose my voice at a sing again, I have to admit--this was more manageable. Maybe I can take more breaks and do more administrative helping by choice next year.

On a somewhat related note, I noticed something interesting and slightly disappointing about myself yesterday. Last night after I'd been home for a few hours, I sent an email to many of my singing friends and the organizers of the event, with the same title as this post. I tried to express in as few words as possible how I was feeling; I went the cute route by using not-quite-English. And after I hit "send," I realized that all that love and gratitude had gone without saying, and that by saying it, even in a few virtually nonsensical phrases, all I was doing was popping a bubble for myself. I couldn't take the tension anymore--or in any case, I chose not to. I wrote to bring things back to normal. It worked, in a manner of speaking, but next time I'll see if I can just hold the tension of joy and fullness and gratitude too big for words, and let it dissipate on its own. I think this is related to my efforts toward poise... Live and learn. Live and live!

brief check-in

2007-03-09T11:31:00.000-08:00

Just stopping by to say hello. I feel I am rocking a strange combination of better than ever and really f'd up lately. At the moment I'm fighting cold symptoms; I'm achy and tired. I've been cooking all day. This weekend is our annual large singing event, and that brings up a variety of emotions as well, from excitement to dread, and unfortunately the needle on the emotionometer is leaning, as usual, toward the 'dread' end of things--though that has much less to do with actual singing/social circumstances than the mere idea of being immersed for two days straight in a sea of hungry, huggy humans singing hymns. I can get overwhelmed pretty easily at these things, and therefore defensive and/or really teary.

And I've been feeling conflicted generally about the social choices I've made, in the last year or two especially, that have left me isolated in many ways. This was really bothering me earlier in the week, actually--enough so that I contacted my own tarot reader and teacher, and dear friend, for a good long reading. And oh my, did I feel worlds better afterward! That pretty much saved my ass this week, actually, and who knows how long the positive effects will ripple out into my life. My perspective on myself and my choices, and my attitude, has been largely purged of fear and negativity, and replaced with grounded calm and confidence. My reader reminded me that all is quite well. She reminded me who I am. I needed that.

Still, everything seems somehow on edge. And I guess this happens to me every spring, but lord-a-mighty, I feel the Life--coursing through me and through the earth, taking me out of my cumbersome body in my dreams, connecting me to everyone and everything, letting me see connections and life paths more and more clearly. And that, my friends, makes me want to eat cereal and watch TV under a blanket.

But off I go this afternoon to a pre-singing event, a little something to kick things off. I may actually return from it excited to see everybody and to sing; I always get really happy about it all at some point. So, here's to Life! Might as well dive in...

video

2007-02-24T16:07:00.000-08:00

This is hilariously dark, on my monitor anyway, and the fact that G and I are the only ones visible on stage despite our supporting-cast status is also pretty comical (personalized lighting is apparently not prioritized highly when six bands play the same event), but hey, it's something. Here it is: my first rock video!

A big part of this band's deal is old songs done in a rock style. This one's from the perspective of slave who, though he hates to be leaving his girl, manages to sign up for job on a Yankee whaling ship when he learns he's going to be sold.

best kitten ever/eureka

2007-02-24T11:49:00.000-08:00

Is she great, or what? That's my little baby kitten girl!

In other news, things with G have been better than ever since our scary breakthrough. He has realized that he's been losing himself, seen clearly how it happened, and turned a corner. I'm sure that as he really gets down to it I will be called upon to examine and improve my ways of relating to him as well, and I'm more than happy meet him halfway, but today he's kicking himself and taking full responsibility. He finally sees what I've been saying all these years about how just showing up and saying what's on one's mind makes things better, juicier, and ultimately much easier. He gets it. Huzzah!

The moment that did it? When he told me that his thoughts had run lately to not wanting to be in this anymore, I didn't freak out. I have had those thoughts at times, too, I told him. The interesting question is, where do they really come from, and where do they actually lead? And so the biggest, scariest thought he'd ever stuffed turned out to be not that big a deal once it was out on the table--just an opportunity, really. A starting point. The world didn't end; it seemed to start over.

For the last few days, he's been delightfully vibrant and present. He's funnier, sharper--his ribbing is deliciously, mercilessly on the money, as opposed to slightly wincing and passive-aggressive. His communication generally feels much more direct and less jumbled, like a burden has been lifted. He's confident and sexy. He feels like the partner and equal I married. I'm reveling in his company; he has taken notice--so this is how I get what I want...

Yes, it is! EUREKA!

He says he needs therapeutic help and that he has a lot of work to do, but he has promised that this marriage could only end, hypothetically, after a prolonged and strenuous mutual effort to save it. He's not going anywhere but further down this road back to himself. So I am now much more excited than concerned. I'll go with him wherever he needs to go. His growth supports and makes room for my own. Bring it ON.

I mean, keep bringing it. Heh.

with the greatest unease

2007-02-21T07:26:00.000-08:00

I've been in a transitional period lately, not so sure I have a solid grasp on anything, and therefore less inclined to write. I read a great and timely post today over at 37 Days that got me thinking, though. It likens transition time to the moment in aerial acrobatics when you let go of one trapeze bar and soar for a moment, ostensibly unsupported, until you grab the other--the next thing. This in-between moment may be the scariest, and the time during which things could potentially go most horribly wrong, but it's also the time when we're actually most alive, present and in the moment. True transition crackles with electric life.

G told me a few days ago that he has been experiencing the very uncomfortable emergence of an awareness that he is unsatisfied in our marriage. He said he "wasn't sure if he wanted to be in this for the rest of [his] life." Thankfully, this revelation came within the context of a discussion which included the topic of his general emotional dysfunction: in our one-on-one interactions, he tends to stuff his own feelings down so far that he can't even access them himself with spelunking gear, so I really don't have a prayer. The connection was clear, and though his words gave me a start, I was not afraid. I don't want to be in this as it is for the rest of my life, either. And now we could start on the path out and up. And yet... it's not like nothing changes after a talk like that.

When I got home last night from my weekly singing event, the sensation of fear accosted me suddenly as I stepped onto my own front porch: my guts turned over, my pulse raced, my head felt woozy and I began to tremble. I'd had a feeling like that once before when I walked into my own house; at that time G was having a very brief but intense episode of some mystery illness, and I had known something was very wrong the moment I stepped into the kitchen. But last night, the feeling was more terror than intense unease. It was as though I were being pursued by a psycho whom I somehow knew was lurking in the bushes. Not pleasant.

G wasn't at his computer or in the TV room. And the lights in the bedroom were off--strange for this hour. I went straight upstairs without taking my coat off. I stood in the bedroom door for a moment, listening for his breathing, not wanting to wake him if he was there. "Hi," he said weakly from the dark bed. Phew. I sat down next to him, found his face to kiss, asked him how he was: okay. Just okay. It sounded to me like something was up, but he had obviously been sleeping and would soon be sleeping again if I let him, so I didn't press it.

Rivulets of sweat ran down my neck as I washed my face, and I brushed my teeth with trembling hands. What the hell? I breathed; I remembered the presence of God and my perfect union with perfect peace and wholeness. Gradually my body and spirit quieted down.

Then, this morning, G let me know that he'd gotten a phone call last night: one of his sisters is leaving her husband, the father of her two gorgeous little kids. Out of the blue. He's been mostly away for a few months, in a training program for his vocation. Apparently during that time, though she had never let him know that there were any issues, she thought about herself and who she wanted to be, and the more she thought, the more she realized she didn't want to be with him.

They've been together since high school, something like eighteen years. I felt anger, disappointment, sadness. To me, it seems like the epitome of irresponsibility to simply decide to walk out on a marriage, especially with young kids, without first at least trying to work it out. Maybe she'd find she could be more herself within her marriage, if she only showed up with her new expanded ideas of herself. If she only gave him a chance to meet her wherever she has found herself of late. Maybe the relationship could be refreshed and revived--maybe it could be better than ever--if she brought her bracing truth to the table rather than wrapping it in the cocoon of mistrust and running away with it. To where, I wonder. If she can't find the courage to show up here, then where?

I was afraid to ask, but I did: How did G feel when he heard the news? Awful generally, I knew, but awful because he didn't want it to happen to us? Or did he think, A-ha, I could do that? The latter, I'm afraid. He said his first thought was That sounds easy. Lucky for me, he has enough self-awareness to notice that first reaction and not stop there. He's been thinking a lot about this stuff since our talk the other day, but after that phone conversation he was plunged in even deeper. (Hence my sense of terror upon entering our home last night, I expect.)

"Luckily, I agree with you," he said of my assessment of his sister's choice. "I won't do that." But his fear, and the reasons of family history which make it hard for him--and for his siblings--to know and honor their own feelings, seem so large and unwieldy right now that I feel insecure, shaky, teary to hear him talk about his first reaction.

And of course, his stuff is complementary to mine in many ways, and it has the potential to push some buttons. For instance, I get slammed sometimes for having a "strong personality." And it's not like I haven't learned over the years that toning it down here and there to ease the delicate dance of relating is a reasonable and productive thing to do. I have no investment in making it hard for anyone. There's just lingering frustration about how what I really, truly want is for others to be just as strong with (and for) me. I have no insatiable need to be right or to get my way. In fact, I often feel distinctly uncomfortable and deeply disappointed when I am showing up and sharing honestly--not just my vulnerability and my need, but my strength and my truth-- and another is unwilling to do the same. I want to enjoy the company of others, not just seek validation for my own views and perspectives. Seems to me that's more like being alone. I can tell you that at those times I feel just lonely, lonely, lonely. But in the past, what has really sent me over the edge is when the unwilling party feels their fear and blames me. My strength has frequently served as the scapegoat for chicken-shit wussbags, bless their hearts, who need an external excuse for their own failure to know and assert themselves.

But this is my marriage. G and his siblings may all have chosen strong personalities for spouses, and this choice may provide at least the ostensible excuse for remaining self-sublimating within their intimate relationships, but G chose me. I may be strong, but I have seen what he's been up to from the start, and I have consistently implored him to get in touch with his truth and assert himself, not out of a sense of nurturing support, though I feel that, too, but because I want him to show up! I can't have a decent philosophical discussion or make love with a reflection of myself. Well, I can, but seriously--how boring. Then what's the point of being with another person?

Happily, it's really only within the context of the extra-close one-on-one stuff that his fear can take over. He's very assertive and self-determining elsewhere in his life. He's so excellent. I can't wait till I get to see more of him. But during our discussion the other day, he told me to be careful what I wish for, that he could be a bit of a bastard as he works through some of this stuff. So I told him that that sounded infinitely more interesting than what we've had. Bring it the fuck ON, I said. Bring it on.

So it's on. And I have to tell you: all this quease and unease may not be fun, exactly, but I am aware of the juice between us so much more palpably now, in this in-between time. I really do prefer these tears and fears to the old anesthetizing routines, to the stupefying safety of just swinging back and forth on that same old trapeze bar. I don't know for sure what's next, but I'm so glad that we have let go. We're flying!

another day, another kickass rock show

2007-02-10T08:36:00.000-08:00

Well, okay, it was in the dining hall at a local institution of higher learning, and the audience consisted of a few friends, a couple of parental units, a couple of band children, and a decent-sized gaggle of privileged hippies bobbing and swirling about like rapturous lunatics. But, yes, it kicked ass. I do love this rock'n'roll thang.

I am happy. I love my life today. Sure, it'll be swell when G's company has a Major Funding Event, and hoo boy, I do hope I'm pregnant soon. But yesterday I got up, baked some brownies, wrote pages, worked out, put on mascara, packed up the snacks and the rock acoutrements, and then spent the rest of the day hanging out and making music with my witty, warm husband and my favorite friggin' band. As if that all isn't cool enough, after the show I was told how sexy I looked on stage no fewer than ten times.

"You own the stage," one friend said. "You look like you were born for this." Well, I don't know about that, but being really large and often sort of dramatic-looking, I think I just feel comfortable up there. You're supposed to be larger-than-life on a stage. You're expected to be dramatic. No one's going to give me that who-does-she-think-she-is vibe. And I assure you: if anything, I'm toning it down during shows. In real life, I have a lot of nervous energy. I talk a lot, I laugh a lot, and I'm always jangling into people and walls and large objects with my unwieldy limbs. On stage, I leave the talking to the lead dude, I concentrate on what I'm doing, and I don't move much. I gather it all in and direct it.

Maybe that's the life lesson of this experience. It's so hard to embody myself day to day. I'm forever trying to blow through my energy, to expel it so it can't hurt or threaten anybody. Maybe it's time I learned to just ground myself, to breathe, to gather it all in and focus. I know how to do that in many situations, but it's easy to get overwhelmed and forget it all when there are more than a couple of other people about. Well! Perhaps my dream of poise may be attainable after all. If I can manage it on stage, then I must know how it's done.

Poise! The final frontier. As with everything else, it sounds like more than I care to try to handle on my own. But if I stick close to God I'll be okay. Speaking of Which... Starting around the new year, the Voice began whispering, "Be sexy." Oh for crap's sake, I thought. That sounds like trouble. But I always do my best to follow directions from that Source, even, and perhaps especially, if I don't see where they might be leading me. So I've been dutifully wearing my nice things and popping in my contact lenses when I go out. I've been remembering to moisturize and forgoing the hat/glasses/baggy pants/big sweater look. And now, well, now I think I'm beginning to see where I'm being led. And it's not so scary.

progress

2007-02-03T20:28:00.000-08:00

I'm feeling better and worse at once. I haven't exactly implemented instant structure this week, since posting about how I know it's time for some changes, but I have, well, made some changes. Probably best not to talk too much about it. In fact, I may tend to talk too much about myself in general. And this strange little outlet can't be helping! At least, not how I've been using it. But for now, since writing here is a way to update friends old and new, I will say that I've worked out and done pages every day since that post, and that both of those activities feel very, very helpful.

As far as the old crap I'm looking to let go of, I've been advised not to focus on that at all, even via trying to stop, but rather to turn my focus to my spiritual practice whenever I notice myself longing to fling myself off the path, in any way and for any reason. That focus, somehow new in the context of this current step, has also proven to be quite helpful. So I'll keep that the hell up.

I've noticed that as my days proceed with my new focus, it's tempting at times to think about how many more such days I might need to get behind me before I enjoy the "results" I'm looking for. Or rather, that my ego is looking for. So it's a helpful bit of synchronicity that I've been attending A.A. meetings in support of a dear one every week. That program is all about dealing with whatever is right in front of you, and gratefully taking things one day at a time. Helpful reminders! Letting my thoughts run to how I might look and feel in a month or a season does nothing but jeopardize the peace I can enjoy right now, if I only stay here.

And did I mention that I talk too much about myself? Well, not always. I'm also pretty alright at listening, and at talking with others about whatever is up with them. But I noticed recently that all this progress--the music stuff in the long strides and this week's new focus more recently--can tempt me, paradoxically, to want to not only cling to the good stuff but also to try to hoarde more by trying to be fascinating and alluring, and blathering on rather boorishly as a result. What could better guarantee that I squeeze my gifts right out from between my own fingers than that sort of B.S., I ask you? Oy. Luckily, I busted myself pretty early on in that unpleasant little phase. And my goal for tomorrow as I go about my busy and socially full day is to open my hands as wide as they will go. Let the blessings flow. In, out, wherever. To try to hold on or collect more is only to limit my capacity for Grace. Hopefully I can spread some good stuff around tomorrow rather than ending up feeling like a blathering boor.

So. How are you?

photographic evidence

2007-02-03T19:58:00.000-08:00

Look! Here I am, playing my first rock show:

A pensive moment... I'm pretty sure I'm waiting for my cue to sing, during a quiet and intense tune that I don't play on. (So I'm sort of hugging my guitar.) Funny that the spot is apparently on me, since that interesting character in the (dark) background is the lead dude, and I'm just supporting cast.

I may have some video soon...

'fessin' up

2007-01-29T10:54:00.000-08:00

It's a very good thing I have an exciting music project in my life right now; that's making it much easier to remain patient while waiting for pregnancy and motherhood. It has occured to me, and also to a very smart friend, that one of the reasons for the delay in that department, speaking in big-picture terms, may be that I would not have been able to participate in this opportunity if I were hugely pregnant or giving birth around now. If my last pregnancy went to term, there'd have been no electric guitar-learning, no rocking out, no dream-band dream-come-true for mommy. That stuff may not be as big as parenthood, but this experience is causing seismic shifts in my experience of myself as a musician and creative person, and I can certainly see the benefits of the preparenthood timing of it all.

I've also been coming to terms with the idea that I haven't worked as hard as I've intended on improving my lifestyle and habits while I wait. Well, maybe working harder at it is not what's called for. Working smarter? Perhaps. All I know is that there are things I want and need to let go of, and things I want and need to embrace, and that the delay might also be partly related to my not having made these choices yet. For instance, self-harm has really GOT to GO. It barely serves any function at all anymore. Sure, it's fairly reliable as an emotion attenuator, but I am aware of effective options now, and I swear I've continued in the old path only to avoid the unfamiliarity of the new. I mean, come on. I do it just because it's what I've always done? I can do better than that. My life allows me many choices if I'm in need of soothing and/or winding down. I must confess and own my growing awareness of my readiness to stop. It's time.

As for things to embrace, structure comes to mind... the kind that liberates energy rather than letting it waste away. Here's an idea, a metaphor: I want to go swimming, so I've got the hose running. And I could let it run as long as it would need to to fill up the pool, but if I haven't built the pool to contain the water, all I'll have is a soggy lawn. And even with all that water, I'll still be wanting a swim. I think getting out of bed at a predetermined time and then going about a routine would help keep me from glazing over at the computer for hours, procrastinating on housework and cooking and not even going near an instrument, a book or an art supply. I know from past experiments with structured time that I'm much more likely to work on creative projects when I'm tending to my basic self-care and responsibilities first, rather than avoiding them. I don't know why I don't procrastinate planning dinner by playing my banjo or reading rather than by playing Shanghai and "thinking." If I did that, I wouldn't necessarily feel a need to change the pattern. But as it is, well, I know I'm wasting time. When I left the work force 13 months ago, I really needed a rest. But now it's time to get a bit more active again. I can feel it.

*sigh*

It's not like I do nothing. Yesterday I took my dear one, the one who needs the support, to an A.A. meeting. I did the week's grocery shopping. I made a mix for a friend. Today is laundry day. I've also done some budgeting and bill paying, and--look!--I wrote a post. The plan for later is to cut my hair, a time-consuming project that I almost always procrastinate on for way too long. If I do it, that'll be big, and this day will officially have been productive. But come on. I can't think of a reason I couldn't have worked out and then gotten dressed first. I hate feeling like I'd be mortified if the UPS guy came, let alone an unannounced friend. Unscheduled PJ days have GOT to GO.

It's time.

*SIGH*

nothing of interest, plus chocolate

2007-01-21T18:41:00.000-08:00

Hmmm. Some randomness, I guess:

We had my cousin and her husband and three kids (ages 8 - 11) over for Sunday dinner today--very fun. We kept it simple: lasagna (with homemade turkey sausage sauce, and lots of spinach), salad and bread. I also made my famous chocolate torte, which everyone loved as usual. So glad I found that recipe. I'm quite sure that if I was in the market for a mate, this dessert would be my secret weapon. As it is, I'm just drawing all my dear ones even closer in with it, which is also nice. I love feeding special homemade things, particularly chocolate special things, to loved ones. Ahhh.

Come to think of it, it's really only been in the past year, since I stopped working, that I've learned to make anything like a chocolate torte, or been able to whip up a batch of fuss-free homemade sauce. Entertaining so large a cluster of company at all might have been a bit of a stretch in the bad old days, too, so much so that I don't think I'd have attempted it. Or enjoyed it if I had. So yay, yay,YAY, not working! It's really good for me. How cool that my man is okay with our tight budget, that he understands how much happier I am, that he's happier this way, too. Ahh again.

Another rock show is in the process of being booked. It'll be either in late February or early March, and whenever it is, I can't hardly wait. Seriously.

Along those lines, I had occasion to make a mix of songs by the band I'm playing with as a gift for my brother-in-law this weekend. Have I mentioned that I love this friggin' band? OY. Their songs turn up on every other mix I make; they are generally over-represented. But I've never made an unadulterated, you know, fest. Well, now I have, and I can see why I (unconsciously) put it off: It's too good. IT'S TOO GOOD. It hurts a little. I think I'll try this with my other favorite artist, the only other one who consistently kills me like this. iTunes is a beautiful thing!

Also along those lines, I'm pretty sure almost everyone I know will be at the big anniversary show this spring. As in (in addition to all our local friends), both my parents and their spouses, my eighty-four-year-old grandmother, and my brother and his wife, who will have to take an airplane to get there. Whoah. Well, that's how it looks at the moment, anyway. We'll see how much I end up with to do in the acoustic set. I can't see Gram (or Dad or Mom, for that matter) enjoying the rock set very much. These guys are rather fond of feedback, to an extent that can be a bit much even for me. Though I sure do love the double distortion pedals...

Still no pictures or video, but I think I'll have something eventually.

I really need to get back to writing pages, and playing my instruments more. And walking outside. (Sound familiar, AW folk?) My ACIM practice is going great, but it helps so freakin' much that I coast on other helpful practices just to keep things manageable. Or that's what I think I'm doing, anyway. And it's time to see what would happen if I reincorporate more helpful activities. (((biting nails)))

Thanks to the commenters on the last post. Leah, if you're there, I think I'll take you up on your very generous book lending offer. I have a good feeling about it. (Heh.) I'll be in touch.

Because I love you, internet:

Chocolate -Sexual Reference Here- Torte

Ingredients:

12 ounces (1 bag) semisweet chocolate chips
1/2 pound (2 sticks) unsalted butter, cut into 1-inch pieces
6 eggs

[If you really want to party, you can make whipped cream topping as well: Use a cup or so of heavy cream (not "whipping cream," as it is full of crap such as artificial thickeners), a little vanilla extract and a spoonful or so of maple syrup. Whip.]

Instructions:

Preheat the oven to 350. Line the bottom and sides of a 9-inch pie plate very smoothly with aluminum foil. Lower your standards and spray the foil liner with cooking spray.

Melt the chocolate and butter in the microwave, on a reduced power setting, stirring with a whisk until completely melted. (I find I only need to pause once for stirring mid-melt.) Set aside.

[Optional: Take the weird little hard white squiggly things off the egg yolks with your fingers and a teaspoon. They are weird and squiggly, and, though edible, they will remain unattractively unincorporated into the chocolatey goodness if left in the eggs.] Beat the eggs and stir them into the melted chocolate mixture. Use the whisk for maximum smoothness, but don't whip the mixture--just stir thoroughly. Pour the chocolate mixture into the foil-lined, chemical-lubed pan, cover with foil, and set it in a heavy roasting pan. Pour hot tap water into the roasting pan halfway up the sides of the pie pan (to create a bain-marie--now you're cooking in French!) and place it in the preheated oven for 30 to 35 minutes. Remove the pan from the oven, being careful not to scald yourself but drenching your potholders regardless, and uncover the torte.

The torte will be a soft batter that will solidify when cold. Let it cool to room temperature on a wire rack, then cover it right on its surface with plastic wrap. Put it in the freezer for at least 2 hours. Take it out, turn it upside down on a plate and peel off the foil while it's still frozen, then let it thaw for a bit--around forty-five minutes, but maybe not even that long if it was only in the freezer for the minimum two hours. (Apparently you can freeze the well-wrapped torte for up to 3 months before thawing and enjoying, but I sure don't know anyone with that kind of restraint.)

When ready to serve, put on some lipstick and your hottest boots, then cut the still cold or even frozen torte with a hot, wet non-serrated knife. (Clean the knife in hot water after each cut.) In case of hardcore partying, slather on whipped cream topping. (On the slices of torte.) (Ahem.)

You can also make this for a potluck--it travels great in the thawing stage. And you will make new friends and admirers. (Best to skip the lipstick and boots if you're not, you know, available...)

woo-woo pride

2007-01-15T20:50:00.000-08:00

Sometimes the things I'm thinking about just aren't what I feel comfortable blabbing about. But sometimes I blab anyway. Maybe this is one of those times.

I exchanged the books my dad bought for us at Christmas for some things I'll actually read. (G got the whole mall gift card for a video game he reeeeally wanted, so I get all the book money. Fine with me.) I picked up two new copies of "God Calling," one for some friends and one to replace the copy I beat to death over the past year by reading and contemplating it in the tub. (I LOVE that book. So helpful.) I picked up Anne Lamott's "Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts on Faith," because I have a feeling I will want to own the book that contains this amazingly tender and insightful, hilarious author's thoughts on God. I picked up a weekly planner, which I will actually be using as a diary of the brief-and-to-the-point variety. (Helpful for tracking reproductive cycles and guaging general productivity.) And I bought a book called "Phenomenon" by a psychic called Sylvia Browne. :: sigh :: It's an alphabetical guide to the paranormal. There are sections on fairies, devas, angels, covens... phrenology. She's got great one-sentence, God-centered summaries of the Major Arcana of the Tarot, but the dear also believes that Atlantis will rise back into existence in this century. Wacky, no? And yet...

Some of this stuff just hits me so hard. And I admit: I feel conflicted about it all. Seriously. The section on telepathy made me have to put the book down and weep--like, screaming (no one else home)--for several minutes. This is me, I thought. This is what happens to me. Here it is. Yet even just having the cashier at the book store ring me up felt like potentially subjecting myself to condemnation, albeit silent: Yep, I'm one of them. I read this stuff. God and psychic phenomenon: I believe it. Yep.

Okay, so I'm what is called psychic. (I just know things, especially about people but sometimes about... other things.) Okay, so there's a Voice in my head. I'm pretty open about this stuff. I'm more than happy to do intuitive readings for others; I do this professionally, though on a somewhat intermittent basis as I do not advertise. But I also hang out with hyper-smart, hyper-educated people, and I can sometimes feel self-conscious about all of this.

It's not because I think my smartypants friends themselves will judge me. They're my friends, and this is a rather prominent and salient aspect of who I am. In close relationships, it all makes sense and I'm comfortable. Besides, my friends are mostly either very spiritual, religious, or woo-woo friendly themselves. (Thanks, Ms. Browne, for the charming new self-deprecating term woo-woo people.) Still, with the inner conflict.

Basically, I do not run around with a crowd of woo-woos like me. I worked in a natural foods market throughout the New Age nineties, and though I happily cherry-picked ideas that worked for me, I saw the whole thing done to death, and I distanced myself from the scene. In fact, I don't think I know very many people now who would buy, let alone read, let alone cry over a book like Ms. Browne's. And come to think of it, some religious friends seem a bit iffy on the phenomenon, and some of the woo-woo leaning are not so sure about God. So I'm surrounded by reminders that who I am is, well, weird. Different and slightly suspect, anyway.

And I just want it all to make sense to everyone! I wish every heart resonated with joyful recognition when reading about how sometimes whole chunks of knowledge or the fully articulated sense of an experience one didn't have will be just deposited in one's head from time to time, or how beings connected on the level of spirit do not need to speak in order to have a conversation. I want every religious person to understand and accept with an open heart that what I hear comes from God, in the same way all our other gifts do. And I do what I do for God! There is absolutely nothing evil about any of this, in my experience. And how 'bout it, rigid intellectuals: Are you ready to stop resisting the obvious and at least accept that intelligent people are often also fully faithful to a Higher Power? That we are not all crazy and/or stupid?

But why do I care at all, even in an abstact way, about what others may think about what resonates for me? Yes, I think we'd all be happier if we were all listening to our Voices. But I know this conflicted feeling boils down to me not yet being fully comfortable with who I am in the world.

Well, I'm very grateful to Ms. Browne for reminding me of these very real aspects of myself, and of their worth. I don't agree with her about Atlantis, but, hey, we'll both be gone by the time her prediction comes true or doesn't, so there's no need to quibble. I bought her book because when I picked it up I felt a surge of energy that said, yes. The telepathy section alone was worth the full retail price. I got the yes feeling when reading her take on angels, too, even though I'm not so sure about her literal take on the details. I'll keep reading. I need more yes. We all do. I'll take it wherever I find it. And I'll leave the rest.

state of grace/overwhelm

2007-01-08T11:04:00.000-08:00

Well, the show last Friday went... perfectly. We got to the club a bit early (after a two hour drive) and had to do a bit of standing around, but this also meant that we managed to score a legal parking space right by the entrance--no small feat in Cambridge, Mass., and cause for much rejoicing. Things just sort of fell into place from there. The sound guy and the other bands (six in total - it was the record label's ten year anniversary party) were all friendly, cooperative and generally cool. The sound check went fine--the club was boomy but we could hear ourselves. We took a nice walk after, ate snacks and drank chai. An old friend met me at the club when we got back. His excellent seventeen year-old daughter and her boyfriend stopped by, too. She unfortunately couldn't stay because the show was eighteen-plus (grrr), but she brought a mix she'd made for me of songs which incorporate a particular chord change for which she, I and her dad all share a very strong, very unusual affinity. It was a lovely gift. There was free homemade Korean food at the club, as part of the celebration. Can you even stand it? And as the time to play drew nigh, the crowd became more and more liberally peppered with good friends, loved ones and devoted fans.

I was calm generally; it helped a lot that G was there to help me in case of emergency. This was my first rock show! I understood that all sorts of things could go wrong: with instruments, effects, cables, amps, miscommunications... As I had no previous direct experience with that sort of thing, I'd just have to deal if something came up. But nothing did, to speak of. I adjusted my amp volume mid-song when I heard unwanted feedback. And I almost came in singing in the wrong spot once, but caught myself immediately. That was it for snafus, if they even qualify. On the plus side, the audience loved our set and responded with generous enthusiasm. The music gelled nicely; everything clicked. I could hear myself, so I sang in tune. One thing flowed smoothly into another. There was a little gaggle of dear ones standing right in front and in direct line of sight, singing along, rocking out and cheering wildly. I had taped a spare pick to my electric guitar in case of droppage (ain't that just the cutest thing?), but I didn't even have to use it. And I was singing with my favorite friggin' band. It was great.

After the show, fans made a point of approaching me to say "great show." These were folks who knew I was new to the lineup. One, a dude I recognized just by virtue of his being as big a fan as I am and being at many of the same shows I'd attended, went out of his way to gush about specific things I brought to the mix. The gaggle of dear ones from the front row had decided that I had been "The calm at the eye of the storm" up there, ..."a calm, strong presence, bathed in light." Wow! G was getting the love, too. He has a fantastic, rockin' yet solid stage presence; he's a blast to watch, and many friends and fans couldn't say enough about that. The head of the record label gave me a big hug and said I was amazing. Actually, he then went on to say he couldn't believe I'd even gone on stage "in these circumstances," which I felt funny about because I knew I'd been outed as a newbie, but T (formerly referred to here as 'R', the lead dude) made a point of explaining after we left that a moment before I had walked up and gotten that hug, the guy had been raving about what assets G and I were. Only then was it mentioned that this was my first show, and that I had basically learned the electric guitar so I could do it. "It only adds to the mystique," he said. Mystique! Gotta love that.

So. Huzzah. Wish I had a picture to show you. Will post something if any are passed along. And I hope something else is scheduled soon. This rock thing is rather fun, I have to say.

There was a party with many of the same folks to attend the next night, which was lovely. But I began to become aware that I needed down time soon. The morning after the party, yesterday, I took someone close to me to an A.A. meeting. This is something I've been doing to support her for the past month or so, once a week, but I swear I get as much out of going as she does, if not more. Yesterday's topic was spirituality, and I cried nearly continually (as inconspicuously as possible) as one excellent, beautiful person after another shared their ideas about how they had been helped by God (as they understood God). I was blown away. One girl told of how she had woken up once on the bank of a river with two homeless guys after passing out in a drug and alcohol haze, and she realized that in that state and in that place, anything could have happened to her. But these two men had watched over her. As she came to, they reassured her that all was well and that she was safe, and they offered her some soup. Beautiful. It all got me thinking about what Jesus said about the meek, about how doing good to anyone was as doing good to him, about entertaining angels unawares. There is spiritual light and beauty out there, and it is everywhere.

So by yesterday afternoon (when I had a sing and a singing community business meeting to attend) I'd gotten back into the good ol' mode of spritually porous mushiness, so sensitive, receptive, and emotionally filled up that I could barely function. I started to shut down; my communication became edgy and inadvertantly intense. I really must learn to manage overstimulation. Hey! A thought: I refer to that state to friends by saying I'm "full." Maybe what I need to do to manage it is to empty out a bit, by giving some away! I tend to want to shut down and curl up alone, but maybe if I instead made an effort to share and give to others at those times rather than pushing them away, I'd find my balance. Hmm. I hope I remember to try this next time.

Last night, I used isolation, french fries and formulaic cop show repeats to fix me up. And it worked fine. So. Life's good.

holy crappin' crap

2006-12-29T15:40:00.000-08:00

I am playing with my favorite band. My favorite. Band. Who cares most of you are not likely to have heard of them? I LOVE these guys! The days when some of their records were released were like holidays to me. I used to go see them play live over and over, and it just never, ever, EVER got old. And this afternoon the dreamy singer was standing in my dressing room playing and singing some of my most favorite songs, and I was playing and singing them, too, and we were playing and singing together, and he liked it, and... and... So what he's been a good friend of mine for years? That makes this that much more sweet and fun, and it takes away none of the thrill whatsoever.

The four of us have played together twice so far, and there are two more full practices planned, but this afternoon was one-on-one with the lead dude, fine-tuning. G finds it very amusing that this was what it took for the excitement to really settle in, but hey, whatever it takes. I am most definitely excited now. Yessiree. I guess it's partly that things are going very well, that it all makes so much sense now that I'm finally here. We're pretty well in agreement musically. And those guys are all very supportive of me and my newbie-ness. They're all also asking and expecting enough so that I feel pleasantly stretched. AHHH.

I had a nice holiday and all that. Through it all I've been busy practicing and listening and working things out. I'm behind on reading other blogs, and I imagine I'll remain slightly out-of-touch for another week or so. (The first show is a week from tonight.) I just thought I'd come check in and jump up and down a little in blogland as well as in my kitchen. Yay, yay, YAAAYYYYY! Jumpity jumpity jump. Oops, I mean, rock horns here. Heh.

5 weird things you didn't know about me

2006-12-20T06:30:00.000-08:00

I was tagged by Jana to list five things you don't know about me, but I saw a version of the "5 Things" theme over at Teri's which I feel compelled to incorporate: five weird things. Perfect. So.

1. From age 11 to age 14, I sang in a group of about fifty kids called "The Young Talents." I learned many beloved/classic/random songs this way that I wouldn't have otherwise--at least not so soon--though mostly shortened versions from medleys: South Pacific, Fiddler On the Roof, West Side Story... We performed with lots of stiff riser-bound choreography in hideous matching red-white-and-blue polyester outfits. The director, my elementary school music teacher, would implore us to "Sparkle!" and demonstrate by lifting her eyebrows to her hairline and pulling the corners of her mouth back to her earlobes. I can still recite the Gettysburg Address, or pretty close, because we learned an extremely cool version of it set to music. I sing it to myself every now and again and I still get choked up.

2. When I meet someone for the first time who will turn out to be a particularly significant friend, I recognize them right away even though I don't know them yet. This has played out several times in my life--like, seven or eight. I spotted my husband as one of "my people" too, though it took me a few weeks to figure out I wanted to be with him, you know, romantically.

3. I enjoy watching shows about autopsies on TV. Fascinating.

4. My spine is so flexible I can touch the floor with my full palms while bending my elbows slightly, but my hips are so inflexible I can't even make a ninety degree angle with my legs. I remember a young gymnastics instructor insisting that I must be able to spread 'em further, when I was a spry nine-year-old. Nope.

5. I have had many lovely mystical experiences. Here's a favorite: It was during a phase when I was particularly attuned to the Voice (in my head that offers wise guidance) in my day-to-day activities. When I really listen, it says all sorts of helpful things, about anything and everything. Anyway, I was also discovering old ballads, but realizing that I had always loved them and I just hadn't been exposed or sought them out enough to fully recognize the affinity. I had the thought around then that a song I loved at age eleven, Gordon Lightfoot's haunting "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald," so strange to my ear for top forty radio, was in fact a ballad. Then I got a mad craving to hear it again. This, children, was before either the impending glut of seventies nostalgia or the fabulous song-finding tool known as the internet, at least in my house. So I just thought wistfully of the song on and off for a few days. And then, one foggy, stormy morning as I waited in my car for a friend to return from the appointment to which I had driven him, as I hummed and tried to remember the words to that tragic song-story, I had the specific thought, "I wish I could hear that song!" And the Voice said, "Turn on the radio. We'll find it for you." So I turned on the radio. And I turned the dial. And after about five or ten seconds, I heard Mr. Lightfoot's wailing guitar. Wow! But, I thought, that guitar plays between many of the verses... maybe it's almost over! Nope. Just started. The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down of the big lake they call Gitchigumi... Heard the whole thing. All eleventy-seven verses, clear as day. And after the last word of the very last verse, just when the seventies fadeout ending kicked in, loud static began to take over and the signal faded. But before it disappeared completely, I heard the announcer do a station i.d. I had been listening to a radio station two states and a hundred miles away on a day when the fog and rain was so thick the clouds seemed to be sitting down on earth with their feet up.

we three kitties

2006-12-14T06:27:00.000-08:00

No burning agenda today; just thought I'd post an update. I'm still pretty Christmasy... went to a show last night where some friends and others performed an eclectic seasonal mix which included many of my favorite musical elements: banjo, SH, bluegrass harmonies, old-time music, safartic (Channukah) music, Christmas, and friends. The atmosphere was laid-back--lots of sweet little kids frolicking down front (until they got too distracting and were shuttled off to play outside the auditorium). I got to sing on a couple of SH tunes. Lovely!

I've had big ugly boogers in my lungs making my cough for nearly two weeks now, but I think going out and basking in seasonal joy last might might have been just the thing for it, as this morning I'm much clearer and quieter. Ahhh.

The three-and-a-half-hour nap I took yesterday with all three of my kitties probably didn't hurt, either:

(Thanks to G for taking advantage of the photo-op.)

In other news, (and this may be partly because I haven't been playing my guitars enough, but...) in the last month, I have knitted nineteen scarves and crocheted three potholders!

(The little kid models are in front.) I for one think they're all mighty fine. A few of the scarves have already gone out as birthday gifts, and have been very well received. What fun! And how geeky is that? [Well, this is not the first activity I've fallen in love with that's Geek- and/or Granny-Approved. Geek Power, baby. And come to think of it, in my experience, most grannies know what is up, yo.] I actually only started crocheting in earnest this week, and I feel borderline compulsive about it--I crave it. I want to be doing it all the time; it's so meditative. I guess I'll have to start making blankets after all these Christmas presents are done. Yes, indeedy. Huge, time-consuming afghans. And I can't wait.

tears on my kitty: christmas blubbering, part 2

2006-12-08T09:04:00.000-08:00

I decided yesterday that I needed some new Christmas music, and set about browsing over at iTunes. I listened to samples of about five hundred different folks' versions of "O Holy Night," a favorite so dear that even typing the title just now choked me up a little. Still, even in that blubbery state I could find nothing that inspired me to make a purchase. Finally I clicked the "holiday" category and was presented with an array of new releases, including Sufjan Stevens "Songs for Christmas."

Now, I may try to pass myself off as musically hip from time to time, but though I do have a faint clue about what's happening in the world of new/interesting/alternative/Cool music, I am frequently long in the dark about wonderful offerings that the actual Cool kids have known about for years by the time I find them. I even catch myself resisting certain things just because they're considered Cool, and much of what the the Cool kids go apeshit over is not actually all that great, in my opinion. I could list several artists I don't particularly care for here to illustrate how discerning and inadvertantly contrary my tastes tend to run, but I won't, because I overdo it in part to make myself feel Cooler than the Cool, and it's really not good for me or for anybody to be concerned with anyone's else's tastes or preferences, whether to gravitate toward them or away.

This summer I finally noticed a song called "Chicago" by Mr Stevens (listen to a sample here--scroll down) which had been around for a full year before I let myself take it in. I had wanted to turn up my nose at the zillion overdubbed tracks, the pseudo-symphonic arrangement, the repetitive chorus sung by what sounded like friends and roomates. A Hip Hippy--whatever. But the song really caught my ear in the movie, "Little Miss Sunshine." It was a perfect expression of the better nature of that film. And damned if the lyrics and that straightforward real-person singing didn't pierce my ill-considered armor. "You came to take us... all things go, all things go... to recreate us... all things grow, all things grow..." Hmmm. But what really got to me was the part where Sufjan sings (over and over), "I made a lot of mistakes. I made a lot of mistakes..." Somehow his inflection got me right there, and put me in direct emotional contact with the part of myself that was acutely aware of how imperfect my choices in life have been and how desperately I needed to confess this to my own Soul. And somehow in that same moment of full awareness which this song managed to kindle in me again and again came immediate and total forgiveness. Redemption. I put the song on a short mix titled "War and Peace," and found I couldn't listen to it without crying. Weeping, really.

[But did I seek out other songs by the guy who was able to punch this nearly unbearably deep place in me and then set me down ever so gently back in my life, renewed and refreshed? Nah. And it turns out G loves this guy; he has two or three of his records on the iTunes file he shares with my computer. Sometimes I wonder what the heck is the deal with me.]

Well, to get back to my Christmas story, I was excited to see a Christmas album by this guy. And--Good Lord!--there were forty-two songs on it! I sampled a few, became further intrigued and cautiously optimistic, and clicked "purchase." I then spent the rest of the afternoon listening, and weeping.

Readers must be getting pretty bored with all my tear talk. It's a bit much for me, too, believe me. But I just had to share this discovery. He gets it. He GETS Christmas! It's pretty obvious that he's a Christian, which I'm not convinced is required but sure doesn't seem to hurt. Now, in the right frame of mind I could listen to Babs or Englebert sing O, Holy Night and be struck by the song itself (most beautiful song ever written? I could make a case - ) and be really moved. One reviewer of Songs for Christmas wrote, "As for the traditionals, who would have thought anyone could find sincere pathos in "The Little Drummer Boy"...?" Well, I for one am absolutely cut off at the knees the first ten or twenty times I hear that one every year. It kills me. Still, eventually I like everyone else will grow tired of all the hoopla, my resistance will strengthen as to a virus, and suddenly I'll hear only the over-slick heartlessness of most versions of my favorites, and I will want them to shut up, already.

This is not bloody likely to happen, however, with my New Favorite Christmas album. Banjo! Regular-person singing! Old English hymns! Old American hymns!! Piano! Actual Sincerity! This is not the maudlin, syrupy "sincerity" contrived and sickeningly overdone by so many Real Singers (definition: it's about them and their Performance--not the song, not the music, not the truth or spirit). I mean, come on--the guy manages to make "Jingle Bells" sound fresh and fun. Okay, it's a fifty-second instrumental. But still, it sounds like two people jauntily playing one piano, and it's actually really great. Plus, there are many killer original tracks. One, called "That Was the Worst Christmas Ever!" is unbearably sad and exultantly beautiful to me. It conjures a complex, rich, and intense sense memory of childhood and Christmas Past in all its darkness and all its ultimate light, more than anything else on the record. But the whole record--though yes, a bit too long (though this is mitigated by the fact that it's technically five cds in one)--the whole damn thing with all its forty-two songs absolutely immersed me in a radiant constellation of precise memories, made crystal through hindsight and higher yearnings, for the entirety of its two solid hours. It split me open.

I learned how to weep silently as a child so as not to draw any unwanted and unhelpful attention. Sad but true. This skill comes in handy these days when I'm sitting here on a jag with my headphones on and G is working fifteen feet away. Don't wish to disturb! Yesterday afternoon I woke the sleeping kitten on my lap with the large teardrops I kept inadvertantly missing with the tissue and dropping onto her fur. She didn't mind the water, though she appeared concerned when she looked up into my face. I reassured her. Yep, it hurts. But in a good way. It was all okay. We are all okay.

Happy Christmastime, everybody.

today's thoughts

2006-12-07T09:03:00.000-08:00

Yay, Christmas. I was out shopping yesterday, humming along with the Christmas music on the overhead and getting all warm and squishy. Last night, we caught the Grinch on TV and I turned into the blubbering retard that this time of year predictably brings out in me. It might look maudlin, but the emotional sensation is absolutely exquisite. I suppose I could just enjoy it, but I was thinking about how when we have a child they will inevitably become increasingly mortified by my waterworks over anything regarding the True Meaning of Christmas. (Or animals in distress. The two boys I provided childcare for several years back used to bait me with "The Adventures of Milo and Otis" so they could have laugh at the expense of the very silly grown-up.)

Speaking of Christmas shopping, this happens every year these days: I spend more on G and me than on everybody else combined (which isn't that much anyway, come to think of it). That sounds a little selfish until you consider that I will wait to buy new linens and pajamas and the like until the old ones are literally falling apart with wear and are no longer mendable. At Christmas time, a switch in my head flips: the one that sends the okay-to-spend signal. I guess this system works well enough. For now.

One of the items I bought yesterday was a cheap pocket watch with an alarm feature, to help remind me to practice hourly. The instructions were so obtuse I was convinced after ten minutes or so of messing with the thing that, although a "chime" feature was mentioned (without any explanation or correlating instructions), it wasn't going to do what I needed it to do--beep softly on the hour. I tossed it along with the mangled packing materials, unintelligible instructions and receipt back into a bag and put it in the "to be dealt with" pile. Then the bag started beeping softly on the hour. Eureka! Now if I can only disable the alarm that went off at 2:20 am this morning.

G's new employers are in talks with many venture capitalists regarding an initial investment. Several are watching developments closely. One potential funder, the VC branch of a company whose name I recognized immediately, has entered into some sort of serious and promising-sounding confidentiality agreement with them. Which is good. Initial funding must be secured before actual success can even be pursued Everybody involved believes that, this way or some other way, it will happen soon. But the founder is spasing out now, dreaming of the possibilities. The other day he called G to ask, among other things, if in a major buyout situation we would hypothetically be willing to move across the country temporarily for many millions of dollars. Getting a wee bit ahead of himself, methinks. I told G that it didn't sound tempting, in any case. Why compromise something as important as living where you most love to live, surrounded by friends and family, for money in amounts that you couldn't possibly really need? Sounds empty and lonely to me. G said we might have a slight difference in opinion about that. But when he said "slight," he didn't mean it ironically. He's just more ambitious than I am, and the idea of raking it in appeals to him on some level. Luckily, he's also a very grounded dude with fundamentally sound priorities. If anything approaching this wild hypothetical ever comes to pass, I know we'll be able to make decisions we can live with joyfully. Which is nice.

In the meantime, my fervent and currently out-of-range wish is for a woodstove. I absolutely need the smell of woodsmoke in my environment from October through March. Lucky for me, we have a neighbor who provides a fix to tide me over fairly regularly when I go out. Still, it's just not the same as having one's home smell all warm and smoky inside. Plus, what can compare to that intense and concentrated heatsource when you feel chilled? There's a spot in the living room that will lend itself perfectly to a tiled corner hearth. I included images of a fireplace and glass-doored stove in my collage last spring, and I am visualizing madly. All I can do now is wait.

A very sad update: My brother's wife's pregnancy is ending. It's one of those situations that just plain sucks, and there's nothing to do or say about it. I was able to help in a small way by answering some questions and talking with her a bit about my experience, which at that point hers was paralleling. And I'm glad for that connection. (It's not easy to find opportunities for gratitude at times like this, but I will observe those that present themsleves.) It's good that we'll all be gathering again in a couple of weeks.

wahoo!

2006-12-02T10:10:00.000-08:00

Our jam/audition went great. What a blast it is to play loud rock music! I openly mused about why I hadn't started doing it twenty-five years ago. G and I both played well for the circumstances (16 songs, one week's notice), and we all got on famously--it was a good day. We won't get to do it again for about three weeks, but then we'll start cramming for the show in early January. Oh, and they liked the new voice parts I added. They also expanded my role on guitar--I'll be playing a little textural acoustic on some other songs, too. I guess G and I will be helping out at another concert scheduled at a favorite local venue this spring as well, and who knows what else might come up. Who knows? I heard the guys talking the other day about making a record or two over the summer. Hmmm. Well, I've certainly made it clear that I'm up for anything if they would like my help or participation, and I will continue to do so, as the Arnold Horschack approach seems to be serving me well.

This band is like two bands in one, since they do intense, deep and often spooky acoustic music as well as this really loud, swirly rock. The acoustic incarnation is even more special to me than the electric version, in fact. I got a big smile this afternoon when the topic of an acoustic set at the spring show came up and I once again put my hat in the ring, reminding them that they had my number for that one, too. Come to think of it, there was actual, bilateral talk of incorporating me--it wasn't just me going, "Ooh! Ooh!" and them grinning warmly yet ambiguously. My, my, my-my-my. As a close friend of ours who has also had a few happy turns lately put it upon hearing our good news, "It's like we fell out of the blessing tree and hit every branch on the way down." Amen.

Speaking of blessings, let me tell you about yesterday morning. When I woke up, my Rock n'Roll Blister had become an erupting wound, and my whole finger was red and swollen. In related news, I have been dealing with and fighting off unpleasant symptoms like headaches and coughing this week, and on the morning of audition day--whattaya know!--I had only a discomfiting sputtering, guttural growl to speak with, and no singing voice whatsoever. But I felt like the Whos in Whoville when all their stuff had been stolen: it was still Christmas morning, goshdarnit. I was still happy and excited. I can honestly say I never worried or feared. I just gave it all to God to take care of. The Course in Miracles idea I was scheduled to work with was, "God's healing Voice protects all things today." God's healing Voice! Perfect. The associated reading was about how that Voice would tell me what to do in all circumstances, and that all I had to do was listen to it. Even more perfect for the day. I meditated on that for awhile; I repeated the idea to myself as I ate breakfast and got dressed, really taking it in. And when I went over my songs again one last time before we headed over, my voice was just there when it was time to sing. It stayed full and clear all day. And I was able to play my guitar relatively painlessly with some of that thick white boo-boo tape over my Rock Wound. Blessings large and small.

At this point, I want to restate that the Artist's Way work for which this blog was started is quite evidently behind these wonderful musical opportunities opening up in my life. It's really amazing to me from my present vantage point that when I did some of the excercises designed to disinter and process just this sort of thing, I was flooded with long-ignored and all but abandoned wishes for the very specific scenario that's now unfolding. I'm so very glad I used those hokey little power tools (powerful little hokey tools?), and that I had this outlet to express the resulting ideas out loud, so I could hear myself say them and get used to the notion that they were not only real and important for me to pursue in a "follow your bliss" sort of way--no matter what--but that when it came down to it, they were also probably quite achievable. And not even all that big a deal. Like, seriously--not at all. What was I waiting for? What was I afraid of?

Funny how things start to seem so unmanageable when we deny our heart's desires, stuffing them down, trying in vain to shut them up. I wonder if our demons are really just denied true directives, demon-y only because they're demanding our attention more and more fiercely. Like a crying child! When you go and put your arms around it, that frightening little banshee quiets right down.